Chapter 4: Beware of Tooth Decay

“Got it now?” Chen Qiao asked, licking his lips.
His mouth was dry from talking, and the rusty taste of blood lingered from his nosebleed.

“No, I should just give up.
I’m too dumb.”

Lin Na stole glances at Chen Qiao, worried her stupidity might annoy him.

“Hmm…”

Chen Qiao thought he’d explained it clearly, breaking it down to a spoon-fed level.
In college, he’d worked part-time at a tutoring center for elementary kids.
It wasn’t hard—just needed patience and a calm temper.
Getting angry shortened your life, and parents’ scoldings were routine.

“Don’t rush into these tough word problems.
Your basics probably aren’t solid.”

They were about to start final reviews.
The teacher had asked everyone to bring textbooks from first to sixth grade.
Chen Qiao’s books were scattered, poorly kept—covers torn, pages yellowed and moldy.
Only current main subjects got proper care, with his sister helping wrap them.

Luckily, he and his sister used the same textbooks.
He could borrow hers.

Her books were wrapped in newspaper, filled with neat, detailed notes—pleasing to the eye.

Chen Qiao pulled out the fifth-grade math book to test Lin Na’s current level.

“But the teacher said math homework’s due tomorrow morning.
If I write correct answers, she’ll know I copied.
But writing wrong ones…”

Getting red X’s on known wrong answers stung.

“Wrong is fine.
Master the basics first, then you’ll solve these word problems yourself.”

“Shh, the teacher’s coming,” Lin Na whispered.

“It’s fine.
We’re discussing schoolwork, not chatting.”

Still, they instinctively shut up as Yang Fang passed by.

Before they knew it, the dismissal bell rang, followed by the classic “Going Home” tune.

Students at the back door were itching to bolt, but Yang Fang hadn’t dismissed them.
No one dared leave, or they’d face detention—sometimes dragging the whole class down.

“Class dismissed.”

“Stand up.”

“Thank you, teacher.”

Only after this ritual was school truly over.

The classroom emptied quickly.

Tomorrow’s duty students started cleaning.
Since last year, sixth grade had no evening study sessions.
Only boarders studied in the cafeteria—maybe for safety or low numbers.
By the time Chen Qiao reached middle school, even military training was canceled.
It restarted years later under a new principal.

Cleaning in the morning was tough with a crowded classroom and dust everywhere.
Duty students stacked stools on desks for easier sweeping.

“Thanks for today, Chen Qiao.
I’ll review the fifth-grade math book at home,” Lin Na said, bowing slightly.
Her large pink backpack weighed down her thin shoulders, hunching her slightly.
Her drawer was empty—she took all her books home to avoid losing them.

Chen Qiao planned to go home empty-handed but decided to stuff his sister’s textbooks into his Digimon backpack.

He strolled down the teaching building.
Lin Na walked with a shorter, short-haired girl—likely her sister, who’d later get sick.
She looked healthy now, bouncing along, her books and pencil case rattling in her bag.

Chen Qiao wasn’t rushing home.
No one was there.
His sister’s class ended in fifteen minutes, and her bike ride took twenty.
His mom got off work in an hour.
His dad’s return, if he was on a job, was unpredictable.

Walking familiar streets, Chen Qiao noted the town’s residential complex hadn’t started construction.
It was planned near the middle school to attract rural parents for their kids’ schooling.
The housing boom was reaching the town.

His village, Shuitou, was across the river from Lanhe Town.
His house sat by the riverbank.
Last year’s Dragon Boat Festival floods lasted a month, spilling over the dam into their home.
Chen Qiao was woken at midnight by his sister to sweep water.

The village still had old earthen buildings and traditional houses with black tiles and phoenix eaves.
In a few years, most were demolished for small mansions or villas.
When preservation policies came, only a few old houses remained.
Lanhe Town lost out in competitions for “ancient village” or “model town” titles, missing subsidies.

Some odd shops were still open, like a gift store.
Though Taobao existed, internet and logistics weren’t advanced.
In towns like this, many things weren’t available.
Most homes lacked computers.
Android smartphones were new, and Nokia phones were the trendiest.

Maybe a dropshipping business could work.

The Golden Key Bookstore was the town’s only bookshop.
Besides textbooks and workbooks, it rented novels and comics.
The novels, often yellowed Huang Yi paperbacks, were flimsy like toilet paper—Chen Qiao’s introduction to fiction.
In high school, he learned they were pirated web novels with mismatched titles.
Some protagonists’ names led to the original stories, stirring nostalgia.

Next year, the bookstore would hold a clearance sale—novels for five yuan, pocket comics like Pokémon, Wu Long Yuan, or Dragon Ball for two.
They were incomplete, just scattered volumes.
Reading novels at shady internet cafes was cheaper than renting.

Speaking of cafes, the town had five illegal ones, one legal, and a rundown arcade.
No ID checks back then.
The legal cafe was pricier but had better machines.
Parents and teachers always checked there first.
The one near the middle school was an easy bust.

A new illegal cafe, a “secret base,” had just opened—where Chen Qiao livestreamed before his rebirth.
It hadn’t turned into an umbrella factory yet.
The young owner, a woman, propped her chin, yawning lazily.
Her daughter ran in with a backpack, calling, “Mommy, Mommy!”

He’d hit that cafe tonight to surf the web.

Crossing the stone arch bridge to the village, Chen Qiao saw his house—a two-story brick building with a rooftop shelter and clothes rack.
Pigsties lined the front.

Built in 2000 on government-planned land, it was like the neighbors’—neat, square plots, rare for the village.
Back then, toilets weren’t built indoors but next to pigsties out front.
The smell was strong, barely softened by a planted osmanthus tree.

From afar, Chen Qiao spotted a little girl playing in a sandpile—Xin Yu, who else?
Her faded jeans were rolled up, too long for her.
Her T-shirt’s letter print was gone, just outlines left.
Her green rubber sandals had a broken strap, fixed with a soldering iron.

Her clothes were mostly his sister’s hand-me-downs, sometimes even Chen Qiao’s when she was younger.

“Xin Yu,” Chen Qiao called.

“Uncle!” Chen Xin Yu turned, grinning, running to him.
Her face was dirty, hands covered in sand.

“Call me brother.”

“Brother?
But aren’t you my uncle?”

“Just call me brother.
Do it, and I’ll buy you candy,” Chen Qiao said, taking her small hand, brushing off the sand.
He felt a twinge of guilt, like he was tricking a little girl.

“Uncle, don’t waste money.
Earning it is hard.”

Chen Xin Yu’s childish voice carried mature words.
Chen Qiao hadn’t expected a kid to lecture him right after his rebirth.

“I don’t eat candy—it’ll rot my teeth,” she said, showing her white teeth, newly grown front ones still gapped.

No candy or milk meant no cavities.
Was that good or sad?

“Do you want candy?”

“I do…” Chen Xin Yu said, then quickly, “I don’t.”

“Where’s your grandma?
Playing cards inside?”

“Yeah.”

“Xin Yu, remember when we were in a car, hit by a train from nowhere?”

If he was reborn, could Xin Yu be too?
But he hoped she wasn’t.
He wanted her to have a happy childhood.
If she was reborn, those painful memories would haunt her, stealing that joy.

“Uncle, what’re you talking about?
I’ve never been in a car.
Is it from a cartoon?”

“Yeah, a cartoon.
Let’s get some candy.”

“Uncle, I really don’t want candy.
Honest.”

“Fine, I want candy, okay?” Chen Qiao laughed, picking her up.
So light—her arms and legs were thin.
Lift her shirt, and you’d probably see ribs.

“Watch out for cavities,” she said, poking his cheek.

“No matter how sweet, I’m not scared.
I’ve had enough bitterness already.”