Chapter 5: An Elder Sister is Like a Mother

Chen Qiao had seven yuan and fifty cents on him.
In elementary school, that was a fortune.
At noon, he spent fifty cents on a frozen soda, sucking the liquid and crunching the ice—refreshing.

His allowance was decent for his age.
If his sister got some, he did too, though hers was usually double.
The family’s policy was to spoil the daughter.

His sister was far better than him—top grades, more chores, and farm work.
She didn’t waste money, nearly filling two piggy banks.

Chen Qiao often borrowed from her.
She’d deduct it from his next allowance—no need to chase him.

His sister, the family bank for him and Xin Yu.

Holding Chen Xin Yu, Chen Qiao walked to the gambling den’s entrance.
It was a barber shop and small store run by a limping middle-aged woman.
Shouts from the gambling room echoed out back.

“Bet big, bet small.”

Mixed with noisy voices, including Second Aunt’s—Xin Yu’s grandma.
Her voice stood out among the men.
Close up, the sharp smell of cigarette smoke hit.

The town had nine or ten such dens, outnumbering illegal internet cafes.
Gambling was rampant.
Some lost everything, took loans, or bet their houses, wives, and kids.
Fights and bloodshed weren’t rare.

Crackdowns and migrant workers leaving later tamed the dens.
Only small mahjong tables and old folks playing cards in pavilions remained.

Underground lotteries were big too.
Second Uncle loved them, with his shady friends and “insider” magazines.
He studied them daily, jobless, dreaming of riches.
When he finally won, he squandered it on food and drink.

Seeing Chen Qiao and Chen Xin Yu, the limping shopkeeper smiled.
“Xin Yu, your uncle’s buying you snacks again?”

“Yeah.” Chen Xin Yu nodded slightly.

The shopkeeper knew them well.
Second Aunt often brought Xin Yu to the den, leaving her to watch TV in the store.

Shelves held familiar snacks: card-packed instant noodles, toy water guns, spicy strips—one mao each or diamond-shaped ones for a yuan.

The priciest gum was Big Big Bubble, advertised on CCTV.
Cheapest was watermelon gum—several pieces for a mao.

Alpen was the fanciest lollipop.
Boy Boy sticks, one mao each, felt big as a kid but looked tiny now.

Popping candy, White Rabbit milk candy, and more lined the shelves.

Chen Xin Yu hesitated, then picked a milk-flavored lollipop.
Chen Qiao grabbed four more.

“Uncle, that’s too many.
One’s enough for me.”

“I’m eating too.”

No need to call Second Aunt home to cook.
When gambling, she forgot everything.
If winning, fine.
If losing, she’d snap at you.
Interrupt her and cause a loss?
She’d blame you for ruining her luck.

Xin Yu usually ate with Chen Qiao’s grandma or at their house.

“Eat at my place tonight.”

“Okay.”

Chen Xin Yu unwrapped the lollipop, carefully popping the round candy into her mouth.

Nearing home, their house had no iron gate, just a one-meter wooden fence to keep stray chickens and ducks from neighbors out.

“Why aren’t you eating your lollipop, Uncle?”

“How can I while holding you?”

“Then eat mine—here…”

Chen Xin Yu stuffed the lollipop into Chen Qiao’s mouth.

“Tasty, Uncle?”

“Really tasty.”

Maybe not because it was used, but it was sweeter than expected.
Eating it, Chen Qiao felt thirstier.

“It’s yummy, but it costs money.”

Chen Xin Yu’s smile faded, her small face scrunching up.

“Sigh…”

Chen Qiao popped the lollipop back into her mouth, pinching her cheek.
“Smile more.
That face looks grumpy.”

Even a kid like her obsessed over money.
She should be carefree.
Poor kids grow up fast.
Second Uncle and Aunt fought often, blaming each other.
Cousin Chen Huai, a day laborer, sent money home sometimes, but it never reached Xin Yu—her parents took it.

His dad had suggested taking Xin Yu in if they couldn’t care for her.
But Second Uncle’s pride led to a fight, making Xin Yu cry.
The matter dropped.

Chen Qiao’s stamina was weak.
Holding Xin Yu too long made his arms ache.
He set her down, took her hand, and pushed open the wooden gate.

It wasn’t dark outside, but the house was dim.
He flipped the bulb switch, casting a dim yellow glow.
They still used tungsten bulbs, prone to burning out.

The dining table was a classic eight-immortal style.
Walls were plastered with awards, mostly his sister’s, from kindergarten to eighth grade.
Many were yellowed and glossy.
Chen Qiao had one from last year—Outstanding Young Pioneer, a fluke, like his Civility Guidance Team role.
Others, like Wu Xin Yu, got “Three Good Student,” and the class monitor got “Outstanding Cadre.”

The kitchen had a wood stove and a honeycomb coal stove.
Appliances were few, but a new Haier double-door fridge stood out, bought during this year’s rural appliance subsidy.

No water heater—winter baths used the coal stove’s water tank and a kettle.

As a kid, Chen Qiao bathed with his sister in a big red basin to save water.
His mom was busy, so his sister scrubbed him, sometimes so hard it felt like she’d peel his skin off.

The last time was last winter.
Chen Qiao felt shy, aware of gender differences, but his sister didn’t care, acting as usual.

Now in middle school, her body was developing.
Why were those images so vivid?

Chen Qiao shook his head, clearing stray thoughts.
Xin Yu looked up, puzzled by her uncle’s behavior.

He poured a bowl of cold boiled water, chugging it down, water spilling and wetting his chin.
Thirst quenched, his mind cleared.

Since he got home first, he handled washing rice for dinner.
His sister would cook when she returned.
They’d eat, then she’d head to evening study.
His mom ate when she got home.
His dad’s schedule was random, but he was the best cook.

The veggie basket had water spinach, cucumbers, and green beans.
The fridge held lean meat and pork belly.

Leftovers from lunch were in the cabinet: pickled veggies with fatty pork, leftover water spinach, and a yellow enamel jar of lard—a national standard.

Chen Qiao washed and prepped ingredients, wondering whether to cook like before—no, like the future—preparing dinner for his sister.

He’d lived alone for a while, cooking to save money instead of ordering takeout.
As a full-time streamer, living with his sister, he cooked so she could eat hot meals after work and rest.

But he reconsidered—it’d be too sudden.
His smart sister would notice something off.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t share his rebirth secret with her.

If he couldn’t trust her, what was the point of this second life?
But telling her now would make her think he’d read too many web novels, not acting like her familiar brother.
She might tattle to their mom.

Rural folks were superstitious, even with a doctor mom.
If a kid got sick, “possessed,” or had a fever that hospitals couldn’t fix, they’d consult a fortune-teller or burn paper offerings.
Sometimes it worked—maybe the medicine kicked in, maybe something else.

If he could be reborn, plenty defied normal explanation.

He’d influence his sister subtly, waiting for the right time to spill everything.

“Chen Qiao, rice cooked?
Xin Yu’s here too?” Chen Fei Fei asked as soon as she got home.

“Auntie!” Xin Yu greeted.

“Sis, you’re back!”

Chen Qiao saw Chen Fei Fei in her middle school uniform, her fair, youthful face radiant under the light, her simple single ponytail neat.

His sister, so young and green, almost a kid to his mental age.

But he couldn’t help himself, rushing to hug her, nuzzling her chest like a child, though she was taller, holding him.

Like a mother, she’d carried the family through tough times, plus school pressure.
Chen Qiao had considered ending it all to ease her burden.

“If you die, what’s the point of me living?
Live for me, got it?”

Those words kept him going.
What happened to him and Xin Yu in that old world?
If his sister was left alone…
Thinking of it, he hugged her tighter, tears welling up.

“What’s wrong?
Bullied at school?
By a girl?” Chen Fei Fei asked, patting his back.
Though short, Chen Qiao had his cousin Chen Huai, a rough guy with friends, so bullies steered clear.
But a girl behind him once poked his back with a pen, staining his uniform.
The teacher moved his seat—a lifelong embarrassment.

“No, I just wanted to hug you.”

Chen Qiao blushed, touching his nose, stepping back.
His face had brushed her chest, feeling soft even through her thin summer uniform and bra, with a faint, familiar girlish scent, like orchids or musk.