Chapter 2: His Secret

Meiniang looked at her son in surprise. “You want to meet this man?”

“Of course,” Chang Shun replied earnestly. “Father is gone, so I’m now the head of our household. Naturally, I must treat this matter with care. Think about it—I’m still so young, I’ll have to follow you into this new marriage. If we choose the wrong person, there’ll be no turning back for either of us.”

Meiniang thought for a moment. He wasn’t wrong.

Though her son was only seven, he had always been different from other children—like a little adult. Whenever there was anything complicated in the household, she often discussed it with him, and more often than not, his judgment proved sound.

In Meiniang’s heart, her son was far more clever than she was. Since he said this, there had to be a reason.

Remarrying was a last resort. But if her son found the man unsuitable, then she didn’t have to go through with it.

“Very well,” she said. “Tomorrow we’ll go to your Maternal Grandmother’s house and ask your Eldest Maternal Aunt to help arrange a meeting. When the time comes, you can talk to him yourself, and I’ll wait on the side with your aunt.”

She only needed to say a few words to the man herself. It wouldn’t be appropriate to be seen alone with him, especially when nothing had been settled yet.

“Mother, I’m going to wash up. You should rest early too.”

Chang Shun walked straight to the kitchen. Their washing area was next to the latrine in the backyard. Since last year, he had been doing his own washing.

A quarter of an hour later, Chang Shun lay on the warm brick bed. This room had once belonged to his Grandfather and Grandmother—both of whom had passed away in this very space.

Yet he wasn’t afraid at all. There were only two proper rooms in the house, plus one small room. The small room had poor ventilation and now served as a storage space for miscellaneous items.

Then there was the main hall and the kitchen. The backyard was fairly spacious, with a woodshed, washing area, latrine, and a chicken coop.

Because there were no men in the household, the thatched roof had been maintained by his Eldest Maternal Uncle for the past few years. His Younger Maternal Uncle used to work as a shop assistant in a general store in town. It was said that last year, the entire family pooled their resources to help him rent a storefront and open his own shop, racking up a significant amount of debt in the process. He now seldom visited relatives.

He didn’t sleep in the same room as his Mother—not only because he was growing older, but also because he had a secret.

On the day he was born, when his eyes still couldn’t see clearly, he could already understand what people were saying.

To be precise, he had been reborn into this world with the memories of his past life. In his previous life, he had lived to retirement age. Then an accident had cut everything short, and he found himself starting over as a newborn, all his carefully laid plans abruptly ended.

So, from a very young age, he knew. In this life, his Father was not as devoted as his Mother. From his Father’s words—sometimes even just his glances—he could detect a trace of impatience.

In his memories, his Father had been a handsome, scholarly man. Even though his Mother was quite good-looking, her inability to read a single character was an undeniable flaw. A woman like her could be a virtuous wife and devoted mother, but not one who could sit by her husband’s side and share the joy of books and poetry.

It wasn’t just once or twice that he had seen such scenes—his Mother scrimping and saving, giving all the best to her Husband, yet receiving not even the slightest kindness in return. Every time he witnessed it, his heart would ache, tinged with sorrow and helplessness.

But what could a child under the age of two say? He could barely speak coherently. Besides, if he didn’t want to be taken for some monster and burned at the stake, he had no choice but to hide.

All these years, he had tried to live as a normal child. But for someone who had once reached retirement age, it was impossible to act with the carefree innocence of youth.

So by the time he turned seven, he had long since become prematurely mature—a little adult.

So much had changed over the years. With a young widow barely in her twenties at the head of the household, outsiders rarely visited. In six years, three family members had passed away; others feared they might be tainted by ill fortune just by getting too close.

His Mother had long grown used to his unusually adult-like behavior. After all, his Father had always been that aloof, scholarly type. Wasn’t it only natural that the son would take after the father?

There was another reason he had agreed to let his Mother remarry—everyone in the village had already accepted that his Father was dead. He had most likely fallen into a ravine. Otherwise, with how filial he had been, there was no way he would have gone this long without returning home. Even if he could abandon his wife and son, he would never have turned his back on his parents.

Only he harbored doubts in his heart. A normal man wouldn’t just vanish without returning home—unless he’d lost his memory. What if someone had rescued him?

It was a real possibility. In his past life, he’d worked in a hospital for over thirty years—was there any illness he didn’t understand?

Back then, no body had ever been found. Everyone simply assumed he was dead. But wasn’t it possible that he had been injured and taken in by someone?

He had to admit, his Father in this life had an exceptional appearance. When he left home, he was just over twenty, as handsome as carved jade. If it hadn’t been for the family’s poor circumstances and the way the matchmaker had exaggerated Meiniang’s qualities to the heavens, the two of them would never have ended up together.

If he had lost his memory in some accident, it might return quickly—or it might take years, even a lifetime.

So, when his Mother spoke of remarriage, he insisted on meeting the man first. If the man turned out to be decent and kind-hearted, he would agree to the two of them going together.

But they couldn’t just walk into this new marriage completely unprepared. What if his birth Father wasn’t actually dead?

If he returned after many years and claimed there had been no formal divorce, any subsequent marriage would be invalid. What then?

Would his Mother be reduced from wife to concubine? That would be a disaster.

Or worse, what if his Father wanted his son back? That wouldn’t be so terrible on its own—but by now, he’d almost certainly remarried and had other children. In that household, as a stepson, he’d be viewed as an eyesore, a threat. One careless moment, and he might not survive at all.

As the old saying goes: “Better a begging mother than a high-ranking father.”

For the sake of their children, women can risk their very lives. But men, once they remarry, often fall into the category of “with a stepmother comes a stepfather”—a situation rarely favorable for the original child.

If his Mother was going to remarry, he had to eliminate all these potential risks. Otherwise, they would always be ticking time bombs—and such things were best avoided altogether.

He didn’t hold much hope for his Father.

If that day ever came, perhaps the man would want his son back—but that didn’t mean he would recognize him in return.

In the countryside, finding a simple, honest man to be his stepfather was far better than having a sweet-faced but bitter-hearted stepmother.

Even if he were to have younger siblings in the future, harmonious relations would be ideal, but if not, it would still be easier to handle.

If the man looked decent when they met, he would take the opportunity to make these matters clear ahead of time.

He didn’t plan to keep hiding his true self—everything should be discussed openly, face to face, in clear black-and-white terms.

If the man ever had children of his own, he might not treat him the same as before. But in just eight years, he would be fifteen, old enough to live on his own.

Better to agree on everything in advance than live like a spineless stepson under the rule of a stepmother.

The former placed everything within his control; the latter, he couldn’t guarantee.

Of course, the chances of his Father being alive were slim. As a son, he certainly didn’t wish him truly dead—but if he were alive, it would be better if the man had lost his memory for good.

Otherwise, after so many years without returning home—while his Wife and child suffered bitterly, and he enjoyed the warmth of another family—what would that make him?

He wasn’t truly a child anymore. With the wisdom of a sixty-year-old man, he would surely find a way to lead a good life. Living like a downtrodden soul? That was something he would never consider.

He had no interest in the imperial examination. As for his Mother’s hopes—that he could study a few years and work as a small-town bookkeeper—that was out of the question.

In his previous life, he specialized in surgery at the hospital, though he also studied traditional Chinese medicine thoroughly. He was a true dual-degree PhD, with more than thirty years of professional experience. Before retiring, he had been the chief surgeon at a major hospital.

In this life, he could grow medicinal herbs, refine his own remedies, and live freely as a wealthy man of leisure. Wasn’t that far better than being an official?