Chapter 1

“Just got paid, a total of only two hundred and twenty-eight yuan and seven cents. You took one hundred and eighty. Where’s the rest? Did you lend it to someone again?”

“Wife, Dongzi’s family is in real trouble. He worked at a private factory this month, and they only paid half his basic salary. His mother hasn’t even got her medicine money this month…”

“Trouble? Why don’t you take a look at yourself! How are we any better? After deducting our daughter’s medicine expenses, do you think we’re living in luxury?”

“Wife…”

“I don’t care about that. Either you go get the money back now and don’t come home until you do, or… we’re done!”

“Dongzi’s mother probably only has six months left. Dongzi said he’ll pay it back…”

“Jian Feng! Don’t forget you have a wife and child! Last month’s rent for the stall came from borrowing from my sister. We’re drowning in debt. Do you think you’re some wealthy boss? If you really were, I’d help you be charitable! But you’re not!”

“…”

“Say something! Why are you quiet now? Aren’t you always so righteous? Do you think you’re the only good person on earth? If this were back when the factory paid regularly, I’d let it go. But look at us! We just paid for the stall rental, and Jian Li will be starting high school soon, which costs money… Why didn’t you think about this when you lent the money?”

—-

The parents’ argument echoed behind the panda-printed door curtain with the words “Peace at Home Brings Prosperity” on it. The evening sun shone through the window, casting an oily, greasy glow on the cement floor.

In the corner of the room hung a cracked mirror. Beside it, a calendar read July 15, 1995, faded and torn at the edges.

Outside the peeling yellow door, the parents were shouting themselves hoarse.

But Jian Li sat in silence, staring at the mirror and calendar in front of her.

Just a second ago, she had been working overtime at the company.

And now? She had returned to being twelve years old.

Tentatively, she pinched her cheek. Feeling the sharp pain, she finally confirmed—this wasn’t a dream.

She really was back in 1995!

Before she could think further, her mother, Wang Mengmei, had already heard her noise.

Wang Mengmei, frustrated by her husband’s passive attitude, was furious. Hearing her daughter, she flung the door open and stormed out, leaving behind a parting curse, “You Jian men are all no good!”

Still dazed, Jian Li hadn’t figured out what was happening but was already scolded. Strangely, she felt relieved.

That scolding tone—this was undoubtedly her mother!

In all her years, whether scolding her husband or daughter, Wang Mengmei’s style never changed:

First, addressing the issue, then dredging up old grievances, followed by personal attacks, and finally sealing it with a judgmental conclusion, branding both father and daughter as hopeless cases.

The days following such fights were always tense, with Jian Li and her father walking on eggshells. They had long mastered survival tactics—doing chores quietly, keeping Wang Mengmei’s hands free from housework, and reading her moods carefully to avoid trouble.

Typically, three days later, when her temper cooled, she would hurl a few more criticisms: “The food’s so bad even dogs wouldn’t eat it,” “What kind of mess is this laundry?” or “The floor’s swept like you’re blind.” Once those words came, it meant the storm had passed.

Sure enough, the door creaked open, and a young, somewhat handsome face peeked in.

Jian Li froze. She hadn’t forgotten how her father looked when he was young—she just hadn’t remembered him looking this young.

Gone was the weariness etched by life’s struggles. The furrowed brows she had grown used to were now smooth and carefree.

Her young father, Jian Feng, hid his worry behind a smile and tried to act casual.

“Sweetheart, your mom’s probably gone to Aunt Lijuan’s house. What do you feel like eating tonight? Dad will make it for you.”

Jian Li stayed silent. Jian Feng smiled helplessly, his youthful face warm with a familiar gentle kindness.

“Let me guess, you don’t like my cooking… I’ll grab something from the cafeteria. Steamed noodles or buns?”

Her stomach betrayed her with a loud growl.

“…Steamed noodles, then.”

“Alright, I’ll be right back,” he said cheerfully.

Watching him leave, his figure was a stark contrast to the hunched shadow she had known. Twenty years had bent his back—how could she have forgotten how tall he once stood?

Pulling out her desk chair, Jian Li sat down, her mind racing.

Outside, the factory’s broadcast crackled to life, a familiar voice from a distant past:

“It’s summer—remember fire and heat safety. Keep to the principles of safe production… Cotton Mill Radio, signing off.”

July in Taoxiang was unbearably hot, with no breeze in sight. This inland northern plain city had neither the sea nor the rivers to offer relief. It was just endless, stifling heat.

Jian Li opened the window, feeling the heat wave hit her face.

The cotton mill was established in the 1960s. At its peak, the number of workers exceeded a thousand, making the western part of the city lively and bustling. It was undoubtedly the largest factory in the area.

However, every glory has its end. After a few booming years, the cotton mill soon faced difficulties.

Especially in the 1990s, the factory resembled an aging old man. Workers were placed on unpaid leave, employment contracts were bought out, and waves of people left one after another. Jian Li’s mother, Wang Mengmei, was among those who retired from the factory kitchen during this process, becoming one of the laid-off workers. Her father, Jian Feng, would eventually follow the same path.

Those who had spent most of their lives working at the factory never imagined that even state-owned enterprises could collapse. After so many years of being workers, they now became what they used to disdainfully refer to as “idle drifters” without jobs.

Many couldn’t accept such a drastic change, including Jian Feng.

Jian Feng had worked at the cotton mill in Peach City for 20 years. Starting in his teens, he never thought the factory would actually close.

Yet that day was fast approaching.

By the end of the following year, after failing to collect payment on a shipment sent to the south, the factory’s capital chain broke. It struggled for a few more months before ultimately collapsing, marking the end of the state-owned giant.

Jian Li exhaled slowly.

In her past life, after her father was laid off, he had no time for despair. The burden of heavy living expenses weighed on his shoulders, and he quickly decided to learn how to drive. Getting a license cost several thousand yuan, using up almost all the family’s savings and even accumulating debt.

Fortunately, he obtained the license. Although renting a car and license plate was costly, even requiring the family to mortgage their house, driving a taxi in the 1990s was profitable, and money soon came rolling in.

Jian Feng carried the weight of his responsibilities without rest. While other taxi drivers worked 8 or 9 hours a day, he drove for 15 or 16 hours, often grabbing meals quickly on the street. During this time, he pushed himself to the point of exhaustion, solely focused on earning money.

Within a year, Jian Feng had made enough to pay off debts and lift the mortgage on their house.

After two more years of hard work, he considered buying his own car. Renting a car and a license was becoming increasingly expensive, and maintaining relationships with taxi company officials required more money each year.

For laid-off workers, especially middle-aged men with families to support, driving a taxi was one of the few promising career options.

Jian Feng discussed it with his wife and decided to borrow money again to buy his own taxi.

But this time, he made a mistake.

A childhood friend from the factory, who had become a used car dealer, kindly offered to sell him a second-hand taxi.

Despite being cautious, Jian Feng never suspected that his friend would deceive him.

The car had hidden defects and a problematic history.

Within three months, the car was confiscated as stolen property.

—-

From that point on, the Jian family never recovered.

The car was gone, and the money was lost.

Jian Feng’s brief ambition to change their circumstances was extinguished by betrayal and one misfortune after another. Wang Mengmei forbade him from trying again.

In Jian Li’s words, her mother was an extreme risk-averse personality.

Anything with even a sliver of risk was unacceptable in her eyes.

Wang Mengmei had been traumatized by years of debt and the deceitful nature of people.

She ran a small pancake stall and insisted Jian Feng take a stable job delivering supplies for a condiment distributor.

Over the years, Jian Li never blamed her mother.

Even when her mother interfered in her life decisions — forcing her to study education after high school under the threat of self-harm, demanding she become a teacher, and later pressuring her to return home for arranged marriages — Jian Li understood.

How many decades does a person have?

Her parents’ prime years were spent worrying about the factory’s decline and struggling to survive in an unstable society.

Wang Mengmei had tried, but the result was ten years of belt-tightening to pay off debts. She had surrendered to fate, clinging fiercely to the small stability of her family, unwilling to risk anything again. Like a mother beast battered by storms, she trusted no one, not even her husband or daughter. Even when life became more bearable, she still held fast to her cautious ways, tasting pain in deliberate austerity.

During the worst year, after paying off a debt just before the new year, the family couldn’t even afford meat.

All they had was a couple of chicken carcasses to make soup.

That night, as firecrackers burst outside, their chicken broth tasted salty with tears.

Since that turning point, Jian Feng had lost his presence in the household.

How many nights had Jian Li heard her father’s heavy breathing from the next room?

It wasn’t a sigh, but a kind of stifling pressure squeezed from his chest.

Light as a feather, yet heavy enough to pin a person down.

Jian Li herself had not escaped the storm of her family either.

She looked at the round, plump face in the mirror, then at the report card she had just fished out from her desk — the end-of-term exam results from last semester.

A weight of 180 pounds and a score of 18 on the test.

Hmm…