Who says youth cannot return once more in life?

Boom, boom, boom.

Amidst the curtain of rain, a diesel engine roared as a farm tricycle bumped its way down a muddy field path, riddled with puddles and potholes.

Fang Chang'an huddled under his umbrella, perched precariously on a narrow wooden bench. The seat was far from steady, making him sway with every jolt of the vehicle.

He gripped the side of the tricycle, cold raindrops pelting the back of his hand, while his shoulders, back, and pant legs were already soaked through. A gust of wind, heavy with moisture, swept past, bringing a chill that roused him from his reverie. Drawing a deep breath, he gazed into the distance, eyes fixed on the direction of the village.

Beyond stretches of farmland, where corn and cotton plants stood half-submerged, a great river cut across the road far ahead. What was once a mere creek behind the village had swelled with days of relentless rain—so much so that, on his way to the town for school that morning, the water at the stone bridge had already risen halfway up the piers.

In his memory, this was a first. Even in the thirty years he remembered from his past life, it had never happened again.

It was the autumn of 2003. Continuous downpours brought floods across the Huai River basin. Though his own village was far from the river, spared the worst except for heavy rain, the rising waters would still, by tomorrow, briefly submerge the stone bridge and flood all the fields on the southern bank.

Yet, what weighed on Fang Chang'an's mind was not this natural disaster, but a looming calamity wrought by human hands, one he remembered all too well.

"Damn it, how has the water gotten so high?"

His uncle, Fang Luyong, was at the wheel and had evidently seen the river's state, cursing in the local Jianghuai dialect.

As they drew closer, his father, Fang Lujun, his mother, Congrong, and his aunt, Wang Yuxiu—all riding in the back—turned to look toward the river.

"What a flood! Oh, heavens..." Wang Yuxiu exclaimed.

The whole family, born and raised on the inland plain, had never climbed a mountain or seen much water. For a moment, they were all struck by awe and an instinctive, faint sense of fear.

Suddenly, the tricycle lurched; the wheel on Fang Chang'an's side sank into a mud pit. Uncle Fang Luyong gripped the handlebars, muscles taut, and jammed the accelerator.

The diesel engine thundered, belching black smoke, and the whole bed of the tricycle shuddered with the effort. But the wheel spun uselessly in the mire; no matter how the engine roared, it was all in vain.

"I'll get out and push!" his father, Fang Lujun, called, hopping down from the tricycle. His mother tried to hand him the umbrella, but he strode straight to the back, his thin blue shirt quickly soaked through.

"One, two, three!"

Father and uncle worked in unison—one pushing, one revving the engine. Uncle Fang Luyong twisted the handlebars, trying to steer the front wheel out of the pit, but the engine howled for a long moment without result.

Seeing this, his mother raised her umbrella, preparing to climb down as well. Aunt Wang Yuxiu craned her neck to look, then nimbly jumped down to help.

Though Congrong moved first, she was less agile than Wang Yuxiu, who was already standing to one side, bracing her feet for a better grip in the mud.

"One, two, three!"

Father gritted his teeth, face flushed red with effort; the tricycle rocked, seemed about to break free, then sank back again.

Fang Chang'an, umbrella in hand, searched for a spot on the muddy road to jump down and help. His father spotted him and shouted, "Chang'an, you stay put!"

Aunt Wang Yuxiu echoed, "Just sit there. You won't be much help, and you'll just get dirty."

His mother, just landing on the ground, added, "Don't come down, Chang'an."

Fang Chang'an didn't reply. He picked a higher patch of dirt by the field's edge, hopped down carefully to stand beside his mother, and joined in to help push.

From his future life, standing over 1.8 meters tall, he wouldn’t even need to jump to get off the tricycle. But at this moment, he was only twelve, already tall for his age at nearly 1.6 meters, yet in this task, as the only child, neither his height nor strength meant much.

Still, even lightening the load a little helped.

And for Fang Chang'an, the greatest significance in jumping down to push was never about the help he could offer.

It was that he had gotten off the tricycle.

No one in the world could possibly understand the turmoil of his recent days, especially today—the anxiety, fear, anticipation, excitement—all these emotions wracking him.

He had tried, days in advance, to change the outcome of today. He did everything he could.

He’d said, before leaving, that the rain was too heavy and the school would postpone the opening. It was useless—his grandfather, uncle, and parents all insisted he must go to the town school, rain or no rain.

On the way back, he argued that the river was unsafe, suggesting they take another route—the Sunlou Bridge was newer, higher, and a proper road, not just a muddy path. But no one listened.

As a child about to start middle school, quiet and reserved since birth, he might be the pride of his family, but he had no say in decisions.

In the rural North China of 2003, few parents consulted their children or cared about their feelings unless it was obvious. For all the elders, taking him to register at school was their greatest duty—hail or high water, nothing would stop them.

"One, two..."

Rain spattered his face, water streaming down his cheeks. Fang Chang'an joined his father's count, mustering all his strength to push.

Whether because everyone was off the tricycle now, or because combined effort mattered, the vehicle finally lurched free.

He wasn't surprised; in his past life, he’d stayed in the bed and the tricycle had gotten out anyway—perhaps it took longer then, but maybe that was just his mind playing tricks.

No matter what, this time, in the same situation, he had made a different choice.

He had been given life anew, a second chance to choose; as a man past thirty, how could he do worse than his twelve-year-old self?

When the tricycle broke free, he nearly stumbled from pushing too hard, almost falling, muddying his clothes. He didn’t mind; he brushed off the mud and looked up to see his mother watching him. He flashed her a bright smile, then climbed back into the bed of the tricycle.

The engine roared to life again, carrying the five of them to the bridge behind the village. From afar, they could see the unprecedented, surging muddy river rushing eastward, the old stone beam bridge standing silently as the water churned below.

The bridge would still be standing, safe, twenty years from now, but the dirt roads at both ends were already flooded. Rainwater pooled, streaming from the fields to the river in a swift current.

They couldn’t see the road, but fields flanked both banks; the path was well-trodden, and even Fang Chang'an, rarely in the fields, knew its course.

Uncle Fang Luyong, worried about getting stuck again, called out, "Better get down and walk, or we'll just be stuck again."

His father agreed and turned to Fang Chang'an. "Get down, roll up your pants, and walk across."

Fang Chang'an responded, jumping down.

The rain had lessened. Uncle Fang Luyong shifted into first and drove the tricycle into the water, body swaying with the vehicle as he steered carefully toward the bridge.

The field edge was higher, with some ground still visible on the left, so the four of them disembarked there. His father rolled up his pant legs and walked ahead, umbrella-less, keeping an eye on his brother while leading the way.

Fang Chang'an wore sandals, rolling up his pants as he went. He took his time, umbrella in one hand, and by the time he straightened up, his mother had already overtaken him.

The order was Fang Lujun, Wang Yuxiu, Congrong, and Fang Chang'an at the rear.

Seeing this, Fang Chang'an finally let out a breath of relief. He glanced at the connection between the stone bridge and the road, where the rainwater had carved a small breach. Water gushed into the river below.

He inhaled deeply.

At this very spot in his previous life, as twelve-year-old Fang Chang'an stepped onto the bridge, his foot slipped—caught by the current—he stumbled, stepped on the soft edge of the breach, and fell into the river.

For rural folk, every inch of land is life itself. The families by the river would plant crops right up to the water’s edge. The field here, now submerged, had once been full of corn, the stalks now invisible beneath the flood.

Fang Chang'an, a small child who couldn’t swim, would have been swept away.

His mother, walking behind him, lunged to grab him as he fell.

Doted on as the only daughter in her family, Congrong had never been made to carry water even as a child. Though she worked the fields after marrying, she was never very strong.

She caught his hand, but failed to save him—instead, she too fell in.

Aunt Wang Yuxiu, quick and sturdy from years of farm work, grabbed for Congrong, but with both their weights, the edge gave way. All three were swept into the river.

Seeing his wife and child fall, Fang Lujun, timid all his life, suddenly found courage and leapt from the bridge to save them.

By luck, Fang Chang'an and the women managed to grab submerged branches and were rescued. But his father, though he could swim in shallows, stood no chance in the rain-swollen current. He was swept away before he could reach them.

He was found the next afternoon, lifeless.

That event changed the family’s fate forever. Fang Chang'an lived ever after with guilt and unease, and his mother raised three children alone through hardship he need not recount.

Now, he had a chance to change it all.

After accepting the reality of his rebirth, Fang Chang'an had pondered this day constantly. He had anticipated he might not be able to prevent the trip to the town school.

His father and aunt safely crossing the breach ahead proved that as long as one avoided the weakened edge and didn't slip, the crossing was safe.

If not for his own misstep, the disaster would never have happened.

He had rehearsed this moment in his mind countless times before today, confirming that the tragedy could be averted.

Even so, he hoped for a change in the order they walked, to bolster his confidence in changing fate.

"Chang'an, you come up front," his mother suddenly said, stopping before the breach and motioning for him to go first.

"It's fine, Mom, you go ahead!"

Fang Chang'an watched his mother standing by the breach, heart pounding, afraid that the butterfly effect might trigger another mishap. He steadied himself and urged her to cross quickly.

She stood her ground, urging him forward.

Afraid that hesitation would cause trouble, he stepped into the water closer to the center of the road, keeping a good half-meter from the edge, and circled past, warning, "Mom, stay away from the side, it's caved in there!"

His father and aunt, already across, turned to watch him.

The mud beneath the water made footing tricky. Fang Chang'an, in sandals, was extra careful, moving with exaggerated caution.

His aunt, used to farm labor, watched his dainty progress with amusement. "Just look at him—even walking, he's delicate," she teased his mother.

Fang Chang'an took after his mother in both looks and temperament—fair-skinned and gentle, often the subject of family jokes about being born into the wrong body.

He paid no mind to her jest, tiptoeing past the breach and breathing a silent sigh of relief, then turned to anxiously watch his mother.

"Please, let there be no butterfly effect..."

Under his silent prayer, his mother made it past the breach with care and safety; only then did Fang Chang'an truly relax.

His father, seeing his son across, continued on. Aunt Wang Yuxiu urged him along as well.

Fang Chang'an and his mother stepped onto the stone bridge. Looking down at the surging muddy water below, he felt the silent shift of fate, and a quiet sense of pride stirred in his heart.

The river beneath his feet ran tirelessly east, never to return. Yet Fang Chang'an had miraculously returned to his youth.

Though he knew little of this era and could not, like the heroes of rebirth novels, turn the world upside down with a wave of his hand, he had no such ambitions. All he wanted was a peaceful, happy life.

This was the era when China would open the door to a century of transformation, when the lives of ordinary people would be forever changed, ushering in an age of plenty and prosperity.

With the insight of nearly twenty years of future experience, he had no desire for glory—only to see his poor, struggling family share in the nation’s rise and live a good life. Surely, that was not too much to ask.