[123] Brother Chang'an

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Congrong did not expect her son to say something like that. After a moment of silence, she sighed and said, “No, it’s not possible. Your father and I don’t know anything about business. Earning some money through hard work is enough. When you grow up and become capable, then you can be your own boss and have others work for you.”

“No one is born knowing everything; it’s all learned bit by bit.”

Fang Chang’an understood his parents’ perspective but was unwilling to watch them stop moving forward out of fear and reverence for the unknown. His mother in his previous life, past her fifties, often lamented and regretted not knowing anything when she was young. By the time she wanted to try, she was already too old and too tired to do so.

Having been given a second chance at life, Fang Chang’an wanted to make up not only for his own regrets but for more.

His foresight was actually quite limited—for example, he knew Maotai stock would rise and that Maotai liquor would increase in price, but he didn’t know which specific Maotai bottles would become valuable; he only had a vague direction.

In such a case, the only option was to strive forward toward that direction, which didn’t mean taking shortcuts.

Of course, from another perspective, knowing the direction was itself a kind of shortcut.

“Don’t think so far ahead,” Congrong sighed, ending the topic. Everyone understood the big truths—Fang Chang’an, Fang Changming, and Fang Yanran could probably all say some of them—but putting them into practice and making firm decisions was never that easy.

Her greatest hope in life now was for her son to have enough money to pay tuition and eat well, for her husband to drink and gamble less, and preferably to settle the family’s debts.

That was as much as she could imagine, even dare to dream.

Fang Chang’an knew there was no rush. After casually mentioning it to his mother, he changed the subject to share some amusing incidents from school, like how two girls sitting beside and behind him both managed to slip their hands into his gloves.

Congrong was indeed more interested, a smile appearing on her face as she asked, “Your deskmate is Shen Mo, right? And the girl behind you is Wang Ke?”

Fang Chang’an smiled, “You remember quite well.”

“Are you on good terms with both of them?”

“Not bad, we sit close after all.”

“How are their grades?”

“Uh, Shen Mo is better—she ranked fifth in the midterms, and third or fourth in the unit test. Wang Ke is a bit behind, in the twenties for midterms, and teens for the unit test.”

In the previous life, Shen Mo’s grades had been excellent, while Wang Ke’s were only average. This time, Wang Ke’s grades had improved significantly and were still rising. Fang Chang’an naturally credited his own influence without any psychological pressure.

“What does Wang Ke’s family do?”

“How would I know?” Fang Chang’an answered casually and asked, “Why do you ask?”

“Nothing, just curious.”

As they finished eating, Fang Lujun called. He was making a long-distance call from a phone booth, which cost sixty cents per minute, so Fang Changming took the call, confirmed it was their father, then hung up and called back.

Initially, they tried to stretch the call to fifty seconds before hanging up and redialing, but the other side had already counted a full minute’s charge, so from then on, they just answered and immediately called back.

Fang Lujun’s calls were mostly the same—asking about home, talking about how much he earned this month. His wages were all held by his boss, to be tallied at year’s end; the monthly living expenses had to be drawn in advance, and asking for his own money felt like begging.

Since he knew the family was short on money and he was away, he always tried to take as much as possible each month.

This call was no different—he asked about Fang Chang’an’s school situation, how Fang Changming and Fang Yanran were doing, when final exams and holidays would be, and that his factory’s holiday schedule wasn’t yet set but he expected to come home before the twentieth of the twelfth lunar month. He also complained about how hard it was to get train tickets.

Long-distance calls cost thirty-nine cents for local calls and forty cents per minute. After four or five minutes, Fang Lujun reminded Fang Chang’an to study hard and told Fang Changming and Fang Yanran to behave, then hung up.

“Dad will be back in a month!”

Fang Changming and Fang Yanran were very excited, partly because they missed him, and partly because they remembered Dad promised to buy a color TV for the New Year. They looked forward to watching TV on the big screen.

Congrong looked at the two children, sighed, but smiled, saying, “Yes, when Dad comes home for the New Year, he’ll buy you a big color TV.”

————

Longwan District, Wenzhou City, a very remote suburb. In the darkness, a road built for transport was flanked on both sides by dilapidated houses and factory buildings arranged unevenly and chaotically. Viewed from above, the dim lights appeared as tiny glowing clusters in the night.

In a narrow, cramped alley, Fang Lujun emerged from a “phone booth” made by partitioning a wooden room. He paid sixty cents to the boss—long-distance calls cost sixty cents per minute, plus ten cents for call-back answering.

Two workmates who came with him paid the same seventy cents each and left the makeshift phone booth, one saying, “Let’s go get some dishes and have a drink?”

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There was a small shop by the street, mainly serving migrant laborers like them. After a hard day’s work, most would order a couple of dishes and some cheap wine. For two or three people, it usually cost thirty or forty yuan—a rare comfort in their dull, exhausting lives.

Another said, “Alright, today’s on me... Lujun, you’re coming?”

Fang Lujun looked tempted but hesitated and shook his head with a smile, “No, I won’t go.”

“You know your son’s waiting at home for you to buy the TV. I’m treating—won’t cost you a dime.”

The man cheerfully reached to pull Fang Lujun along.

“Hey—no, really, you guys go ahead. I’ll just have a bowl of rice noodles.”

Fang Lujun broke free from his friend’s grip, somewhat embarrassed, explaining, “Next time, next time for sure. After I buy my son the TV this year, I’ll treat you next year.”

“Alright, alright.”

Seeing he wouldn’t budge, the two felt a bit disappointed but didn’t press further and left.

Fang Lujun walked to the end of the alley, turned into another narrow lane, and entered a small shop with a heavily stained signboard that was illegible. He spoke with a strong accent but still intelligible, with a slightly odd Mandarin, calling out to the busy old couple behind the counter, “Boss’s wife, one bowl of rice noodles, extra chili.”

When the steaming noodles arrived, he ate a few bites, hesitated, then called out again, “Bring me a bottle of beer.”

After finishing the noodles and beer, Fang Lujun returned to the factory. At the side of the factory gate facing the street was a narrow, rusty iron staircase leading up to simple dormitories.

He was lucky to get a single room. Using a key, he opened the crude wooden door and turned on the light. The simple room had a bed, a roughly nailed wooden table for meals, and a small low table for miscellaneous items—left behind by the previous occupant.

Without brushing his teeth or washing his face, he took off his shoes, socks, and clothes, lay down on the bed, and leafed through a stack of obviously yellowed pirated books beside his pillow—titles like "Tales of the Wandering Swordsman," "The Proud Twins," and "Smiling Proud Wanderer." He picked one he hadn’t read much, "Tales of the Wandering Swordsman," and started reading.

Under the dim light, pages turned one by one. Days passed.

The year’s end was finally approaching.

At school, the schedule for the holidays and final exams had been posted: from January 8th, a four-day final exam would be held; exams would end on the 11th, and the winter break would start on the 12th, the twenty-first day of the twelfth lunar month.

Because of exams, classrooms would be insufficient. Perhaps to give students a last-minute chance to cram, or to prevent early exams for one grade from ruining others’ moods and results, the school scheduled first-year exams in the morning and second-year exams in the afternoon.

As for third-year students, they would take exams after first and second years finished, with ample time and available classrooms.

Since the finals were near, from the evening of the 4th when they returned to school, the entire campus seemed to enter an atmosphere triggered by this special period. Even during breakfast, more students began reciting vocabulary and formulas.

Many were choked by their own food.

To ensure a satisfactory end to the semester, Fang Chang’an devoted more time to studying.

On Sunday, Cheng Mengfei even once decided not to let him borrow any more books that week, worried that it would distract him from reviewing. After half a day of guarantees from Fang Chang’an about his talent and capabilities, the teacher relented, and he borrowed two more books.

After finishing "Lu Xun," Fang Chang’an consciously divided his reading into two categories: one focused on poetry and literature, the other on economics, finance, and even industry. The former was undoubtedly easier to read; the latter, frankly, was mostly incomprehensible and hard to digest.

Fang Chang’an persevered through this, rather than relying on his reputation as “Brother Chang’an,” the school’s top student, or his looks to “enjoy” junior high life. A large part of his motivation came from Shen Mo.

At the start of his rebirth, his goal was clear and simple: to change the family’s broken fate and bring wealth and health to his loved ones.

At first, he was excited, confused, and helpless, unable to find direction even for this small goal. Now, with his father working away, hardship was certain for a while, but as long as he broadened his horizons and mind, with the funds from the bun shop, his own drive, and Shen Chengyan’s support, leading the whole family out of poverty toward moderate prosperity was by no means difficult.

Whether it took three to five years or just two to three, the family’s situation would improve greatly.

This short-term goal was already underway.

Yet Fang Chang’an found himself no longer satisfied. This dissatisfaction and unwillingness stemmed partly from his inner ambition.

Reborn! Heaven had given him such a precious chance. Was he to simply buy stocks and live off dividends, speculate on real estate appreciation, and lie back waiting for money to fall into his lap?

Or wait for the mobile internet era to arrive and ride on WeChat’s coattails like before?

On the other hand, it was also triggered by Shen Mo—her background and the impact it had.

Even after the New Year, when Shen Mo would turn eleven in February, Fang Chang’an, due to his body and environment, still showed some “childishness” outwardly, but deep inside, he was a mature soul.

In both his past and present lives, Shen Mo was just a little girl. There was no romance, but perhaps because of the flutter he once felt, or because of a semester spent together, he was very reluctant about her upcoming transfer.

This reminded him of the shock and... timidity he felt when he first learned about Shen Mo’s grandfather and uncle’s background.

If it weren’t for this, even if Shen Mo transferred to a city school, the separation would be only two years. When he entered the city’s No.1 High School, she would likely attend the same school. At least then, they would still be in the same place.

What truly separated them wasn’t Shen Mo’s transfer but his timid retreat from that day onward.

From a rational perspective, Fang Chang’an could understand and sympathize with his reaction, and he had even convinced himself to accept this fact.

However, returning to school after New Year’s weekend, he realized he had not truly persuaded himself.

Only one week remained until the holiday. After the exam, winter break would begin; after the New Year, it would end.

Back at school, whenever he returned to his seat, left it, stretched from reading, or dozed off, the delicate, rosy-cheeked little girl beside him was no longer there.

They might still meet at Shen Chengyan’s house or at the city’s No.1 High School, but Fang Chang’an knew clearly that once she transferred, their paths diverged, never to cross again.

This was ordinary, common. In the previous life, that was exactly what happened—they parted and never reunited.

But with a second chance, was he to resign himself to this fate?

If he had ambition and refused to be a “sloth” relying on his foresight advantage to wait for money to fall from the sky, if he aimed to become an entrepreneur of renown like Ren Zhengfei or Jack Ma, would he be scared off and retreat just because he heard about Shen Mo’s family background?

This inner struggle, hesitation, and conflict had in fact emerged unnoticed since he first heard about Shen Mo’s family, but Fang Chang’an had never realized it.

For a long time, he simply thought subconsciously, “I know some wind currents even a pig can ride to fly. Flying up is not hard, but not falling down isn’t just about luck!”

Driven by this thought, he worked hard to keep up with current affairs and read potentially useful books.

It wasn’t until the morning of the 8th, after the first geography exam, that Fang Chang’an truly made a decision.

That was the first math exam of the finals. After submitting his paper early and leaving the classroom, he was heading down the stairs to the restroom when a soft, delicate voice called out, “Fang Chang’an!”

He turned to see Shen Mo stepping down the stairs in small, quick steps, wearing a pure white hooded down jacket. She had clearly seen him long before but didn’t dare call out in the corridor, fearing it would disturb classmates still taking the exam. Catching up with him while slightly out of breath, her pale, radiant face flushed faintly as she teased, “Why are you walking so fast?”

Though it was the dead of winter, the brilliant sunlight brought little warmth as it streamed through the hallway, illuminating the lower floor around the corner with only a thin ray.

That ray of sunlight shone on the little girl. The white fluffy trim on her jacket’s hood, combined with the sunlight, highlighted her flawless, translucent face like ice and jade.

Fang Chang’an looked at the delicate, porcelain-like face and remembered how he had once pinched it. Thinking of their impending separation, he reached out to pinch it again.

The little girl immediately recoiled, eyes wide and shining, glaring at him like a wary fawn threatening a hunter with a gun—innocent, naive, yet adorable.

Fang Chang’an withdrew his hand, pretending nothing had happened, smiling teasingly, “We’ve known each other so long, and you still call me Fang Chang’an?”

Shen Mo followed him downstairs, puzzled, “What else should I call you?”

Walking side by side in the narrow west corridor of the teaching building, he turned to her with a smile, “Call me brother. I’m older than you. Like Brother Chang’an. That sounds nice, right?”

The little girl pouted and turned her head away, “No way.”

“Just once?”

“No.”

“Just one word?”

“No!”

“The New Year is coming. Consider it a gift to me.”

“No, no, no! No, no! No!”

From going downstairs to the restroom, then back upstairs, Fang Chang’an coaxed her but never got a single “Brother Chang’an.” Suddenly, he felt that if he could never touch her snow-white skin again or hear her call him “Brother Chang’an,” it would be a great regret for his life.

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