There were just too many puppies at home, making it hard to feed them all, so Brian Walker's nickname was given as "Goudanzi" (Dog Egg), meaning there wouldn't be any more little ones after him.

Old Johnson's family was just an ordinary household in this mountain village, scraping by on a few acres of poor farmland and whatever Old Mr. Johnson could bring back from hunting. Life was tough. Although he hunted, first, Old Mr. Johnson really wasn't much of a hunter—he rarely brought back anything significant from the mountains. Second, even if he did get something, it was always sold for daily necessities. So, in their home, you couldn't expect to eat meat even once a year. For someone who used to eat fish and meat all the time, this was a kind of torment. But luckily, at three years old, he was just a bit malnourished. Eating cornmeal porridge every day at least kept him from starving. Occasionally, if luck was good and he got to eat some wild game, it felt like New Year's happiness.

Mountain folk have strong survival skills, and he had inherited good genes.

After three years, he was used to it. The dark cornbread and the yellowish cornmeal porridge no longer disgusted him; he could eat them with his eyes closed.

What bothered him most was the loneliness. This wasn't the kind of "playing with loneliness" he used to brag about online—this was real, genuine loneliness.

Just imagine: the soul of a man in his thirties trapped in a baby's body for three years. How lonely is that? He couldn't say what he wanted to say, couldn't do what he wanted to do. When others pinched his cheeks or flicked his little willy, he couldn't resist at all. And he even had to wear split-crotch pants—what kind of life was this, for fuck's sake!

Luckily, now that he was a bit older, although he still wore split-crotch pants, there were basically no more people coming to flick his little JJ.

It was May now, and the weather had warmed up. He dragged a little stool into the yard, sat on it, and stared blankly at the old locust tree in the yard, his mind wandering with all sorts of random, nonsensical thoughts, not moving at all.

“Goudanzi, Goudanzi, come on, time to eat!” He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there when a rough but pleasant voice called out to him. Brian Walker knew it was Goudanzi's mother—his own mother now—calling him to eat.

He lifted his cold butt off the little stool and ran back into the house.

This wasn't like his previous life, with three meals a day whenever you wanted. Here, you only got two meals a day: one around ten in the morning, and the other now, around five or six in the evening. That was already good—when food was really tight, even one meal a day was considered lucky.

Dinner was still cornmeal porridge, with dark cornbread, but tonight there was an extra plate of dark pickled vegetables.

The whole family sat around one table. In these times, women didn't have much status, but mountain families didn't stand on ceremony. Of the eight people in the family, six sat at the main table, while Brian Walker and his third brother, being too young, ate on a small bench to the side.

All in all, Old Johnson was quite fond of Brian Walker, simply because he was obedient.

This little guy had never really caused any trouble since he was born. Of his five children, even though mountain kids were generally easy to raise, none were as easy as Goudanzi. Since birth, he had never wet the bed or soiled his pants—not even once. That was no small feat! The third boy was already nine and just yesterday had soiled his pants!

Old Johnson seemed preoccupied, eating with his head down and saying nothing. Since he didn't speak, no one else dared to either, so dinner was a bit gloomy.

“Slurp, slurp, slurp...”

Just as Goudanzi was struggling with half a piece of dark cornbread, he heard this sound and knew dinner at Old Johnson's house was about to end, because this was Old Mr. Johnson's signature move when taking his last bite.

Once Old Mr. Johnson finished eating, everyone else had to stop, even if they weren't done, and wait for him to leave.

But today was different—he didn't leave.

“Xiaohua, Tyler Walker is back. Get ready and pick a good day to marry over!”

Xiaohua was Goudanzi's older sister, Hannah Johnson.

She had been promised to someone at the age of ten—a family at the east end of the village, five generations with only one son each time, and in this generation, it was the Tyler Walker that Old Mr. Johnson was talking about.

Tyler Walker was nineteen this year. According to village custom, he should have married the fourteen-year-old Hannah Johnson when he was sixteen. But at sixteen, he was conscripted into the army and served for three years, only just returning yesterday.

Five generations with only one son each time—his parents were desperate for a grandson. As soon as he got back, before he could even settle in, they were already rushing him to marry Hannah Johnson.

Hannah Johnson wasn't exactly beautiful, but she was decent-looking. At seventeen, she was full of youthful energy. What was that saying from Goudanzi's previous life?

Youth is invincible. Yes, that's it—youth is invincible.