“It was written by me.” The teacher’s eyes sparkled as she took my notebook, clicking her tongue in admiration. “Kids from staff families really are different. So young, yet your calligraphy is so beautiful. It’s all thanks to Mr. Walker’s excellent teaching…” Mr. Walker? Hmm, that’s my dad she’s talking about. I remember my dad once said he used to be a teacher. Maybe my current teacher was even his student.

Both my parents are government employees—ordinary cadres, of course, with no real power. But in the Walker Hill brigade, that already makes them quite remarkable figures. Plus, my dad is multi-talented—he can play all sorts of instruments and sing, but he’s especially famous for his calligraphy, well-known in all the neighboring villages.

It seems having an outstanding father is always an advantage. “A hero’s son is a hero too”—the teacher probably thinks I inherited my dad’s artistic genes. But that’s absolutely a misconception; I’ve hardly inherited any of my dad’s strengths.

Well, that was in my previous life. Now that I’ve been reborn, things should be at least a little different. Learning more can’t hurt.

The teacher praised me for a while, then casually tore out those two pages of new characters, saying she’d post them on the wall for all the students to see, as an example.

Oh my god, she’s going to make me out to be a child prodigy. I remember in my previous life, when I was in elementary school, my calligraphy was a mess—no way would the teacher have used it as a model. Now, in this new life, this happens right away. I guess it’s a case of unintended good fortune.

In my previous life, in terms of IQ, I was actually pretty smart. I could read from a young age, and my parents were genuinely happy about that for years. But as I got older, I gradually lost interest in studying, and in the end, I couldn’t get into a decent university—barely scraped by with a junior college diploma. That really disappointed my parents. It also affected my whole life—I couldn’t find a good job, couldn’t make money, and at best was just a working-class nobody.

As the only son of the The Walker Family, I was a textbook failure in my previous life. I still feel deeply guilty—toward my parents, my relatives, my wife and child. It was all my own lack of ability that let everyone down.

Heaven took pity on me and gave me another chance at life. I don’t wish for great wealth or high status. As the saying goes, “Destiny is partly fate, partly effort.” Whether it’s time travel or reincarnation, great fortune is always up to the heavens. I can’t rely on my foreknowledge to force undeserved blessings. But I can at least be filial to my parents, kind to my wife and child, and loyal to my relatives and friends. I’m seven years old this year; in my previous life, my wife was still just a clueless little girl, and a son was out of the question, so I won’t worry about that for now. For now, I’ll just be a prodigy and make my parents happy. If I could make them happy for a few years in my last life, surely I can at least do that much in this one.

I suppose this counts as the first real decision I’ve made since being reborn.

But making a decision is easy; actually carrying it out is much harder. It’s not that first-grade coursework is going to stump me—there’s no way that could happen. The real challenge is sitting up straight with my hands behind my back, listening intently to the teacher explain “1+1=2.” That’s real torture. People talk about the hardship of “ten years of study,” but for me, just getting through these “five years of iron bars” in elementary school (it was five years back then, not six like later) is going to be tough.

Having just come back, my mind is a mess, and I have no idea how I’m going to live from now on. In 1976, society was rigid beyond belief. Forget about traveling between provinces—even moving from the countryside to the county seat in the same county required a letter of introduction from the brigade. Otherwise, you couldn’t even stay at a guesthouse, and if you loitered on the street, you had to watch out for the police and the neighborhood committee ladies. Even though I have forty years of life experience and know the country’s development trends for the next thirty years like a modern-day “Zhuge Liang,” I’m stuck in the body of a seven-year-old. I can’t even come home late after school, let alone leave the Walker Hill brigade to wander around. All this knowledge, and nowhere to use it.

Still frustrated!

Chapter 3: Family Reunion

Finally, the bell rang for the end of class. Two or three dozen little kids cheered and rushed out of the classroom in a swarm, shouting and yelling, starting all sorts of “hand games.” Walker Hill Elementary had neither a basketball court nor a ping-pong table—there were zero recreational or sports facilities, so what else could they do but play with their hands?

I walked slowly out of the classroom, staring blankly at my “classmates” running and chasing each other across the dusty playground, raising clouds of dust, and couldn’t help but give a wry smile.

Is this what my entertainment will be for the next few years?

In my previous life, whenever I had free time, I’d hide in my dorm and surf the internet, chatting with nameless, faceless netizens from all over, or watch movies and play games. Even so, I still felt unbearably lonely, drifting through the days with a head full of dirty thoughts, always wanting some one-night stand for excitement.

Now, back in 1976, computers aren’t even a thing yet.

It really brings to mind a line from Li Qingzhao—“How can one word ‘sorrow’ sum it all up?”

“Hey—Little John!” A crisp, girlish shout snapped me out of my thoughts.