As if he suddenly remembered something, William Carter looked around in shock. That’s right, isn’t this his old home?

But... William Carter’s gaze fell on the rough calendar hanging on the wall, from which a page had just been torn off.

July 8, 1990! Sunday! Several bold red characters stood out clearly on the crudely printed calendar.

This was his father’s habit: every morning after getting up, he would tear off a page from the calendar, then write down the things to do for the day on it.

This habit had always influenced him. Although he never developed the habit of keeping a diary, he did learn from his father to write down the most important things to do each day, prioritizing them by urgency, and trying not to exceed three tasks a day. It was said to be the most efficient way to work, and this habit had accompanied him for more than twenty years. But what on earth was going on?

Why would the calendar show a date from twenty-one years ago?!

William Carter could choose not to believe his own eyes, or even his own mind, but he couldn’t deny his feelings—the lightness throughout his body and that indescribable sense of familiarity.

William Carter sat dazed on the bed, immersed in this strange atmosphere. He didn’t dare to step outside. He was afraid he couldn’t handle it—whether it was overwhelming joy, utter confusion, or just empty happiness, he really didn’t know what he would feel.

Just as William Carter’s heart was torn between hesitation and bewilderment, a series of soft footsteps sounded outside the door. Such familiar footsteps could only exist in his memory, and he could hardly believe it.

With a creak, the door was pushed open. His mother’s familiar figure appeared at the doorway, a basket in her hand containing some scallions, celery, and a piece of pork belly. “Sanzi, you’re awake? Who did you drink so much with last night? Your body is your own. You don’t feel it when you’re young, but you’ll know when you’re old. Drink more water!”

“Mom, it’s nothing, just this once. I’m fine now.” William Carter’s voice was a little low. Seeing the concern in his mother’s eyes, a warm current surged in his chest, making the corners of his eyes involuntarily moist.

His mother sighed softly and put down the basket. “Sanzi, I know you’re feeling bad. Seeing you like this, your dad didn’t sleep well last night either. He went out early this morning. Our family can only do so much. Your dad can’t let go of his pride, but don’t blame him.”

William Carter took a deep breath. July 7, 1990—the 53rd anniversary of the Lugou Bridge Incident. He remembered it very clearly.

Not because it was the 53rd anniversary of the Lugou Bridge Incident, but because the news that he was being assigned back to his hometown, Nantang, had been confirmed.

Half a month earlier, the Party Committee of Factory 195 had overturned their previous agreement to let him join the factory, deciding to accept only children of double-worker families. Since he was from a single-worker family and his household registration wasn’t with the factory, they used the excuse of not breaking precedent to reject him.

All his previous efforts had been in vain, and his hopes had turned to nothing.

And because of this, he had to return to his hometown—Nantang County in the Liyang region, where his household registration was. What’s more, because he hadn’t had time to make any arrangements, he was assigned to the most remote Dongpo Township.

Chapter Two: I Can Change

William Carter had never figured out why Party Secretary Mark Goodwin had vetoed his entry into the factory at the Party Committee meeting.

Before that, Deputy Party Secretary George Grant and Deputy Factory Director James Jennings had both clearly told his father that, given his father’s many years as a model worker, the factory would give priority to this and resolve his entry into the factory. Party Secretary Mark Goodwin had basically agreed as well.

But at the Party Committee meeting, Mark Goodwin suddenly turned against the idea and vetoed it. Although the official reason was that they couldn’t set a precedent, everyone knew that wasn’t the real reason—no one dared to question Mark Goodwin, who had always had the final say in the factory.

The real reason wouldn’t be known until eight years after Party Secretary Mark Goodwin had already retired.

It was by chance, while fishing together, that Mark Goodwin told his father, not without regret, that someone had told him during the assignment process that he had been too active at school, his performance wasn’t good, and he had a serious tendency toward bourgeois liberalization. That was why he hadn’t agreed to let him join the factory.

His father didn’t press to find out who had badmouthed him to Mark Goodwin, and even if he had asked, Mark Goodwin wouldn’t have said. After all, the decision was his to make at the time—that was his responsibility.

But by then, working at the Nantang County Committee, he knew that the only people who could have attacked him from that angle and through those special channels were, besides Deputy Party Secretary George Grant, Deputy Party Secretary and Discipline Secretary Frank Brooks.

After all, in personnel matters, those two had the most say. George Grant had a good relationship with Deputy Factory Director James Jennings and was known for his integrity, so he would never do such a thing. That left only Frank Brooks.

Frank Brooks was close to the brothers Brian Young and Samuel Young. Brian Young’s son, Paul Young, like himself, was also a university graduate and was also pursuing Nancy Jennings. The end result was that he was assigned hundreds of miles away to Nantang, while Paul Young and Nancy Jennings entered the factory together.