Volume One: The Newly Born Softie

Chapter 1: Is the Candy Sweet?

1976, the year of Bingchen in the lunar calendar, also known as the Year of the Dragon. According to the old Chinese saying, those born under the earthly branch (zodiac) of the Dragon—whether it’s the year, month, day, or a person’s zodiac sign—are supposed to have the best or possibly the worst fate: if you have fortune, it will help you; if not, it will harm you. What belongs to you will benefit you, what doesn’t will be detrimental.

In 1976, there were many significant events, both good and bad, in human society and in nature—so many, so great, it was truly a stormy, turbulent year, with dramatic ups and downs, earth-shaking and world-shattering.

For every Chinese person living at that time, this year was likely unforgettable for a lifetime. Several major events happened: first, in January, Premier Zhou, who had devoted his life to New China, passed away. Before the nation could recover from this immense grief, Commander-in-Chief Zhu De died in July. Then, at the end of July, a mere 23-second earthquake in Tangshan, Hebei, claimed the lives of hundreds of thousands, catching all of China and even the world off guard.

But that wasn’t the end. Less than two months later, more bad news came from the central government: Chairman Mao also passed away in Beijing on September 9th. The Chairman, the Premier, and the Commander-in-Chief—the three giants of the nation—all passed away within a single year. At the same time, New China suffered its greatest natural disaster since its founding, with almost the entire city of Tangshan leveled by an earthquake. To call it a national tragedy is no exaggeration; the whole country was shrouded in sorrow and gloom.

One day in September of that same year, Beijing was shrouded in heavy clouds, with a fine drizzle falling from the sky. Many work units and neighborhoods spontaneously organized to walk the streets and mourn the recently deceased Chairman Mao. On Beixinqiao Street in Dongcheng District, there was also a mourning procession, but this one was special: it was made up entirely of kindergarten children, the oldest no more than five or six, the youngest just three or four.

At the very front of the line were two children with very different appearances. On the left was a chubby boy, fair and plump—a rare sight in this era of material scarcity. Next to him was a tall, skinny boy, almost a head taller than his peers.

The kindergarten teachers made full use of their physical advantages: the chubby boy carried a small funeral wreath on his back—small in name, but quite large for a kindergartener. If not for his size, a gust of wind might have blown both him and the wreath away. The tall, skinny boy held a small red flag, on which was written: "Deeply mourn the great leader Chairman Mao, Xinkailu Nursery."

There were many other processions on the street, but all were adults. They knew what this moment meant and what expressions they should wear. But the kindergarteners didn’t really understand. Although the teachers had tried to scare and coax them into behaving before setting out, the children couldn’t even make it through one bus stop before their serious faces disappeared. The boys started horsing around as they walked, the girls had tears in their eyes because their new clothes and shoes were getting wet, and the youngest simply burst into loud wails.

Compared to the other children, the tall, skinny boy at the front, holding the flag, looked utterly bewildered, his eyes unfocused, as if truly overwhelmed by grief. This made the female kindergarten teacher beside him, who was on the verge of losing her temper, breathe a little easier—at least there was one sensible child. The country’s education hadn’t been in vain!

This tall, skinny boy was our protagonist—the very Brian Carter who was struck by lightning while fishing.

Actually, when he was struck by lightning, Brian Carter didn’t feel anything. He didn’t even know lightning had struck. The wind was howling, about to lift the tent canopy into the air, and he was clinging tightly to the tent pole, battling the storm. Suddenly, there was a flash of white light, and the next thing he knew, he was standing on this street, holding not a tent pole, but a flag.

When he realized he seemed to have shrunk into a child and was marching down the street with a group of kids, he thought he was dreaming. But it was a very realistic dream—the chubby boy beside him even secretly handed him a piece of candy, which tasted quite good. The girl behind him gave him a hard shove, too, because he hesitated for a moment, slowed his steps, and stepped on her foot, dirtying her little red cloth shoes.