Li Yichen wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. The sun sat high above the mountains, heavy and unforgiving, and the soil beneath his feet clung stubbornly to the hoe.
This life was not what he had envisioned.
In his previous life, he had been a doctor. A good one, at that. Long nights, white coats, steady hands. It was almost ironic—perhaps even cruel—that he had contracted the virus himself in the end. Now here he was, in another lifetime entirely, counting copper coins and measuring days by harvests.
Hand to mouth.
If the Li Yichen of this era drifted without direction, then he did not. His vision was painfully clear: leave this place, make money, and maybe reclaim the path to medicine—this time, in the soil of the 1990s.
And there was his aunt.
"Ai—Yichener!"
Her sharp voice cut through his thoughts.
"What are you thinking about again in broad daylight?" Wang Shulan stood at the edge of the field, hands on her waist. "Ever since that river incident, your mind is always flying away. If something is troubling you, say it."
Wang Shulan had carried him through life from the moment his mother died in childbirth. His father had existed —after his wife's death, the man vanished as if swallowed by fog. No letters. No visits. Nothing.
Yichen owed this woman everything.
Li Yichen smiled and put down the hoe. He walked over and cleared a patch of ground, patting it lightly.
"Sit, Aunty."
She raised an eyebrow but sat anyway. She had always wanted to know what went on inside this boy's head. He was obedient, capable, and far more thoughtful than most boys his age.
"I'm thinking of going to Yuxi County," he said at last. "Just to take a look. I want to open a stall."
For a moment, Wang Shulan blinked—then smiled, amused.
"Yuxi County?" she repeated. "Good. Good! That means you're growing up." She chuckled. "If you can earn money there, then next we'll plan your wedding. The economy is opening now, opening everywhere. My husband works far away in town, I still have six mouths to feed. Go. Yuxi will favor you."
She leaned closer. "What do you want to do there?"
Li Yichen pressed his lips together.
In this era, everyone talked about wives before dreams. But he wasn't ready for that. Especially not now—when the nurse, Zhou Wenqing, had saved his life and become the center of village gossip. He didn't hate her, but he disliked the fake news around and her bashful expressions. Anyways she was his savior.
"I want my own stall," he said. "I don't want to work for anyone."
"Oh?" Wang Shulan's interest sharpened. "Then what will you sell?"
"Drinks… meat buns… something like that," he replied quietly.
She nodded. "Buying and selling is good business. Simple. Safe."
Li Yichen frowned slightly. Buying and selling wasn't enough. He wanted to make something. Still, he said nothing.
""I have two hundred yuan in savings… enough la?" Wang Shulan asked, brushing her hands together as she glanced at him.
Li Yichen nodded slowly, his eyes dull. Enough? Not even close. Two hundred yuan wouldn't cover the stall fee, let alone the tools, inventory, or any unforeseen expense. He needed at least two thousand yuan to make any real start.
As he returned to clearing weeds, frustration burned quietly in his chest.
What has Li Yichen been doing all these years?
Spoiled. Sheltered by his aunt's kindness.
As the plants swayed gently in the wind, another thought crept in—dangerous but tempting.
A loan.
He had a high school diploma. Maybe it would be enough to convince a lender. Even if they refused, he had to try.
On the other side of the village, Shen Anran sat beside her mother, her voice tight with emotion.
"Mother, a stall can bring at least fifty to a hundred yuan a day," she said. "It's better than scraping the fields. We can't keep living like this."
Liu Meilan listened quietly, fingers clenched in her lap.
Anran had spoken excitedly before—about Mrs. Shi's tailoring shop, about learning skills—but reality had crushed those hopes. They couldn't afford the fee. Worse still, Anran had sold their only bicycle for thirty yuan. Old and rusted, yes—but it was still manageable.
Liu Meilan's heart ached.
After her husband died, everything collapsed. He had worked in Haicheng, a large coastal city, sending home hundreds of yuan every month. She had saved carefully, dutifully as a diligent housewife. Then illness came. Hospital bills devoured everything. Overnight, comfort turned into survival. Since then she had worked and depended on the fields.
Suitors had come for Anran over the years, but Liu Meilan turned them all away. She knew what kind of suffering waited in those households.
And then there had been him.
Zhao Jianwei.
The boy Anran had loved since childhood.
When news spread that he was leaving for Haicheng—and that he had fallen for a city girl named Lin Xiaoru—Anran had gone to see him. The rest… the village never stopped talking about it.
Liu Meilan sighed.
Her daughter had changed. She no longer spoke of that boy. No tears. No longing.
A pity—but also a relief.
Tears threatened to spill, but Liu Meilan forced them back. She reached out and squeezed Anran's hand.
"If you want to try," she said softly, "then try. I can't give you much… but I will support you."
Anran nodded, eyes steady.
This time, she would rely on no one but herself.
And somewhere between Chenjia County and Yuxi County, two young lives were quietly stepping toward the same road—unaware that their struggles would soon collide.