Chapter One: The Bun Bites Toes

Chen Xin was jolted awake by a sharp pain in her big toe. She sat up abruptly, feeling as if she’d kicked something off her foot. The next moment, her half-awake mind was pierced by the shrill cries of a baby, and with that, a surge of information flooded in.

Fortunately, the information settled in her mind much like files being transferred to the right folders on a disk—orderly, categorized, and then quietly hidden away, allowing her to keep her wits without being overwhelmed by the sheer volume.

Ignoring the inexplicable knowledge swirling in her head, Chen Xin crawled to the edge of the bed. Peering over, she saw a baby in a tiny T-shirt sprawled on the floor, crying so hard he could scarcely breathe.

Thank goodness—someone had anticipated such accidents and padded the floor around the bed with old clothes and cotton batting. The baby wasn’t hurt, just frightened.

The moment she touched the child, information about him surfaced naturally in her mind. He was her sister’s child—no, more accurately, the child of the original body’s elder sister. The poor thing had lost his father before birth, and his mother soon after. The original owner, barely an adult herself and newly admitted to university, had suddenly become the guardian of an infant, still little more than a child herself and utterly unprepared for motherhood.

Yet she had done her best, applying to defer her university admission for a year to care for the baby. The child’s father had been a soldier, killed in the line of duty, so special exceptions were made for them, and there was enough compensation to support the boy’s upbringing. The funds included not only the official pension but donations from his father’s comrades and former unit, as well as the insurance left behind by his mother—enough to scrape by until adulthood.

But the original owner’s life was one of hardship. Both sisters had been orphaned young, surviving on their parents’ meager legacy. The elder sister struggled to raise her, then married, only to die within two years, leaving her younger sister once more an orphan with a small child to care for.

Her brother-in-law’s family was poor too: his parents were peasants, one brother had a crippled leg from a childhood accident and never married, and a sister had married a widower to ease the family’s financial burden, living a tough life herself.

Despite their poverty, the in-laws never coveted the compensation left for the child. Every six months, the lame brother would even bring vegetables and eggs from his own farm to help them out.

To save on expenses, the original owner left the baby with the grandmother next door during the day and worked two part-time jobs. At night, she’d read with the child, determined not to fall behind in her studies after a year away from school.

Years of exhaustion and sleep deprivation took their toll. When she caught a severe cold, there was no one to help, and she passed away quietly—making way for Chen Xin, who had died in an accident while saving a child.

Before her accident, Chen Xin was twenty-seven, a food blogger who streamed cooking shows and wrote travel articles for magazines and social media. She didn’t earn much, but it was enough to fund spontaneous trips. Her only regret was never finding a like-minded partner, someone with whom she could share her life and perhaps a cuddly, soft little baby.

But now, she had a baby without needing a partner!

Once she’d sorted through the uneventful first half of her predecessor’s life, the milk on the stove was boiling. With practiced hands, she poured off the milk’s skin into a cup, added rice flour and fruit to the rest, and made a fruit milk porridge. She tucked a little handkerchief under the baby’s chin, settled him at the small table by the window, and began to feed him.

Halfway through, someone knocked on the door. Chen Xin looked up and asked who it was. A familiar voice answered from outside.

“Xin, are you home? Why didn’t you send the baby over today?”

Chen Xin put down the bowl and opened the door with the baby in her arms. Outside stood Granny Liu from next door, her face creased with concern as she looked at the child.

“Xin, are you sick? The weather’s been cold lately. Why not let Zhuang stay with me for a couple of days until you’re better?”

“No need, Granny Liu. I was just feeling a bit worse yesterday, but after some medicine last night, I’m much better today. Come in, it’s freezing outside.”

She ushered Granny Liu in and closed the door, cutting off the chill. Granny Liu glanced at the milk porridge on the table, ready to take over feeding.

Her own son and daughter-in-law were both soldiers, rarely home and childless due to their busy work. Her daughter had given her a grandson, but he was raised by his paternal grandparents and only visited during holidays. Helping Chen Xin with the baby was not only welcome but something she looked forward to, often helping out above and beyond.

Chen Xin planned to ask Granny Liu to watch the baby in the afternoon so she could explain her resignation to her part-time employer at the fast-food restaurant.

The manager, aware of her situation, asked if she needed any help when she said she was quitting. Not only did he ensure she received her full month’s pay, but he also slipped her two hundred yuan as a birthday gift for the baby. After some hesitation, Chen Xin accepted his kindness.

The other staff, though unable to spare money, collected their meal benefits for the day and packed them all for Chen Xin to take home. Most of them were struggling too, so this gesture warmed her heart without making her feel guilty.

Back home, Granny Liu worried aloud about how Chen Xin would manage without a salary, suggesting she and the baby join her and her husband for lunch. After all, the two of them hardly ate much.

Chen Xin had seen enough of the saying “a peck of gratitude turns into a bushel of resentment,” and didn’t want to risk straining her relationship with Granny Liu’s family, so she politely declined.

“I’m thinking of picking up some freelance work from friends. I’ve heard that some business firms are now outsourcing translation jobs, which pay well and can be done from home. Zhuang is half a year old now, and that’s a handful already. Granny Liu, you’ve helped me so much; I wouldn’t want to tire you out. If I work from home, I can look after him myself, and if it gets to be too much, I can always ask for your help.”

Chen Xin, with her background in food and travel streaming and advertorials, wasn’t an expert in English, but with a dictionary, she could handle basic business translation. Most importantly, she wanted to save up as much as possible before returning to school so she could enroll the baby in the university’s affiliated kindergarten—a suggestion the original owner had already discussed with the school.

When she’d gone to resign earlier, she’d also called an old classmate, who promised to look for job opportunities for her.

It was a pity the internet wasn’t widely used yet, let alone streaming, or she could have easily gone back to her old line of work and blazed a new trail.

Still, as the saying goes, a setback may turn out to be a blessing in disguise. On her errands that day, she’d stumbled upon a promising opportunity. If she could seize it, their family’s finances might well multiply several times over in the coming years.