Auntie Yu’s full name was Yu Meizhen.
She was the same age as Tao Guangzhi. She had the same kind of big eyes with narrow double eyelids as Yu Luan, an oval face, full lips, a nose that wasn’t particularly high but had a delicate tip, fair skin, and she was tall with a slender figure.
She wasn’t what you’d call classically beautiful, but she always presented herself impeccably. Take today, for example: she’d ridden her bike to the roast meat stall to buy goose. Most people would’ve just thrown on a tank top and flip-flops for that kind of errand.
Not Auntie Yu. She had styled her permed curls into a low orchid knot, secured at the back with a red silk bow barrette, applied a light layer of lipstick, and wore a red-and-white polka dot sleeveless dress with red buckle leather sandals. Even rushing in excitedly with half a roast goose in hand, she looked exceptionally stylish and modern.
Even though Tao Tao hadn’t liked Auntie Yu as a child, she couldn’t deny that for someone like Auntie Yu to marry her dad—he should’ve been laughing in his sleep every night.
Still, Tao Tao had also heard the neighbors say: “Don’t underestimate your dad. He was famous for being handsome for blocks around back in the day—the Andy Lau of Zhangxi Town. And he worked at the factory, a steady three hundred yuan a month!”
Not that Tao Tao could see any resemblance to Andy Lau in her father.
Plus, he’d lost his job.
Never mind three hundred yuan a month—after two years of running this bakery, she doubted Tao Guangzhi had even made back his initial investment. Tao Tao remembered that he’d borrowed money from her uncle’s family to open the shop, probably a few thousand yuan. She couldn’t recall exactly. But she did remember frequently getting calls from her aunt, who would ask her if she’d eaten, if she was being good, how the family business was doing, and finally sigh: “Ah… never mind, it’s nothing.” Then hang up.
Only later did Tao Tao understand that her aunt had been calling to ask for the money back.
Thinking about this, Tao Tao felt a heavy sigh welling up inside her.
The family was in debt. The shop was barely scraping by. In a few years, it would go under. And she was still so young. Sure, she’d learned baking for years before her rebirth and could run a shop on her own, but how could she convince her dad she was telling the truth instead of possessed?
If she told her grandma, who lived in the village, she’d probably get dragged off to some temple with drums and gongs clanging.
Zhangxi Town had deep folk traditions, a pantheon of gods, and the elders loved having children recognize all sorts of things as godmothers. For instance, Tao Tao’s godmother was the old banyan tree at the corner of Shengli Street—planted, she’d heard, by a county magistrate during the Jiajing era of the Ming dynasty. That was already pretty good. Rao Lili’s godmother was the big stone at the entrance of Qingquan Temple. Zhang Jiaming’s godmother wasn’t even alive anymore—because his godmother had been a twenty-year-old dog.
Most importantly, how was she supposed to help her family get through this?
In her previous life, she’d been a very ordinary, average person. She didn’t remember any lottery numbers. She’d never bought stocks. She didn’t have the capital to speculate in real estate. The internet boom was out of the question—she could only fix a computer by slapping the tower a few times and rebooting.
She didn’t even know what major events happened in the 1990s. What would a seven- or eight-year-old remember? When she thought back on her childhood, her mind was full of cartoons and snacks.
Bagged sodas, Big Bubble gum, spicy chips, watermelon bubble gum, Mimi shrimp crackers…
Those were the things she remembered vividly.
This is serious… Tao Tao cupped her face in her hands, deep in thought.
Yu Luan blinked slowly, lowered his hands from his ears, and silently copied his sister, cupping his face too. Though he didn’t understand why, he also put on a serious expression, his big eyes fixed on the TV screen.
Tao Tao thought he didn’t like Little Confused God, so she picked up the remote. “Do you want to watch The Haier Brothers?”
She’d just scrolled through the channel guide and was surprised to see that Star TV didn’t exist yet, nor did the children’s channel. The only cartoons on right now were the ones on CCTV-1’s Animation City and Big Pinwheel.
Yu Luan, still cupping his face, shook his head seriously. “Jie jie, not finished yet.”
Tao Tao immediately stopped and switched the channel back.
She’d almost forgotten—Yu Luan had been a little robot since childhood. He couldn’t be interrupted mid-task. Tao Tao put the remote back and sat there cupping her face again, pondering the future with furrowed brows.
Yu Meizhen parked her bike inside, pulled the shop’s roll-down door halfway closed, and came in through the shop. The first thing she saw was the two kids sitting quietly side by side on little stools, both cupping their faces in the exact same pose. She raised her finely arched eyebrows in pleasant surprise.
Oh my—Grape is actually willing to play with Xiao Luan today!
Just a short while ago, she’d come home every day to absolute chaos. Yu Luan would be on the floor, picking up scattered puzzle pieces and messed-up pencils, silent tears streaming down his face. Tao Tao would be nowhere to be found. And her husband, flustered and trying in vain to comfort the boy, would look at her with guilty eyes.
Yu Meizhen could only sigh. She’d initially worried that her shy, timid Xiao Luan might not adjust well to his new home. But surprisingly, he’d adapted quite nicely. The real resistance had come from Tao Tao, who—before she even knew about Yu Meizhen and Tao Guangzhi’s relationship—had always greeted her sweetly with “Hello, Auntie Yu,” and had been so lively and lovely.
Not only did she reject Yu Meizhen, but she also rejected Yu Luan. The child had deliberately locked the front door several times, refusing to let the two of them in. Yu Meizhen had found this deeply frustrating, unable to come up with any good solutions.
In the end, she could only hope that over time, Tao Tao would come to accept them.
But today… Yu Meizhen’s heart was full of joy. She felt she could see hope. She walked over, first affectionately stroking Yu Luan’s soft hair: “Xiao Luan, were you good today?”
Yu Luan nodded seriously.
Yu Meizhen smiled. She then reached out to pat Tao Tao’s little head as well, but suddenly remembered that a few days ago, when she’d tried to do the same, Tao Tao had shoved her hand away and even bitten her: “What are you doing! I hate it when people touch my head!”
She quickly pulled her hand back. Instead, she bent down, gave Tao Tao an awkward, almost appeasing smile, and said, “Grape, you must be hungry, right? You keep playing with Xiao Luan. I’m going to go chop the meat. Dinner will be ready soon.”
Without waiting for Tao Tao to respond, she hurried into the kitchen.
Tao Tao watched Yu Meizhen’s slender silhouette, her eyes full of complicated emotions.
She watched Auntie Yu cheerfully carry the roast goose into the kitchen, triumphantly holding up the bag for Tao Guangzhi to see: “Guangzhi, look what I got!”
The kitchen didn’t have a range hood yet, just one of those rumbling, noisy exhaust fans. Tao Guangzhi hadn’t heard her come in. He turned his head and immediately exclaimed in exaggerated admiration: “Wow! This place is so hard to buy from! You’re amazing! Did you wait in line for a long time?”
His tone made Yu Meizhen laugh, her eyes curving. “Yeah! My feet are so sore from standing!”
Tao Guangzhi plated the dish, set down his spatula, wiped his hands on his apron, and walked around behind his wife. “Wifey, you’re so capable. You worked hard. Let me give your shoulders a rub. How’s the pressure? Feel good?”
“Just right, just right… feels wonderful…” Yu Meizhen laughed, swaying with pleasure.
Then the two of them started discussing how to cut the goose, whether to dip it in plum sauce or braising liquid, going back and forth, talking with great authority. They sounded like they were about to drool.
Sometimes Tao Tao really thought the main reason they got married was that they were both foodies.
Tao Tao lowered her eyes and couldn’t help but let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. Inside, she felt nothing but desolation.
Memories cut into her like blades. She had inexplicably hated Auntie Yu for so many years, done so many selfish, hurtful things. But later, she couldn’t even remember what she had been hating anymore. Especially after she finally found her biological mother and learned the truth about why she’d left—Tao Tao felt that all those years of stubborn hatred and love, no, including herself, had been utterly ridiculous.
“Jie jie.”
Tao Tao’s heart ached. Then she heard Yu Luan softly call her name.
She looked up, dazed.
In front of her was a small, plump, pale hand. In its palm lay a sticky, half-squished orange-flavored fruit candy.
Yu Luan’s features were clear, his eyes limpid. In his pupils, he reflected her anguished face.
“Jie jie, eat.”
His voice was milky and soft.
“Jie jie, eat. Then your heart won’t fall down.”
Tao Tao didn’t quite understand. Her eyes red, she looked at him without moving, without reaching out.
He grew a little anxious. He reached out with his other small hand, gently took hold of Tao Tao’s wrist—which hung limply at her side—and pressed the sticky, warm candy into her palm. He lifted his pale, delicate face, his jet-black, round eyes fixed unwaveringly on hers, and described awkwardly:
“Jie jie, you eat. Eat, and you’ll be cured.”
Finally, Tao Tao understood.
She had inexplicably returned to being eight years old. No one knew. She herself didn’t seem to want to know either. So many memories crowded her mind—regret, confusion, disorientation, powerlessness. She forced herself to stay calm, yet she was deeply trapped, constantly looking back at her stubborn, foolish younger self.
The truth was, she didn’t even know what to do.
Living her life over—could she live it well this time? She wasn’t a genius. She hadn’t become any smarter. Maybe coming back would just mean watching helplessly as everything slipped through her fingers again, reliving the same pain to no avail.
And yet this messy, unformed sadness—little Yu Luan could see right through it.
Tao Tao clutched the half-melted candy. Being looked at like that, she suddenly felt overwhelming grief.
A hot, sour rush hit her eyes. She held her breath, bit her lip, tried to hold it in—but she couldn’t.
She opened her arms, leaned forward, and pulled his fuzzy little head into a tight hug. And like the eight-year-old child she now was, she burst into loud, messy sobs.
You silly boy.
She had always ignored him, rejected him, bullied him. She had never been kind to him.
And yet here he was, comforting her.