Chapter 001: Poverty, a Disease Engraved in the Bones

In 1994, in a rural village along the eastern coast.

The night rain poured down in torrents, pounding relentlessly against the window, producing a sound so despairing it seemed to swallow all hope.

Wang Qiang stood at the doorway, watching his parents wrestling on the floor. The chaos of their struggle radiated outward; a cabinet had toppled, the mirror lay shattered in seven or eight pieces, powerless and forlorn on the ground—a scene of utter devastation.

How familiar this sight was.

If he remembered correctly, more than twenty years had passed since he last witnessed such a scene.

Wang Qiang’s eyes grew wet as he stared blankly at his parents locked in combat. A profound sense of helplessness welled up within him. He longed to step forward and pull them apart, yet for some reason, his legs felt as if they were filled with lead, too heavy to move.

It had been more than twenty years since this nightmare.

Why must I endure it all again?

He desperately wished everything before him was an illusion, but the pain from his mother’s rubber sandal striking his face was all too real—he was truly back in that wretched era, more than two decades ago.

Poverty is a sickness that seeps deep into the bones.

It drives people mad, strips them of reason, and sometimes even robs them of their fear of death.

His parents’ brawl was born of this very disease.

As a child, Wang Qiang often heard his father recount the story of the family division.

His grandparents had three sons: Wang Qiang’s eldest uncle, his father, and his youngest uncle. In the countryside, elders typically favored the eldest and youngest sons. Owing to old superstitions, most believed that the King of the Underworld existed, and after death, the eldest son must carry a bundle during the ritual, or the departed would be forced to kneel forever. The youngest, being small, was often doted upon as though he would never grow up.

But what of the middle son?

To simply feed him was already considered fortunate; some families had five or six children, and merely providing daily meals was a tremendous burden.

Wang Qiang’s father became independent under such circumstances.

At that time, Wang Qiang was only three months old. His grandfather knocked on the table, asking what day it was—a signal that it was time to divide the family.

His parents, married for just over a year, understood and parted ways with the family in silence. Aside from two small rooms, all they received was a set of nine bowls. Yes, only nine bowls.

With Wang Qiang crying hungrily, his parents had no choice but to borrow from relatives and neighbors, humbling themselves at every door. They managed, barely, to piece together a home.

His frail father, with no skills to his name, followed a great-uncle to work as a laborer on construction sites. He scrimped and saved, and apart from household expenses, every remaining cent was used to pay off debts at the end of each year.

Thinking of all this filled Wang Qiang with sorrow. As a child, he only ate meat during holidays; at other times, it was unthinkable. This left him physically weak in adulthood, and only in his middle years did he finally appear plump as he gained weight.

The scene unfolding before him now had also been sparked by debt.

But it was not the old debts—they had long been repaid, as Wang Qiang was now seventeen. However tight money was, his parents managed to clear their obligations. The reason for their fight, Wang Qiang only learned years later, after his own marriage, when his mother mentioned it in passing.

After the family split, his parents spent five years repaying debt, finally freeing themselves. But then Wang Qiang reached school age, bringing a new financial burden.

He had watched his parents rise before dawn and toil late into the night, laboring tirelessly for twelve years just to save enough to build a new house, which they finally managed earlier that year. They took on a little debt, but everything seemed perfect.

Unexpectedly, Wang Qiang, a middling student, had a stroke of luck in the high school entrance exam and was admitted to a second-tier county high school. Unfortunately, his good fortune was limited—he barely made the minimum threshold, not the official cutoff, meaning he had to pay a fee of 1,500 yuan.

At the time, 1,500 yuan was equivalent to a year's income for an ordinary farmer.

Having just borrowed money to build the house, his parents struggled to scrape the sum together. Meanwhile, their creditor, Third Aunt, fell gravely ill and bedridden. Out of desperation, Third Uncle came to collect the debt. After some discussion, Wang Qiang’s father insisted they should first repay Third Aunt so she could seek treatment. His mother had no objection, but worried how they would afford Wang Qiang’s school fees.

What began as a reasonable conversation quickly escalated into an argument, emotions flaring until it erupted into a physical fight. In those days and in that place, such scenes between husband and wife were not uncommon; at root, nearly every brawl stemmed from the same cause—poverty.

His parents were once again ensnared in an endless cycle of debt. Two years later, just as they were about to see the light at the end of the tunnel, disaster struck anew.

His grandfather suffered an acute diabetic episode and was rushed to the hospital, plunging the family into debt once more.

In this country, illness could bankrupt a family, erasing years of hard-won savings. For a household already weighed down by debt, the blow was devastating.

Pooling together what little they had, the three sons managed to keep their father alive for half a year, but in the end, he passed away, leaving behind a mess.

From that moment on, Wang Qiang went six years without a new piece of clothing. At school, he could only afford two meals a day—breakfast and dinner—enduring the ridicule of his classmates.

When you are poor, no one pities you. Instead, you are likely to become the butt of everyone's jokes.

It was in such an environment that Wang Qiang studied hard, managed to get into a good university, and, after graduation, worked tirelessly to earn more money.

He was terrified of poverty.

Only those who have truly experienced destitution know the terror of having nothing. No amount of words can explain it otherwise.

He grew up in that world, surrounded by the jeers of his classmates.

Wang Qiang had once resented his parents, hated that he had not been born into a better family. It was not until he became a parent himself that he realized how hard his own parents had struggled. He grew ashamed of his childish grudges.

Yet, just as he came to understand, fate played a cruel trick on him, sending him back to the very beginning of his suffering.

Understanding is one thing.

Living through it again is another matter entirely.

Staring at the bare walls of his home, Wang Qiang laughed hysterically, tears streaming down his face. His laughter brought his parents’ fight to an abrupt halt; they turned to stare at him in shock.

His mother’s sobbing ceased. She called out softly, “Qiang, Qiangzi, what’s wrong?”

His father, face pressed to the ground beneath his mother just moments before, was startled. He pushed her aside, scrambled to his feet, and rushed to his son, gripping his shoulders in agitation. “Qiangzi, are you alright? Don’t scare your father!”

Wang Qiang’s laughter did not stop. He flung off his father’s hands and dashed out the door.

He threw it open and ran into the rain, where he laughed wildly, then broke down, wailing, until his body collapsed limply onto the muddy ground, slapping the water with all his might.

Once.

Twice.

His parents rushed after him, but could not drag him back into the house. In the end, the three of them clung to each other and wept in the rain.

Through her tears, his mother cried out, “We won’t fight anymore!”

“Yes, never again!” his father shouted hoarsely. “Come inside with me, come inside!”

Truth be told, Wang Qiang did not know why he was crying, or why he wanted to stand in the rain. He only knew that his heart ached, ached so much he could hardly breathe.

For many, being reborn would be a blessing—a chance to mend regrets and savor life anew.

But for Wang Qiang, rebirth was as harrowing as descending into hell. Not only would he have to endure those crushing years again, but he also feared he would never see his beloved wife or the son he had raised with so much hardship.

He would never see them again.

Never again.

Through his heart-wrenching sobs, Wang Qiang desperately wished to deny reality, but he had to accept that some things, once lost, are gone forever.