Early the next morning, Qiao Ning went to the landlady to end his lease.
Since they’d agreed in advance, he just handed over the keys. The move-out inspection had been done—Qiao Ning had invited the landlady over the previous evening.
The co-renting couple had been there too. They hadn’t expected Qiao Ning to leave so abruptly, and their feelings were complicated.
On one hand, relief that this un-antagonizable roommate was moving out. On the other, with Qiao Ning gone, new roommates would move in eventually.
The residential community was old, but the location was great and the rent reasonable—it would never lack tenants. They worried about getting someone difficult instead.
True, Qiao Ning had threatened to have people deal with them—but honestly, of all the co-renting roommates they’d ever had, Qiao Ning had been among the easiest to live with.
Clean, quiet, didn’t take advantage, easygoing… okay, that last part—maybe a bit fierce.
But that was their problem now. Qiao Ning returned the keys, collected his refunded security deposit and a month’s rent from the landlady, and left with his two suitcases.
Before he left, the landlady made him promise, three times over: the moment he had fruit, tell her. She’d cover shipping—SF Express, freight collect, was fine.
Qiao Ning agreed readily. As for when there’d be fruit—that was anyone’s guess.
The long seven-plus hours on the high-speed rail—Qiao Ning had prepared: movies downloaded on his pad, blueberries washed and packed in a fresh-keeping box, plus the little biscuits he’d been loving lately, all in his carry-on.
Food, drink, and entertainment—time passed easier. For lunch he ordered delivery. Yes, you could order delivery ON the high-speed rail, brought right to your seat—a fact he’d only learned two years into working in his past life. Tasted okay.
The journey was smooth—no bratty kids, no uncivil passengers. After all, weirdos were the minority.
From just past eight in the morning to four in the afternoon, he finally reached the city proper. From the city to the County Town was another hour-plus by Passenger Coach, and from the County Town, a smaller coach to the town.
From the town to the village was easier—private cars, motorcycle taxis, or just walking. For many village elders, given the choice between paying for a ride or walking over an hour, they’d rather walk.
That graduation-after-Gaokao trip home, Qiao Ning had transferred like this the whole way—except back then he’d come by slow green train from the provincial capital.
His home… no, that wasn’t his home. Qiao Chenggong’s family was in another city of this province; Qiao Ning had also finished middle and high school there.
He could still make it to the village today, but he’d arrive at night, and the family house was dilapidated—uninhabitable without cleaning up first.
So Qiao Ning rode to the County Town and found a hotel for the night, continuing to the town the next morning.
Arriving at the township, he learned that with the village-to-village road program, there was now a bus all the way into the village—just very infrequent: one trip a day.
Luckily Qiao Ning rose early and caught it. Few people headed from town to village in the early morning—besides him, only two or three others, who stole glances at him now and then.
Qiao Ning had endured such gazes more than once on this journey. After the Spirit Spring Water flushed the toxins from him, that translucently fair skin alone was eye-catching—never mind that Qiao Ning was strikingly handsome to begin with.
When someone’s that good-looking, people naturally want to look a bit longer. Normal.
The village bus looped through every village on its route, arriving earlier or later depending on distance.
In Qiao Ning’s memory, his home village had been remote—long rides to town or the County Town, terribly bumpy roads. As a child he’d gotten carsick on every trip.
Last time he returned, fearing he’d vomit, he’d hired a motorcycle taxi in town—and his backside was nearly jolted into four pieces.
This time, however, beyond Qiao Ning’s expectations, though the road still bumped, it was well within normal.
He looked out the window: the road seemed rebuilt. Well, of course—national infrastructure always started with roads. If the bus reached the village now, the road must have been redone too.
In his past life, when he’d returned years later to transfer his household registration, the road had apparently been rebuilt then—but that was years off. Qiao Ning didn’t know when exactly it had happened.
The trip home had shortened too. He hazily remembered that graduation trip: the motorcycle rider tore along at full speed and it still took forty to fifty minutes. His rear end was bruised from the jolting, his face stung from the wind, and when he got off, his head buzzed.
But this time: only half an hour!
To be precise, less than half an hour—and the bus had even detoured through two closer villages, stopping a while.
So much more convenient. He’d buy himself a runabout later; going to market would be fun.
He wondered if the big market days still existed. They had when he was little. In Qiao Ning’s memory there were images of Grandpa and the Eldest Granduncle next door taking him and Older Brother to market—winter, it seemed, rising before dawn while he was still half asleep. Grandpa shouldered a carrying pole with two baskets.
The Eldest Granduncle lined the baskets with small quilts, and he and Older Brother curled up inside, swaying back to sleep.
By the time Grandpa woke them, they were at the market—bustling crowds, so much good food. For young Qiao Ning, endlessly novel.
But with so many people he got scared too, clutching Older Brother’s hand tightly, hiding by Grandpa’s leg, curiously eyeing everything around.
Only when something delicious caught his eye would he, like a timid little animal, poke out his small head and tell Grandpa he wanted that one—and Grandpa or the Eldest Granduncle would buy it for him and his brother.
Those memories were so old, washed blurry by time, yet recalling them, Qiao Ning still felt an indescribable happiness.
But more than a decade had passed; everything had changed, people and places alike—even the village itself was transformed.
Most houses were far better than before: two-story homes faced in tile, ordinary little courtyards with white plaster, and some still-old-looking red-brick houses.
The former dirt roads had become flagstone paths. The concrete road only reached the village entrance, but the flagstone paths were fairly smooth, and widened—no problem for vehicles.
Qiao Ning had no vehicle. He dragged his two big suitcases along, navigating by memory.
After a stretch, at a bend in the road, several grannies sat chatting, hands never idle—stitching insoles, picking vegetables, bundling whisk brooms—working and talking at once.
The moment Qiao Ning appeared, every granny’s gaze converged on him. His scalp prickled; he tensed instantly.
“Whose kid is this? So grand-looking.”
“No idea. Never seen him.”
“Not from our village, surely? A boy this handsome, I’d remember if I’d seen him.”
“Is it a girl or a boy? So well-featured.”
“Hair that short—can’t be a girl. Doesn’t look like one either. Your eyes are going bad; have your daughter get you reading glasses…”
Qiao Ning had mostly lost the local dialect, but he understood it fine. The “grand-looking” the granny praised actually meant “beautiful.”
Seeing that they’d already started chatting him up, Qiao Ning stepped forward and greeted them politely—he’d be living in the village now and couldn’t avoid dealing with the locals.
Then he introduced himself: “I’m from this village. My grandfather is Old Qiao who lived at the west end.”
Thankfully the grannies were old enough to have known his grandfather. If he’d told young people, they might not even know the name.
Himself? No one would know him at all.
Qiao Ning’s household registration really was still in this village. Back when Qiao Chenggong dumped him here, kindergarten was out of the question—village kids rarely attended.
When he reached school age, Grandpa Qiao wanted to send him to school in the city—the city schools were better.
For his sake, Grandpa Qiao broke his long silence and contacted Qiao Chenggong—only to fail to get Qiao Ning into a city school AND have Qiao Chenggong transfer Qiao Ning’s household registration back to the village.
His words had been hard as stone, just like when he’d dumped Qiao Ning at Grandpa Qiao’s doorstep: if Grandpa Qiao wouldn’t take the registration, he wouldn’t care for the boy either.
Grandpa Qiao had nearly died of anger. And back then Qiao Ning hadn’t wanted to leave anyway—clinging to Grandpa’s leg, bawling, hiding so Grandpa couldn’t send him away.
In the end, Grandpa Qiao softened once more and kept Qiao Ning. Sadly, not for long.
Gravely ill and bedridden, in his final moments he summoned the village cadres, the respected elders, and the neighbors close to the family, and said plainly: everything he left behind would go to Qiao Ning.
After Grandpa passed, Qiao Chenggong did come sniffing around—but Grandpa Qiao’s entire estate was the Homestead Land, that old house, and a few mu of fields.
All worthless, and unsellable besides: his own registration had long moved away; if the homestead were inherited, it could only go to Qiao Ning.
In his past life, after buying his apartment, Qiao Ning moved his registration to Jiang City.
This life, he hadn’t gotten around to it—and thank goodness he hadn’t. Perhaps what Grandpa worried about most at the end was him, leaving him a way back.
If there was truly nowhere left to go, come home. With a roof to shelter under and land to grow grain in, one could always survive.
