Struggling to pry open his heavy eyelids, Mo Xiangwen was met with the sight of a familiar ceiling.
He never imagined that after graduating and hustling for a few years out in the world, he’d end up circling right back here.
For all its vastness, the world had only one place that could stomach a loser like him: his hometown.
First things first—he’d wash his face, then head to the bank to check if his old company had suddenly grown a conscience and deposited his back pay and severance.
Oh, right—unemployment benefits too.
The amount was paltry, but for a guy who’d been jobless for an entire year, it was a lifeline.
The netizens were spot on: civil engineering was a job even dogs wouldn’t touch.
But who could’ve guessed that between 2017 and 2020—just a few short years—the reputation of that major would flip upside down so dramatically?
Mo Xiangwen let out a wistful sigh and groggily hauled himself out of bed, stumbling unsteadily toward the bathroom.
His head was spinning. What was going on?
He was unemployed, for crying out loud. Where would he get business dinners from? And without those, he never touched booze.
It couldn’t be a fever, could it? He was flat broke right now—not even enough for phone credit. If he came down with something serious, he’d have to hit up his parents for medical cash. Talk about humiliating.
He finished brushing his teeth and grabbed the towel from the side, soaking it under the icy tap water.
Pressing the cold towel to his face finally chased away some of that feverish fog, sharpening his thoughts a little.
He was an adult, damn it. No way could he go crawling to his parents for money. Better to tap his idiot group friends for a loan later.
They went back seven or eight years, and he’d always paid them back before. One more time shouldn’t be a problem.
If he could just scrape by this month, next month’s writing fees ought to cover his living expenses.
Worst case, he could take the group up on their offer and go work for them.
As embarrassing as that might be, it beat being unemployed.
…He couldn’t give up. Not yet.
He set aside the now-tepid towel and took several deep breaths, trying to vent the stuffiness clogging his chest.
He attempted it over and over, but it didn’t work.
How absurd. The guy in the mirror… wait.
This… was him?
The bright mirror reflected not some sickly, washed-up unemployed slacker, but a handsome young teen with clear features.
Full of vigor, eyes sparkling with clarity—the picture of untarnished youthful charm.
Recalling my schoolboy days with classmates, in the bloom of our prime; bookish pride surging, we pointed to the rivers and mountains with grand ambitions. The lines from the poem sprang to mind unbidden.
His high school memories had faded, but not so much that he couldn’t recognize his teenage self.
Had he actually time-traveled back? Who was pulling this prank?
“Xiangwen, breakfast is ready!” his mom’s familiar voice called from the living room.
“…Coming!” he called back, splashing a few more handfuls of cold water on his face. “This really isn’t a dream?”
The whole family was gathered at the breakfast table—a rare occurrence.
His dad, Mo Chenfeng, was your standard construction worker and was home pretty often.
His mom, Zhou Xiuqin, worked at a factory with more night shifts than days.
As for Mo Xiangwen himself, he was a high school senior and a boarder, spending most of his time at school and only getting half-days home on weekends.
It was unusual for the three of them to sit down for a quiet breakfast together.
He snuck a glance at his parents with his peripheral vision. His dad looked a touch weary, but his complexion was decent.
His mom was the same—bright-eyed, with thick, lustrous black hair.
How could five or six years make such a difference?
His father’s varicose veins had kept him from getting surgery; he’d always said he was saving for Mo Xiangwen’s wedding, brushing off all advice to the contrary.
His mother had started complaining about floaters in her vision, and bottle after bottle of cheap dye couldn’t hide the white creeping into her roots.
He’d wanted so badly to succeed, to spare his parents any worry—but it had always been just a pipe dream.
Whether he was out grinding away or back home now, they fretted over him endlessly, as if he were still that kid who needed looking after.
His heart swelled with a tangle of emotions. He set down his bowl and chopsticks, lips parting as he groped for words but came up empty.
“I talked to your teacher,” Zhou Xiuqin said slowly. “He mentioned some kids get more nervous the closer Gaokao gets. Coming home to relax for a few days is a good idea.”
Because of family circumstances, his mom had dropped out after junior high. But she always spoke in that deliberate, measured way—like his old language teacher back in middle school, giving off real old-school scholar vibes.
“Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. Gaokao isn’t the only road in life.”
“Teacher said with a bit of luck, you could land a third-tier college,” Mo Chenfeng added, setting his bowl down and clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Your old man’s just an elementary school grad, but look how big I got you. Third-tier’s still a bachelor’s—good enough.”
What was this? The family all together because of him?
Gaokao? Relaxing? Did those words even go together?
Wait! A spark ignited in his mind, dredging the memory up from some forgotten corner.
Back then, he’d wanted to come home and game, so he’d faked a breakdown from exam stress.
His homeroom teacher had called his parents and arranged to bring him home.
It had been almost too easy. His school was the worst ordinary high in the city, and he was just in a regular class.
With Gaokao looming, stressed-out kids with mental issues weren’t uncommon, so after some counseling from the teacher and grade leader, they’d waved him through.
Truth be told, the pressure had been real—but not overwhelming. Mostly, he’d just wanted to game.
Gaokao around the corner, and you’re thinking about gaming? No wonder you ended up a third-tier civil engineering drone in your last life.
He itched to slap himself.
“Mm,” he mumbled, his thoughts a jumbled mess, unsure what else to say.
After breakfast, he returned to his familiar pigsty of a room and stared blankly at his overstuffed backpack.
Holy hell—that thing was packed. He didn’t even have the guts to unzip it.
Beep-beep-beep.
A crisp electronic chime rang out. He traced the sound to his phone on the desk and punched in his usual passcode. Sure enough, it unlocked.
At the top was the group chat labeled 【Tabletop RPG and Games】, with a glaring red notification that someone had @’d him.
He’d joined it back in junior high, right after getting his first taste of computers.
The group wasn’t huge—even at its peak, only about ten people.
It had started as a guild chat for some MMO. As members dropped off one by one, it dwindled to five.
They hadn’t disbanded because of their overlapping interests—like tabletop RPGs, Call of Cthulhu, and Dungeons & Dragons.
Or other games. They’d hit peak numbers for League of Legends and Overwatch, but they played plenty of single-player stuff too. Lately, it looked like they were even messing with mobile games.
Beyond that, they’d shoot the breeze or chat daily life.
He’d stuck around through graduation and wage-slave life.
The little group stayed lively, pumping out 999+ messages daily.
Sometimes he couldn’t help wondering: Didn’t these guys have school? Or jobs?
Legit questions, met with the group’s merciless copy-paste replies.
Don’t Play Holy Slash: @Human-Dragon Unity The boosting jobs you wanted? Sending them over soon. Finish on time, ‘kay?
Boosting? Right—he’d made pocket money that way before, covering net cafe fees and snacks.
Just a student back then, no other options. Even the jobs came from the group leader.
The leader was the old guild president—probably a college kid or working stiff. He’d played a ton of games, from way back.
Since it was a direct @ to him, no one else had chimed in yet.
Why had he taken boosting gigs right then? Oh yeah—lost his allowance and too scared to tell his folks.
Either way, gaming was off the table now.
He hesitated, then his right thumb danced across the screen.
Human-Dragon Unity: @Don’t Play Holy Slash Sorry, bro. Can’t take any jobs right now.
The reply popped up almost instantly.
Don’t Play Holy Slash: Dude, what’s up? I just lined those up for you.
Guilt gnawed at him, but Gaokao came first. He’d swallow his pride, borrow living expenses from his parents, then scrape together the cash to repay.
Human-Dragon Unity: Gaokao’s coming up. Total brainfart a few days ago—my bad. I’ll pay you back.
Bai Bai: !!!
Pigeon: !!!
Don’t Play Holy Slash: !!!
Pass One Charm: !!!
That one line blew the lid off, dragging the lurking holdouts into the open.
Don’t Play Holy Slash: Gaokao’s in like 30 days, dude! Why the hell did you take jobs from me? What were you thinking?
Bai Bai: You were playing Minecraft with me till midnight yesterday… I had no idea Xiao Yi was a Gaokao kid. Sorry!
Pigeon: Kid, you’ve got some nerve.
Pass One Charm: I suggest we gag him until Gaokao’s over.
Human-Dragon Unity: Living expenses dried up, too scared to hit up the parents, so I figured I’d pick up a couple gigs for some quick cash.
That was the beauty of online buddies. Some things you could just say outright without holding back too much.
After all, China was a massive place. Odds were you’d never cross paths with them in your lifetime.
And business dealings? Forget about it.
Ding-dong.
Your friend [Don’t Play Holy Slash] has transferred you 1000 yuan.
???
The sudden Alipay notification startled him. Mo Xiangwen hurriedly tapped it open and confirmed that his balance had indeed increased by a full thousand yuan.
What the hell? It wasn’t even guild war season. Why was the president going nuts and wiring him cash like this? And a grand at that.
Even back in 2017, a thousand bucks wasn’t chump change. He sure as hell wouldn’t spot that kind of money to some random stranger without a second thought.
If it weren’t for knowing the president from his previous life all those years, he’d have wondered if the guy was after his kidney for some shady 300k deal.
Human-Dragon Unity: Why the sudden transfer?
Don’t Play Holy Slash: Didn’t your allowance run dry? Consider this a loan—use it for now and focus on Gaokao. Forget the gigs; I’ll solo them myself.
Pigeon: Hail the president! And while we’re at it, this humble servant seconds the gag order until Gaokao ends.
Pass One Charm: Hey, Xiao Yi, roll a Will save or the president will have you charmed for ten rounds straight.
Bai Bai: Exclusive red packet. Please claim.
Bai Bai: I’m really sorry for keeping Xiao Yi up gaming so late last night.
Human-Dragon Unity: No need for that much.
Don’t Play Holy Slash: Eat well, stay active—your body’s the capital of the revolution, after all.
Mo Xiangwen mulled it over. Borrowing from a friend beat bugging his parents any day. Worst case, he’d pick up some part-time work after Gaokao and pay it back quick.
Human-Dragon Unity: Alright, I’ll take it. I’ll pay you back ASAP. But Bai Bai’s red packet? Nah. I stayed up late gaming with you because I wanted to, plain and simple.
Don’t Play Holy Slash: No rush on repayment. Money’s no object for me. Just keep your head in your studies.
Bai Bai: Fine then—this is your good friend fee. Xiao Yi and I are good friends. He games with me, so I want to help him out too.
Goddamn good friend fee. WeChat Pay wasn’t even a thing yet—where the hell was this coming from?
Pigeon: Mind blown. So we get paid for partying up with group mates now? We’ve queued together so many times; the bill must be insane. Xiao Yi, cough up the ledger so I can brace myself.
Pass One Charm: Why do I get the feeling Xiao Yi’s just scamming the newbies?
Human-Dragon Unity: See? That’s why I can’t take the red packet. Otherwise, I’ll look like a total fraud in their eyes.
Bai Bai: Mmmph! Pigeon and Xiao Huo, you two are so mean!
Pigeon: Absolutely ridiculous. Trying to talk people out of sending money makes me the big bad wolf? I can’t even.
Pass One Charm: The world’s gone to hell. Morals in the gutter.
Human-Dragon Unity: Alright, Bai Bai, thanks for the thought. But even without a good friend fee, we’re still buddies.
Having to mimic his old high school texting style felt weird as hell. Typing that out left him cringing.
Bai Bai: Okay then.
Don’t Play Holy Slash: All done talking? Good—off to the little black room you go. Gag ball until Gaokao day.
Human-Dragon Unity: Hold up. At least spare the weekends? Half a day to lurk in the group and unwind?
Pigeon: Gaokao’s here and you’re still dreaming of group chatting?
Pass One Charm: All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. A half-day group session shouldn’t hurt. Plus, we can check Xiao Yi’s study progress and make sure he’s actually hitting the books.
Human-Dragon Unity: ?
Don’t Play Holy Slash: Xiao Huo’s got a point. All in favor? All opposed?
Pigeon: This servant seconds.
Pass One Charm: This servant seconds.
Bai Bai: This servant seconds.
Human-Dragon Unity: I oppose.
Don’t Play Holy Slash: Opposition overruled. In this democratic group, four votes to one is a landslide victory.
Don’t Play Holy Slash: Night-night, macabaka.
You have been muted by admin [Don’t Play Holy Slash] for 4 days, 2 hours, and 59 minutes.
He glanced at the clock: Wednesday morning, 9:00 a.m. Right on the dot.
Bai Bai: Go get ’em, Xiao Yi!
Pigeon: Hit the books hard. No more gaming.
Pass One Charm: Once you’re in uni, you’ll have all the time in the world to slack off. Ganbatte!
Don’t Play Holy Slash: While Xiao Yi’s prepping, no one parties up with him. No short runs either.
Don’t Play Holy Slash: That means you especially, Bai Bai—consider this a formal callout. You’re the worst offender for dragging him into games.
Bai Bai: Got it! Bai Bai promises to hold back this time!
Man, these group buddies were beasts at games and knew how to sweet-talk.
Mo Xiangwen chuckled. He powered off the screen, set his phone aside, leaned back in his chair, and slowly closed his eyes.
Heaven had handed him a rare do-over. Time to make it count, right?
He wasn’t some dreamer out to save the world or bring about world peace.
All he wanted was to stop worrying his parents, at minimum.
If he could do even better—kick back gaming all day like his lazy gaming buddies, no job in sight—that’d be the dream.
Anything beyond that? One step at a time.
When he opened his eyes again, they sparkled with determination.
He grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. The hefty weight made him pause for a second, grounding his soaring spirits.
Good grief. Nothing quite like the reassuring heft of knowledge.
He set off at once and pushed open the door.
“Mom, I’m heading back to school.”
Zhou Xiuqin, who had been resting with her eyes closed on the sofa, blinked in surprise. “Now? Didn’t your teacher tell you to take two days off?”
“No need. I feel plenty rested.”
“Hang on a sec, then. Mom will take the electric scooter and drop you off.”
“I’ll just grab the bus. You get some more rest, Mom.”
Mo Xiangwen slipped on his running shoes and gave the toe a quick kick to settle them. He waved goodbye to his baffled mother.
“Later. Bye.”
