[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-1987-my-era":3,"chapter-1987-my-era-1987-my-era-chapter-11":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","1987: My Era",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2259171,4409,"Chapter 11: Chen Zijin","1987-my-era-chapter-11",11,"\u003Cp>Li Heng was a bit bewildered.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>What the hell is going on? Outsiders don’t believe me, but now even my own family doesn’t trust me?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Is that how you treat your own younger brother?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Where’s the basic trust between people?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He didn’t want to explain, didn’t feel like explaining, and couldn’t explain it anyway—he placed the prepared rabbit on the cutting board and went upstairs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Anyway, his second sister was a foodie; the rabbit would surely become a dish soon enough.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Inside the private room, Li Heng sat on the hard wooden bed and stared into space.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To be honest, he was really headache right now.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>One misstep and I’ve become a villain for all time—everyone sees me as Ximen Qing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Those gossipy women outside are one thing; I can’t control them anyway.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But even Yang Ying, someone so close to me, treats me like a thief—it’s enough to drive a man mad.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fine, let it go—they’re all outsiders, unreliable. But you, second sister, you’re my blood, my kin—why add salt to my wound?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the future, this would be a trivial matter; Chen Zijin is so beautiful, her family so prestigious—it might even be seen as something to boast about.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But in this era…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He truly understood what moral boundaries meant, and how terrifying gossip could be!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His gaze drifted aimlessly around the room until, at one moment, it landed on a corner of the desk—a black bag.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His heart stirred—what study materials had Chen Zijin bought for him?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Were they the same as in his past life?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fearing the butterfly effect of his rebirth, Li Heng hurriedly reached for the black bag and opened it quickly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He peered inside.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Good.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Good—it hadn’t changed, just as he’d expected: inside were textbooks and exam papers for every subject, plus a thick notebook of wrong answers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The wrong-answer notebook contained every problem Chen Zijin had gotten wrong, or those she considered especially important.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In 1987, in Shaodong County, a backwater town, good review materials were nearly nonexistent; having one textbook was already a luxury, let alone exam papers—especially from prestigious schools like the No. 4 Middle School in the capital.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In his past life, these materials and papers had boosted his college entrance exam score by at least twenty points, securing him admission to his dream university.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had always been grateful to Chen Zijin for this.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call her a life-changing benefactor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But unfortunately, her mother and family never got along with him—they looked down on him from the bottom of their hearts, and things were always tense.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Chen family was a large clan; Chen Gaoyuan had five siblings, all accomplished, and the funeral rites for Spring Grandma were wildly elaborate—rumor had it they’d last three days and nights.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was hard on second sister; he’d seen her on the verge of tears several times.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Li Heng didn’t care—he’d lived two lives, seen all kinds of storms; this was nothing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He closed his eyes, meditated, and when he opened them again, he had successfully shut out the noise—his mind calm as still water. He picked up his fountain pen and began writing “To Live” in swift, steady strokes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Could he become famous overnight?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Could he reverse his ruined image as Ximen Qing?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Could he change his family’s dire financial situation?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It all depended on this.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With the immense fame this novel had in his past life, Li Heng wrote with extreme care—after every five thousand words, he reread every character, every sentence, every paragraph meticulously.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He checked and rechecked three to five times, utterly meticulous, allowing not a single flaw.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That night, Li Heng fell asleep at his desk after writing until past two a.m., and he dreamed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the dream, three children—one boy, two girls—held flashlights and searched the dark night for him, shouting “Dad!” over and over, relentless, all night long.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Li Heng jolted awake, tears silently filling his stinging eyes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He gazed listlessly out the window, filled with melancholy: he had been reborn—how were his wife and children faring in that other timeline?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>1987, the ninth day of the first lunar month, Yin hour.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The sky had not yet brightened, but early that morning, the Chen family across the way set off firecrackers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Simultaneously, the Western band, the wind-and-percussion ensemble, the gongs and drums, and the shrill horns all blared as the filial sons and grandsons collapsed in hysterical weeping.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At an auspicious hour, Spring Grandma’s coffin was carried out after five days and five nights of lying in state.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The scene was magnificent, a sight unseen in Shangwan Village for thirty years.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not only did town officials come, but important representatives from the county and city attended as well; neighbors from nearby villages, united as never before, all came to see the old woman off.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In life, Spring Grandma had been highly respected; she had accompanied her husband through the War of Liberation and the Korean War, and even after returning to the village, she remained dignified, kind-hearted, and had helped countless people—everyone held her in deep esteem.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Whether man or woman, young or old, of any generation, everyone respectfully called her “Spring Grandma.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Li Heng stayed tucked under his quilt, unmoving.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Because the feng shui master had posted a notice: those born in 1959, 1970, and 1982 were in conflict with the hour of Spring Grandma’s death—during the coffin’s procession, please avoid the area entirely and do not come within a hundred steps of the coffin.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The historical origin of this custom was unknown, but it had existed for at least several hundred years.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Villagers followed it with “better safe than sorry,” and no one was foolish enough to test its truth with their life.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even if a father died and his son’s birth year clashed with the death hour, the son had to hide until the hundred-step period passed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But there were always exceptions in this world—some never believed in superstition.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Indeed, once a drunken butcher, emboldened by liquor, tested the rule himself—and dropped dead on the spot. Whether fate or coincidence, everyone now avoided it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The commotion outside lasted a long time; Li Heng couldn’t sleep, so he got up and kept writing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After five days of hard work, “To Live” had reached over thirty-four thousand words.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He planned to push himself one more day today to reach forty thousand words, then mail it off to the town post office tomorrow.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At noon, Spring Grandma’s funeral finally ended; Li Jianguo and Tian Run’e returned home.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>According to custom, Chen Gaoyuan generously sent over some untouched leftover dishes from his kitchen, but Tian Run’e, proud to her core, politely refused.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing this, Chen Gaoyuan—who understood the root of the issue—lowered his pride and spoke gently:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Run’e, we’ve been friends for decades; you know Zhong Lan’s temper.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She was just angry and stubborn with you then, went too far—I’ve scolded her since. For the sake of our long friendship, don’t hold it against her.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tian Run’e forced a smile. “Don’t speak ill of Zhong Lan, Gaoyuan—I don’t blame her. It was truly my son’s fault—he hurt Zijin. I’m a mother too; I understand her completely.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tian Run’e’s tone was perfectly reasonable, but no matter how much Chen Gaoyuan pleaded, she flatly refused the leftovers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Chen Gaoyuan’s lips were worn thin, yet to no avail—he finally sighed and carried the several basins of leftovers back home.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the kitchen, the entire Chen family was gathered.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing her husband turned away, Zhong Lan, irritated, snatched the metal basin from his hands and took the leftovers to another household.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",1274,"2026-06-19T15:27:33.982Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","9c0a41b3e751edcc2a5a252bd3eff0cfb0e97ad5e83ea540597fd5bd6ad9541b","1987-my-era-chapter-12","1987-my-era-chapter-10",713,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002F1987-my-era-cover.jpg"]