Chapter 17: A Child in His Parents' Eyes

Zhao Jin froze, genuinely unaccustomed to this. In that other life, after a fight, the childcare auntie and teachers would always scold him harshly, saying fighting was wrong. Now, here he was being told to run if outnumbered — this wasn't moral guidance; it was clearly teaching the tricks of fighting.

Still, not getting a scolding was always good. Zhao Jin felt lighthearted as he walked back with Zhao Zhenxing. After a few steps, Zhao Zhenxing turned back with a grin and said, "Play a bit longer there at noon every day. Coming here to train martial arts all day long is too stifling."

That was all from his uncle's side. The afternoon continued with martial practice, but trouble came when he returned home that evening. The moment he stepped into the courtyard, that monkey started screeching loudly. Normally, the monkey paid Zhao Jin no mind when he came and went, but today its reaction was this intense.

He Cuihua, who was preparing dinner, walked out puzzled. By the light of the kitchen fire, she looked him over carefully and immediately spotted the blood spots on Zhao Jin's clothes. Her reaction was the same as any mother's — she instantly panicked.

"... How could you get into a fight with someone..."

"... Did you hurt yourself?"

"... This is all the bad side of learning martial arts. You used to be such a well-behaved child..."

Zhao Jin felt utterly awkward, yet also deeply moved. This kind of motherly love and concern was something he had never experienced before. But seeing his mother so worried, Zhao Jin felt guilty, and beyond that, a little afraid. A strict father and a kind mother — with his mother reacting like this, when his father Zhao Zhentang got home, would he fly into a rage?

Not long after, Zhao Zhentang returned. That monkey was utterly fawning toward the head of the household. The moment it saw its master come back, it jumped down from its wooden perch to curry favor.

He Cuihua hurriedly told Zhao Zhentang about the blood on Zhao Jin's clothes. Zhao Jin stood there with his head lowered, ready to receive a scolding — maybe even a beating. He never expected Zhao Zhentang to say flatly, "I already heard about it from Zhenxing. A boy getting into a fight is nothing. Better to be the one hitting than the one getting hit."

With him saying that, He Cuihua had nothing more to say. She wiped her hands on her apron, went inside, and brought out the dishes, muttering under her breath the whole time: "Like father, like son, truly. You two brothers were always causing trouble and fighting back then. I thought I'd raised a well-behaved child — never imagined he'd turn out the same way."

Getting into a fight and not being scolded, even receiving faint praise and approval — this felt wonderful. Zhao Jin, who had been very nervous, instantly relaxed.

In good spirits, his appetite surged. Zhao Jin ate heartily at the dinner table. But Zhao Zhentang and He Cuihua's minds were not on the meal. Zhao Zhentang pulled a fist-sized pouch from inside his robe and tossed it onto the table. It landed with a heavy thud, showing the pouch was quite weighty.

He Cuihua picked up the little pouch and opened it. Very surprised, she said, "Why is it so little this month? And there are copper coins too?"

Every evening at dinner, He Cuihua always warmed a pot of wine for Zhao Zhentang. Only after drinking a cup did Zhao Zhentang say sullenly, "Fewer and fewer shops inside the city — can't collect much money. And the Grand Sir is about to leave his post. Everyone has to give up a bit of their share."

"Aren't those outside the city the big ones?"

"Once the Jia River opened, everyone went to Pizhou!"

Zhao Jin understood these words only vaguely. That "Grand Sir" must be referring to the Prefect of Xuzhou. The talk about inside and outside the city was probably about the runners' gray income.

Zhao Jin was gnawing on a lamb bone, feeling very content, and had no mind to pay attention to the adults' topic. Right now, he felt happy — focused on martial training, playing joyfully.

Zhao Zhentang and He Cuihua were both in rather poor spirits, but that had nothing to do with Zhao Jin. After dinner, Zhao Jin did push-ups and sit-ups in his room by himself, changed clothes, washed up briefly, and went to bed.

Although Zhao Jin had gradually adjusted to the heavy physical demands of learning martial arts, that didn't mean he wasn't tired. Every day, the moment his head hit the pillow, sleepiness became unstoppable.

Today was really good. He'd beaten up Liu Yong. Those kids from South Gate had always been bullying and tyrannical, constantly mocking him. It felt so satisfying. And when he got home, neither his father nor his uncle had scolded him — there was even a faint hint of praise. That felt great. Tonight's mutton soup was delicious too. Tomorrow he could go play at the freight yard, and when the time came, he'd give Chen Sheng an idea — that would definitely make him look impressive...

Just as he was drifting hazily toward sleep, Zhao Jin suddenly jolted awake. He sat up in bed, eyes wide open, his forehead covered in cold sweat.

The room was pitch black. Only the candlelight from the main hall seeped through the crack in the door. Zhao Zhentang and He Cuihua were murmuring about something in low voices. No one noticed anything wrong with Zhao Jin.

Zhao Jin did not call his parents in. He just sat there blankly. He hadn't had a nightmare, nor had any terrifying vision appeared. The reason he had suddenly startled awake was that a thought had abruptly struck him.

It had been less than twenty days since he arrived in this era, yet Zhao Jin already felt like a person of this time. So many things from that other life were slowly fading from memory — he didn't even think of them anymore.

Was he just going to live out his whole life like this? He was training martial arts to strengthen his body, but if things continued along their current trajectory, he would simply grow into a sturdy man, able to inherit his father's positions as executioner and runner, and then live a modestly comfortable life.

And then what? Zhao Jin asked himself. Just let this whole life pass by in plain ordinariness?

In that other life, he had fought his way from the bottom to middle management, even had a strong chance of becoming a vice president — a life full of struggle and striving, cut short abruptly by grave illness.

But that life had been one of struggle and striving; it had shone with his own brilliance. And this life? Just grow up in plain ordinariness, start a family, and become a runner with slightly better fighting skills?

A person lives but one life — it cannot pass by in such plain ordinariness! Zhao Jin, sitting on the bed, clenched his fists. He had been given a chance to start over; he could not casually throw it away. He had to seize control of his own fate, make himself strong, make himself shine, make his name go down in history!

Zhao Jin let out a long breath. Before, he had been far too tired, had never rested. Suddenly encountering the warmth of familial love, he had unconsciously relaxed, nearly letting himself be assimilated. But this kind of life was not what Zhao Jin wanted.

Lying back on the pillow, Zhao Jin felt his mind settle. He knew what he had to do now. With his life's goal set, the faint, hidden unease in his heart vanished like smoke.

The knowledge and experience from that other life were precious assets. Those books his friends had read aloud to him at his sickbed were all invaluable. Now he had to carefully recall them and commit them firmly to memory.

Thinking of this, Zhao Jin cursed himself inwardly. Without realizing it, he had already forgotten quite a lot — it was as good as throwing away a huge fortune for nothing.

The night passed. The Zhao household had already grown accustomed to Zhao Jin's early morning runs. Zhao Zhentang adjusted his own schedule, getting up together with Zhao Jin every day. Zhao Zhentang would open the courtyard gate, sometimes chopping at a wooden post with his ghost-head blade, sometimes standing at the doorway watching Zhao Jin run his laps.

But this morning, when Zhao Jin went out and greeted Zhao Zhentang, it gave Zhao Zhentang a start, because Zhao Jin's eyes were completely bloodshot — he looked like he hadn't slept well. But since Zhao Jin didn't say anything, Zhao Zhentang couldn't be bothered to ask.

At breakfast, Zhao Jin's sleep-deprived appearance was noticed by He Cuihua, who gave him a worried scolding, saying it was because of the fight and causing trouble that he couldn't sleep well — if he behaved himself, he'd eat well and sleep soundly. Zhao Jin could only listen while eating. He hadn't slept well last night because he'd been racking his brains trying to remember things.

After breakfast, Zhao Jin set down his bowl. He Cuihua was already clearing up. Zhao Jin hesitated for a moment, then spoke: "Mother, I want to take the milk pastries from home out with me."

These pastries were something He Cuihua had bought for Zhao Jin to nourish his body, worried he might get hungry during martial arts practice. There were still four left. Hearing this, He Cuihua nodded and said casually, "If you want to eat them, take them. Remember to share with Xiaolan — don't just eat them all yourself."

"Mother, I also want to buy some more to take out," Zhao Jin continued.

Taking pastries out to eat was perfectly ordinary, but wanting to buy more on top of that puzzled his parents. He Cuihua stopped her clearing up and asked, "Whatever you want to eat, Mother will buy it for you. Xiaolan eats very little, and your uncle doesn't eat these either. Why do you need to take so many?"

At this, even Zhao Zhentang, who was about to head out the door, turned around and looked at Zhao Jin with some curiosity, wanting to hear his reason.

Being a child, trying to get anything done was truly difficult — convincing his parents was no easy task. After grumbling inwardly a few times, Zhao Jin continued, "I'm not taking them for myself. I want to take them to give to someone else."