Wen Ying stared at the application form for a while.
She thought about her past and present lives, and that old question popped up again: after coming back, was she just going to follow the same path all over again?
Even though her last life was pretty successful, something was still missing.
It’d been half a month since her rebirth, and Wen Ying was growing more certain—she didn’t want to repeat the old road!
If everything from her past life stayed the same, what was the point of all this effort? Her aunt would still divorce her uncle, Xie Qian would still die young—these were outcomes Wen Ying didn’t want to see and was trying hard to prevent.
As for herself, she’d do what she wanted—set small goals first, then long-term ones, take every step well and steady. Even if she didn’t achieve her dream in the end, she’d have no regrets.
Figuring this out, Wen Ying felt a weight lift.
She’d decided to join the New Concept Essay Contest held by *Sprout* magazine. This form was clipped from the May issue, but there was no rush—submissions for the prelims closed in November, giving her plenty of time to prepare. No need to frantically write overnight to make up for last life’s regrets.
Wen Ying tucked the form into a drawer, steadied herself, and went back to junior high math.
No hurry, take it slow.
If she couldn’t calm down and study, it was all empty talk—forget fixing regrets, she’d likely become the first reborn person to drop out after just nine years of compulsory education… She knew the logic, but her “open book, Ma Dongmei; close book, Sun Honglei” progress nearly broke her.
Wen Ying had clawed her way to stability in Modu in her last life—she had grit. If one read didn’t stick, she’d do two; if two failed, three. Before she knew it, she’d pulled an all-nighter.
Deng Yaomei got up early to make breakfast for the family. Wen Ying came out yawning, and Deng Yaomei asked if she’d slept poorly. Sporting two dark circles, Wen Ying groaned, “Don’t ask—I stayed up all night studying. Yaomei, got any coffee? Brew me a cup, no sugar!”
Deng Yaomei felt awful for her.
“Wait there, I’ll make it. Studying’s really tough for you!”
Minutes later, she brought Wen Ying not just coffee but two boiled eggs.
Deng Yaomei didn’t get why anyone liked coffee—even with sugar, it was like drinking medicine. Chen Li and Deng Shangwei didn’t touch it; the stash at home was a gift.
But Wen Ying liked it, and Deng Yaomei wouldn’t judge. That was her way—low education, but big on respect and tolerance.
Wen Ying suddenly remembered Deng Yaomei dropped out in eighth grade and couldn’t help asking, “Yaomei, what’s your plan for the future?”
Deng Yaomei didn’t catch on at first, asking what “future” Wen Ying meant.
“You know, the future! Sure, you could stay with my aunt’s family forever—we all love you—but have you thought about doing something besides being a nanny?”
That soul-searching question stumped Deng Yaomei.
Back home, her alcoholic dad beat her often. They were dirt poor, barely scraping by. After dropping out, he tried marrying her off to an old guy for 30,000 yuan. She refused, and he whipped her bloody with a belt. Villagers tried to intervene, but he roared it was his daughter and none of their business, leaving even the village cadres fuming.
By chance, Deng Shangwei was back in the village on business then. A cadre mentioned Deng Yaomei’s plight. Related distantly, and with Chen Li needing help after having Deng Hao, Deng Shangwei, with Chen Li’s okay, brought Deng Yaomei to Rongcheng as their nanny.
Her drunk dad resisted until villagers pointed out steady work beat a one-time 30,000 payout. He relented.
Five years flew by.
Chen Li and Deng Shangwei saw how hard she worked. Beyond food and lodging, they bought her clothes and shoes. She sent nearly all her wages home—five years’ worth likely topped 30,000. Her dad was probably pleased… but what about Deng Yaomei? Was she just going to keep supporting him?
At 16, Wen Ying wouldn’t have thought of this—she’d even been dismissive of Deng Yaomei as a friend.
At 31, Wen Ying felt like an older sister. What Deng Yaomei couldn’t see, Wen Ying didn’t mind pointing out.
Twenty was still young!
Yaomei envied Wen Ying’s schooling—had she ever considered going back?
Seeing her confusion, Wen Ying brought it up. Deng Yaomei waved it off, “No, no, I can’t learn. Two years ago, Chen-jie and Big Bro asked if I wanted to study again, but I’m too dumb for it!”
Turns out Chen Li and Deng Shangwei had already suggested it, and she’d refused.
Wen Ying sensed Deng Yaomei craved knowledge. She’d asked to wrap Wen Ying’s textbooks in covers at Chen Li’s place.
But when it came to studying again, Deng Yaomei was full of doubts and crippling insecurity.
Too dumb to learn?
Not likely.
When she first arrived in Rongcheng, she was a total bumpkin—afraid of buses, clueless about gas stoves, shy with strangers. Now she handled it all, even picked up the local accent. Who’d guess she was a country girl without knowing?
She learned that—couldn’t she learn from books?
Deng Yaomei probably had little savings. Quitting to study full-time wasn’t practical. Wen Ying offered, “I can teach you an hour every night.”
“When you’re free during the day, use my junior high books. If you need to start from elementary, I’ll bring those from home too.”
Deng Yaomei opened her mouth to refuse, words on her tongue, but Wen Ying’s earnest face stopped her cold.
After a long pause, she murmured, “Xiao Ying, why’re you so good to me?”
Wen Ying finished her coffee, wiped her mouth, “You’re good to me too—we’re friends!”
Taking Deng Yaomei’s care one-sidedly wasn’t friendship.
She’d lost this friend in her last life and didn’t want to repeat that.
She could befriend a star like Qin Jiao without feeling inferior and keep a nanny friend like Deng Yaomei without shame.
Reborn folks should take praise and scorn in stride—it’s basic.
Half an hour later, that mature mindset took a hit. Chen Li said tutoring would be at Teacher Lin’s villa. Wen Ying frowned, “Isn’t that too much trouble for Teacher Lin?”
“It is, but her cousin’s joining us. Her villa’s big, with a study—it’s more convenient. You’ve met her cousin, the guy at her door that day. Surname Xie… oh, Xie Qian!”
A train roared through Wen Ying’s mind.
—She was going to tutor with Xie Qian?!
