Chapter 1: Rebirth
“You little thief! You rotten kid! I spit on you! Serves you right your mother died early, serves you right your father married a younger woman! Your whole family’s trash, you little bastard!”
Vision gradually clearing, Mu Jia Shu found himself with a foot on his chest. Squinting, he looked up to see the face of a middle-aged man: bald, shifty eyes, a fleshy face, resembling a thug-like rabbit with its ears clipped off.
He didn’t recognize this… rabbit.
Before Mu Jia Shu could confirm anything, another blow landed on his head. Though not enough to crack his skull, warm blood flowed down his forehead, obscuring his vision.
The thug continued to curse, “What, not playing dead? You even dared to steal from me, huh?”
He beat Mu Jia Shu mercilessly, retrieved his money, and left triumphantly, leaving Mu Jia Shu half-dead on the ground, contemplating his life.
Perhaps his brain was damaged, because he didn’t recognize the man or his surroundings. He remembered everything from his past life vividly, yet in that memory, he was clearly already dead.
Before he could figure out where he was or who he was, a jarring voice pierced his ears: “Oh my god, a dead man!”
Mu Jia Shu: “…”
He managed to move slightly, signaling he was still alive; begging not to be buried.
Then, he heard a calm young man’s voice: “This is… the guy who got beaten up just now?”
The voice was clear and pleasant, yet anyone hearing it would feel a sense of inexplicable tightness in their chest, a sour ache. It was as if the speaker harbored infinite regret and sorrow, unable to resolve or release it, slowly seeping out to affect those around him, causing them to feel sorry for him.
Mu Jia Shu froze at the sound, his heart pounding, instinctively calling out a name. His throat was raw from being choked, his voice a mere groan.
Neither man responded. The jarring voice replied, “Yeah, Wei San, I heard that fat guy cursing him. Seems like this kid stole his money, so he got a beating. He probably left after… tsk tsk, but even if this guy isn’t dead, he’s half-dead. Serves him right. Let’s go.”
Wei Xun, himself burdened with inner turmoil, wasn’t initially concerned. But when he accidentally glanced down, seeing this blood-stained and dust-covered face, an inexplicable familiarity and pity washed over him, his nose sour, tears nearly welling up.
Ignoring Zheng Ke, he pulled out a few hundred-yuan bills, bent down, and placed them in front of the battered young man, saying softly, “Buy some medicine.”
Zheng Ke was stunned, “Wei San, your compassion is overflowing today. What’s gotten into you? Possessed by something?”
“Enough nonsense,” Wei Xun said, “If we can help, let’s help. It’s a good thing someone’s alive. Life’s worth more than this. Let’s go.”
Zheng Ke wanted to speak, but upon hearing “life,” his heart skipped a beat. He felt a pang of sadness, shutting his mouth, sighing, and pushing his friend’s shoulder, “Forget it, forget it. I was being stupid. Let’s go, let’s go.”
Seeing his two former best friends, Mu Jia Shu’s rusty mind finally started turning. He touched the still-warm banknotes, determining through the design and texture that they were indeed issued by the People’s Bank of China, not the kind of flimsy, worthless currency burned for the dead.
So he was alive.
While unsure if Wei Xun was possessed, Mu Jia Shu felt he had become some kind of “thing” possessing another body.
Was this a case of Zhuangzi dreaming he was a butterfly? He woke up to find himself a beaten thief?
No, that’s not right. He wasn’t asleep…
The pain he’d felt in his heart before seemed to surge again, engulfing him.
The Mu family, even in Beijing, held considerable status. Mu Jia Shu, the eldest son, had many eyes on him. He was a sickly child with a weak heart, pampered by his family. Even going out required a retinue. He’d died… in his own home.
He remembered his twenty-second birthday. After a minor unpleasant incident, he’d excused himself to change clothes, only to have a sudden attack.
His condition was congenital. Though managed well, emotional agitation caused chest pains. He always kept medicine on hand. But this time, his medicine bottle was empty.
It felt like an invisible hand was choking him, his breathing labored, his lips turning blue. His heart sank.
He clearly remembered checking his pocket that morning, replacing the bottle with a new one. How could it be empty?
Many were at his birthday party, but few had access to his outer clothes – less than ten.
He didn’t want to suspect anyone, but the facts were undeniable.
“…Achoo!”
A sneeze brought him back to reality. Mu Jia Shu smiled wryly—Forget it, why worry? He was now a thief, and being alive was good enough. It was freezing.
He struggled to his feet, deciding not to take Wei Xun’s money.
Initially, he hadn’t reacted to Wei Xun, now relieved the other hadn’t heard his call. Facing them in this state would be too embarrassing. Resurrection wouldn’t be believed; he’d likely end up in a mental hospital.
Mu Jia Shu didn’t understand how he died, and that gnawed at him. Accustomed to a privileged life, he found the offer condescending.
…But he quickly regretted this foolish act.
Waiting for his beef noodle soup, the aroma drifted from a neighboring table. He sat stiffly, cursing his own naiveté—his first rebirth, lacking experience. If he’d known the original owner was this poor, he wouldn’t have been so haughty.
Hundreds of yuan! With that money, he could have splurged on an extra egg…
The aloof young master Mu, through an inexplicable journey, left his ivory tower, realizing for the first time how much a few hundred yuan could do, and that beef noodle soup was delicious.
As he thought, the steaming noodles arrived, the red chili oil glistening.
Perhaps because he was handsome, the stall owner, though middle-aged, added more beef to his bowl.
Mu Jia Shu took a sip, the warmth spreading through him.
He rarely ate spicy food before, but now he loved it. Though his identity changed, he had a healthier body.
…Barely…a good thing?
The original owner, Shen Shu, had a tragic life.
As the thug said, his mother was dead, his father had a younger wife and left him, leaving him, his aunt’s family, and an elderly grandmother.
Shen Shu’s grandmother was frail, doing needlework occasionally. His aunt and uncle ran a small breakfast stall, barely bigger than the shelter he sat in, raising a child. Shen Shu, a high school graduate, couldn’t find work, and resorted to petty theft.
Unskilled, he was frequently beaten, gaining nothing.
Bearing the name of a thief, he died with only a few crumpled bills.
Mu Jia Shu worried about his future.