1 The Chicken Vendor Scoundrel of the Early 2000s (1)

Bang—

Hiss—

Before Gu Chen could react, he tumbled off the bed, hitting the floor so hard that stars danced before his eyes. His sharply defined face twisted in pain, almost crumpling into a knot.

He sat bewildered on the cracked, gray cement floor, staring at a decayed, faded wooden door and a yellowed wall opposite him.

There was no doubt—this was a very old house.

An old house?!

Gu Chen’s eyes widened like copper bells. He scrambled to get up, but his back struck the wooden bed frame, causing him to gasp again and clearing his mind a little more.

Before he could gather his thoughts, he realized someone was beside him. He turned his head to look.

He saw a plump, childish face—a little girl hugging a small blanket. Her hair was tousled from sleep, her features delicately carved and radiant.

Her big, bright eyes, full of innocence, stared at Gu Chen.

Gu Chen forced a stiff, friendly smile, just about to speak—

Suddenly, the little girl wailed, frightened into loud tears.

Her chubby hands clutched the blanket, her small body shrinking back, fat teardrops rolling from her big eyes as she cried pitifully.

She sobbed, her little shoulders trembling, face flushed red, mouth open wide as she called out intermittently, “Mama, I want Mama—”

Gu Chen was immediately at a loss, utterly panicked.

He had experience comforting women, but not children.

“I’m here, big brother’s here. Don’t be afraid.”

A little boy, awakened from the other bed, quickly climbed down and ran to Gu Chen, pulling his sister close. His tiny face glared fiercely at Gu Chen, clenching his fists and shouting, “Don’t bully my sister!”

He was too young now to fight back, but one day he’d grow up, protect his mother and sister, and never let Gu Chen off!

Gu Chen looked at the tiny new arrival, feeling innocent—it really wasn’t his fault the girl was crying.

The boy dragged his sister to a corner, their small figures hiding behind the wardrobe. He crouched, gently wiping her tears again and again, soothing her patiently: “Don’t cry, don’t cry, sister, don’t cry.”

“Mama—” The little girl still called for their mother.

“Mama will be back soon, don’t cry.”

…

The girl’s pitiful cries and the boy’s gentle coaxing echoed in the cramped room, as if they were being terribly bullied.

Gu Chen, the “culprit,” was utterly confused, but memories gradually returned.

Before the accident, he’d been driving his newly rented Ferrari, chasing after a girl he fancied, mentally plotting how to win her over that night, proud of his cleverness—only to crash into a cement truck around a corner, crushed instantly.

Body obliterated.

But that wasn’t the end. After his death, Gu Chen found himself in a space surrounded by screens. The pain lingered, ravaging his every cell, cold sweat pouring as the screens played his deeds from life after life.

Gu Chen realized he had always been a burden, disappointing those around him.

As a son, he drained his parents; as a husband, he betrayed his wife; as a father, he withheld from his children…

“Resentment value too high, unable to reincarnate—”

A mechanical voice echoed. Gu Chen was bathed in a blinding light and swept away by a powerful force, losing consciousness.

“Atonement is your last chance to erase resentment. If you fail, you will lose the right to reincarnate and descend to the infernal layers for punishment until your soul dissipates.”

When Gu Chen awoke, he found himself here.

He surveyed the old house. It was indeed decrepit, with broken corners everywhere, yet meticulously tidy. Only two beds and an old wardrobe, everything else neatly arranged in the corners.

A memory “revived” in his mind.

This was Gu Chen’s first life. Just like his last, he was a reckless troublemaker, his family destitute. These two old rooms were all his grandfather left behind.

It was said that after Gu Chen was born, his mother ran off with a wealthy outsider from town, and by the time he started middle school, his father had died, leaving only his grandfather.

Gu Chen inherited his mother’s looks—handsome, with striking features and a tall, lean frame. By middle school, he sported trendy hair, earrings, and studded jeans, playing the role of a rebellious heartthrob who attracted many spirited girls, a campus sensation.

Society at the time was much like the early 2000s: public safety was lacking, living standards low and progress slow, especially in town.

Gu Chen was never cut out for academics, always sneaking off to internet cafes or picking fights, hanging out with local toughs. The town’s schools were so backward that even teachers didn’t care.

Two years after graduating middle school, Gu Chen was still a town delinquent—gaming by day at the internet café, and by night, lurking at the school gates to pick up girls, disciplining unruly “sworn sisters” to assert his authority.

Such idle youths used these antics, along with a cheap bowl of stir-fried noodles, to win over naïve teenage girls, indulging in costless romances.

Lin Juan entered Gu Chen’s world then—bullied and resisting, dragged after school by the so-called campus queens to the back street.

It was an empty market, deserted at night, perfect for brawls.

Gu Chen, purely attracted by Lin Juan’s looks, wanted to play hero. He swaggered forward with a stick, fiercely warning the girls.

They turned pale and fled.

Gu Chen then strode to Lin Juan and declared, “From now on, call me big brother. I’ll protect you—no one will dare lay a finger on you.”

Thanks to this, Lin Juan avoided much trouble.

But she still didn’t study much.

The town was poor, with few resources, mostly children from nearby villages, many left behind by migrant parents. Lin Juan’s situation was worse—her parents dead, no one to rely on.

Her uncle and aunt took the inheritance, promising to let her finish middle school to avoid gossip, but the money barely fed her.

Further education was impossible.

In a town class, completing ninth grade was rare; each term saw dropouts, and by graduation, two-thirds would go to work or marry.

Lin Juan worked as a waitress for several years before Gu Chen coaxed her back. She became pregnant, resting at home—no wedding, but two children in five years.

Having children so young seemed normal—everyone around them did the same. Lin Juan wasn’t even the first in her class to marry early; most girls were wed already, some with three kids.

During this time, Gu Chen’s grandfather died, leaving the family without income. Gu Chen remained a lazy slacker, nothing like a father, let alone a provider.

The Gu family home wasn’t far from town. Gu Chen wandered the streets daily, gathering with other idle men, boasting, drinking heavily, his mind muddled, eventually developing the habit of hitting his wife and children to assert his dominance.

Lin Juan matured early. She longed for a home, and Gu Chen was a sweet talker, so she married young, only to fall into hardship.

Yet she was a devoted mother, raising two children with great effort, sending them to school, shouldering the burdens alone.

Her dedication highlighted Gu Chen’s shamelessness. Lin Juan fell ill from worry, dying before forty, and after her death, Gu Chen secretly took the money she had saved for the children and gambled it away.

Addicted to gambling, he extorted more from his children, dragging them down with him.

For money, Gu Chen abandoned all dignity, repeatedly clashing with his eldest son at the police station.

His children lost their jobs, couldn’t marry, developed depression—his daughter jumped from a building, his son, though clever, died young from illness.

The state, seeing Gu Chen old and alone, gave him welfare and built him a house. He lived comfortably until ninety-nine, dying peacefully in his sleep.

In sum, Gu Chen drained those closest to him, enjoying life without a trace of remorse.

Reflecting on his life, Gu Chen sheepishly rubbed his nose. Perhaps… he’d been a bit excessive?

According to the atonement system, Gu Chen understood his task: to compensate Lin Juan and his two children, eliminating their resentment.

“Don’t cry, sister, don’t cry. Big brother will beat the bad guy for you!”

The little boy’s voice pulled Gu Chen back to reality. He looked over, meeting the child’s fierce gaze, his whole demeanor radiating the desire to attack him.

But the boy was too young, entirely harmless—the glaring, fist-clenching pose could only be described as adorably fierce.

If Gu Chen remembered correctly, this boy was five and a half, named Gu Zijia. The little girl was three, named Gu Ziyan.

At this point, Lin Juan was already out working.

With no one to look after the children, she locked them inside. If they woke up, they’d inevitably be noisy and wake Gu Chen, who’d then scowl and yell at them.

Little Yanyan had been frightened by his yelling, never daring to approach Gu Chen—just as he preferred.

That way, he could claim it wasn’t his fault the children didn’t want him—they simply weren’t close!

This morning, Yanyan woke first. With their mother gone and her brother still asleep, she hugged her blanket and played.

Then Gu Chen rolled off the bed, startling her.

With no mom or brother present, Yanyan naturally burst into tears.

Children are sensitive—they know when their father dislikes them, when he’s angry and harsh.

“Don’t cry,” Gu Chen stepped forward, trying to approach them.

“Ah, wah wah wah—” Yanyan stomped her feet in terror, clinging to her brother and crying louder, the two shrinking back in fear.

Gu Chen: …

Just then, Lin Juan’s anxious voice called from outside: “Why are you crying? Mama’s back.”

Gu Chen’s pupils contracted. Seeing the frightened children, unsure how to handle the mess, he leaped onto the bed, pulled the blanket over himself, and pretended to sleep.

The children watched their suddenly “sleeping” father, their eyes filled with confusion.

Yanyan stopped crying, raised her hand to wipe her tears, blinked her big eyes, and stared at her unmoving father.

A strange father—not a scary one.

Lin Juan pushed open the door, changed her shoes, and entered. She glanced at the two children in the corner and, seeing Gu Chen “asleep,” lowered her voice and smiled, “Are your little tummies hungry? Mama steamed egg custard.”

She figured her daughter had woken up, not found her mother, and cried, then her son comforted her.

“Mama—” The little girl ran to Lin Juan, wanting to be held.

“Mama’s dirty.” Lin Juan took her soft hand and reached for her son. “Two little kittens just waking up, time to wash up.”

“Little kittens,” the girl’s attention shifted and she meowed twice.

The village was full of stray cats and dogs—a common sight, and “little kitten” was a familiar term.

“Meow meow meow.” Lin Juan laughed, mimicking her daughter, and tickled her tummy, “Is the little kitten’s tummy hungry?”

The girl giggled, her eyes curving into slits. “Hungry!”

A family of three—one big, two small—filled the room with warmth.

Gu Chen didn’t open his eyes, but his ears were alert.

When they left, he dared to peek, staring at the old wooden beams and tiles above, unsure if he felt lucky or troubled.

He was fortunate he hadn’t yet started hitting his wife and children, but the kids already avoided him, thanks to his frequent yelling, though Lin Juan hadn’t noticed.

He remembered—on this day, Gu Chen shouted at the children. The little girl didn’t understand, cried, and he kicked her aside in annoyance. Lin Juan returned, eyes red, but the difference in strength was too great. Gu Chen hit her in front of the children and kicked the boy to the corner.

After that, the family was completely fractured.

At this stage, Gu Chen simply didn’t care for his wife and children, seeing them as burdens.

Lin Juan still harbored hopes, but expected nothing.

She did everything herself, accepting her fate. If they separated, the children would have no father or home—even these two shabby rooms were shelter from wind and rain. Without her own family, where could she take her children?

To put it bluntly, even farming was impossible—no land, starvation was a real risk.

She couldn’t understand it. Life was tough, but with love, hardship didn’t matter. Why did Gu Chen ignore her and the children?

*

Gu Chen lay on the bed, faintly hearing laughter outside.

Lin Juan was an optimistic, positive woman, patient with her children. No matter how hard she worked or how useless Gu Chen was, she was grateful for her son and daughter.

They were her sweet happiness amid a bleak existence—her children were her home.

Gu Chen listened to their laughter, catching the aroma wafting from outside.

Grrr~~~

His stomach rumbled.

Lin Juan was a skilled cook. To supplement the family income, she made breakfast to sell at the town’s primary school every morning, always selling out early.

Today was the weekend, so she stayed home.

Gu Chen couldn’t resist—he got up and went outside.

Stepping out, the heat enveloped him.

Before him was a field of sun-dried rice, golden and abundant—a year’s worth of grain for the family.

“Cluck cluck cluck—”

Yanyan, sharp-eyed, dropped her spoon and ran from the kitchen, glaring at the hens pecking at the rice, her little legs charging into the sunlight, shouting and waving her finger, “Bad!”

Eating her mother’s hard-earned rice!

“Baby, come back, the sun is too hot,” Lin Juan called, hurrying after her.

“Bad chickens!”

“I’ll eat you!”

“I’ll eat you!”

…

“Cluck cluck cluck—”

“Cock-a-doodle-doo—”

…

The chickens flapped their wings, circling the rice, Yanyan chasing one while the others pecked away.

She stomped her feet, fists clenched, vowing to eat the chickens, her face fiercely adorable.

“Cluck cluck cluck—” One hen fled to Gu Chen’s feet.

Yanyan saw him, stopped, and ran to Lin Juan, faster than she’d chased the chickens, calling, “Mama, mama!”

…

Gu Chen bent down, grabbed the chicken, and tossed it away.

The hen squawked and bolted, the others following, wings flapping.

Yanyan hugged Lin Juan’s leg, watching the fleeing chickens, then peeked at Gu Chen, burying her head and then sneakily peeking out, her black-and-white eyes rolling, hands still clutching her mother.

“The chickens are gone, let’s go inside,” Lin Juan said, picking up her daughter. She glanced at Gu Chen, her expression complex, finally saying softly, “I saved some stir-fried noodles for your breakfast.”

When Grandfather was alive, he had some skills, was diligent, and occasionally slipped Lin Juan some money. Living in the village was cheap.

Gu Chen was lazy, but the young couple had few conflicts. After the old man died, Lin Juan shouldered the family alone, stumbling but holding on.

But lately, Gu Chen had become addicted to alcohol, often coming home drunk.

The stench of liquor was overwhelming, and the children kept their distance, afraid.

“Mm.”

Gu Chen grabbed a toothbrush and went to the outdoor tap to wash up.

Soon, he wiped his face and followed the scent into the kitchen.

As he entered, the children ate faster, burying their heads in their bowls.

He pulled up a stool and sat beside Yanyan.

She frowned, glanced at her mother and brother, stretched out her hand, and her face crumpled as she burst into tears, deeply rejecting Gu Chen’s proximity.

Wanting him gone.

“Don’t cry, mama’s here,” Lin Juan quickly took her into her arms, smelling the liquor on Gu Chen. He was irritable upon waking, and angering him never ended well.

Yanyan nestled in Lin Juan’s arms, shaking her head and refusing to eat, sobbing, “Don’t want the big bad guy, don’t want—”

Her words made not only Lin Juan’s heart tremble, but even little Gu Zijia’s face filled with worry.