Chapter Twelve: Moving Again

Going into business with a partner was out of the question for Chen Xin right now. She was still a student, and balancing her studies with her part-time job already consumed most of her energy; whatever remained, she had to reserve for Ezi. Anyone could guess the consequences of entering a partnership and then leaving it unattended. Since she knew she couldn’t do it well, she decided not to get involved at all.

Chen Xin had no intention of contacting the person who left their phone number. She simply told Uncle Tie that if anyone else came looking for her, he should say she was too busy with classes and taking care of her child to take on anything else.

Uncle Tie and his wife actually shared this view. Even if Chen Xin hadn’t said so, he had already planned to have his wife find an opportunity to talk with her, hoping Chen Xin would stop managing the breakfast stall altogether.

It wasn’t that he wanted to take advantage of her, but running the breakfast stall, though it looked simple, required early mornings and late nights. Chen Xin had only been at it for a short time, and she was already noticeably thinner.

Uncle Tie’s idea was that Chen Xin should simply leave the breakfast stall to him and his wife. If she developed new dishes, they’d pay her more depending on the complexity.

But Chen Xin wasn’t ready for that. She hoped to finish three years’ worth of coursework in just two years, so she had no energy to develop other businesses. The real estate project hadn’t taken off yet, and the breakfast stall was the main source of income for her and her nephew—they couldn’t afford to lose it.

Uncle Tie made the suggestion offhandedly and had no intention of taking advantage of her. Since Chen Xin had her own plan, he didn’t press the matter and focused on doing his part well.

The riverside house Chen Xin had been eyeing finally came up for sale. When the agent contacted her, he spoke of the family’s troubles.

Life is unpredictable. That family had been holding out for a potential demolition payout, but before anything concrete happened, the uncertainty caused so much strife that the household was thrown into chaos. To make matters worse, the son and daughter-in-law ended up in a fierce fight over the issue, dragging both sets of parents into the dispute.

“There was a public notice posted earlier, listing the demolition area. Their house was right at the edge—maybe included, maybe not. The argument over demolition prompted one of their relatives to pull some strings to find out the exact range. That’s when they discovered their house wouldn’t be demolished, nor would several others at the street’s entrance. The new city road plan runs from the riverbank, turns just fifty meters past the bridge, and cuts through to connect with the road toward Liuli Cave.”

The agent was well-informed—even knew that the riverside would be renovated with new greenery and wastewater management in a couple of years. But those were municipal upgrades and had nothing to do with demolition. Even if the levee was improved, their street would still be separated by a riverside road. No main road meant no foot traffic; even if they knocked down the wall and converted the property into a storefront, there would be no customers.

“The daughter-in-law, seeing that the demolition windfall was gone, wanted a divorce. The couple had only one daughter. The man’s family wanted him to remarry and have a son, so the daughter went to her mother, and the flat was given to the wife as child support. The woman’s family was from up north, so she planned to sell the house and take her daughter and parents back home, to avoid further entanglement.”

The price the woman asked wasn’t high. The house had been recently renovated and had a new floor added, so it cost about a fifth more than neighboring properties.

Chen Xin went to view it. The house sat at the outer corner of the street, with an extra fan-shaped courtyard. Besides adding a floor, the owners had built a kitchen and bathroom in the yard, leaving over twenty square meters of open space.

By local standards, the house was quite large; none of the neighbors had such a big courtyard. It was convenient for airing clothes, bedding, and so on.

The kitchen and bathroom drains were connected directly to the main public sewer. The area was prone to waterlogging because of its lower elevation, but this house was just at the slope; you couldn’t tell from inside, but if you poured water in the yard, it would flow straight out.

The interior was empty—furniture and appliances had all been removed. Chen Xin was satisfied, except for the staircase, which needed renovation. The previous owners’ child was older than Zhang Zhang, so the staircase had been built narrow and steep to save space; without adult supervision, a child could easily tumble down.

The agent suggested Chen Xin hire someone to rebuild the stairs. He mentioned his relative, a skilled carpenter who charged reasonable rates. Redoing the stairs would take about a week. Of course, Chen Xin could hire someone else, though it would cost more.

Chen Xin didn’t have the time to supervise renovations herself, but she found the agent honest—he hadn’t hidden any flaws and even urged her to bring a friend to look at the place before signing or paying, warning her that buying a house was a big deal and any regret would be a terrible hassle.

Chen Xin wasn’t a naïve girl. After confirming the property rights and ensuring there were no financial entanglements, she paid decisively.

She bought the house for just over sixty thousand—a bargain in her eyes. Her sister and brother-in-law hadn’t left much money behind, and the bank paid little interest. Investing in property was better; after a few years, its appreciation would easily outpace the interest from savings.

By the time the stairs and minor renovations were done, the New Year was near.

Soon it was 1997, a world slightly different from the one Chen Xin remembered. In her own world, the major events of 1997 had left no trace here; only daily life was similar, while the global order had shifted in subtle ways.

Without the financial crisis, development was rapid—each day brought change. Most tangible was the rise of the internet; its progress had far outstripped the world in her memory. Home computers, once a luxury, suddenly dropped in price by a third around mid-1997. Chen Xin did the math and decisively bought one. Since the new house was renovated and furnished, she and Zhang Zhang moved in.

She rented out the previous apartment to a new teacher at her school—a young PhD graduate. The school had assigned him a small place, barely enough for him, his wife, and their child; with his parents coming to help, space was tight.

Chen Xin’s apartment was close to the old staff quarters. It was only a fifteen-minute walk for the grandparents to visit their son. Downstairs was a market and small shops, making life convenient. The assistant lecturer signed a three-year lease after viewing the place and paid a year’s rent upfront.

Before moving, Chen Xin visited Grandpa and Grandma Liu to explain. They had thought she didn’t need to buy another house, but seeing it, they agreed it was worth sixty thousand—especially Grandpa Liu, who loved the old yellow catalpa tree by the courtyard. Neighbors often played chess under it, and if he wanted, he could bring a stool and fishing rod to the riverbank.

Chen Xin was straightforward—she gave the elderly couple a spare key, encouraging them to visit whenever they liked. Even just sitting outside chatting would be a pleasure.