Back to 1995
Chapter 1: The Yellow Mosquito Net
Mathew woke up with a splitting headache, as if someone had hammered a nail into his temple. The first thing that blurred into his sight was a yellowed mosquito net, its edges frayed and dotted with tiny stains from years of use—not the sleek, expensive silk netting that draped over his king-sized bed in the penthouse. He instinctively reached for the nightstand, expecting to feel the smooth, cool surface of his iPhone, the device that had been his constant companion for over a decade. But his hand brushed against something hard, cold, and plastic—an old red toy car, its paint chipped in places, the same one he’d cherished as a child before it got lost in a move.
“Mathew! Get up right now! You’ll be late for school if you dilly-dally!” His mother’s voice cut through the fog in his head, sharp but warm, so clear and youthful that it sent a jolt of disbelief through his entire body. He hadn’t heard her speak like this in twenty years. She’d passed away from cancer when he was 35, a slow, cruel illness that had drained her of life and left him with a gaping hole he’d tried to fill with money, power, and meaningless relationships. He’d spent millions later, chasing quack cures and experimental treatments, desperate to bring her back, but all he’d gotten was a bank account that grew colder with each passing year. But now, she was here, her voice echoing through the thin wooden door, irritation laced with affection.
Mathew sat up abruptly, his head spinning. The room was small, barely big enough to fit a single bed, a desk, and a bookshelf. The walls were painted a faded sky blue, with a few smudges where his childhood self had traced dinosaurs with crayons. On the desk stood a rabbit-shaped lamp, its ears slightly bent, the bulb casting a soft, warm glow. The bookshelf was crammed with picture books—The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Where the Wild Things Are, and a tattered copy of Charlotte’s Web that he’d read so many times the pages were falling out. Above the bed hung a poster of Michael Jordan, his iconic jump shot frozen in time, the paper curled at the corners. He looked down at his hands—small, thin, with a faint scar on the thumb, a souvenir from the day he’d fallen off his bike at 9, skidding across the gravel and crying until his dad had picked him up and kissed the hurt away. Oh my god, he thought, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst out of his chest. Am I back? Back to 1995? When I was 9 years old?
He stumbled out of bed and ran to the wardrobe, its surface scuffed and marked with his initials carved into the wood. The mirror attached to the door was chipped at the edge, but it was clear enough to show him a face he’d long forgotten—a boy with messy brown hair that stuck up in all directions, big hazel eyes, and a smattering of freckles across his nose. It was him, Mathew at 9, not the 42-year-old man who’d built a corporate empire but had no one to share it with, who’d sat alone in his penthouse on Christmas Eve, eating takeout and staring at photos of the family he’d neglected.
“Mathew! Hurry up, or I’m coming in!” His mother knocked again, this time more insistently.
“I’m coming! I’m coming!” He shouted back, his voice high and childish, a stark contrast to the deep, gravelly tone he’d developed over the years. He fumbled with the blue school uniform laid out on the chair—short sleeves with a small school emblem stitched on the chest, gray shorts that hit just above the knees. The fabric was a little rough against his skin, but it carried a faint scent of sun-dried linen and his mother’s lavender detergent, a warmth he’d forgotten existed, a warmth that made his throat tighten with longing.
When he walked into the kitchen, the smell of porridge and steamed buns hit him, rich and comforting. His father was sitting at the small wooden table, reading a newspaper—the local evening paper, its pages crinkling as he turned them. His dad was a factory worker, his hands calloused from years of fixing machines, his back slightly stooped from long hours on his feet. He was always quiet, never one for big speeches or displays of affection, but Mathew had learned as an adult that his love ran deep—deeper than he’d ever appreciated as a child. In his last life, after Mathew had become rich, he’d tried to buy his dad a mansion in the suburbs, but his father had refused, saying he preferred the old neighborhood where everyone knew each other’s names, where he could sit on the porch and chat with the neighbors. Then, when Mathew was 38, his dad had died of a sudden heart attack while fixing a bike in the yard. Mathew had been in Tokyo on a business trip, too busy closing a deal to answer his father’s last phone call. He’d never gotten to say “I love you,” never gotten to thank him for all the quiet sacrifices he’d made.
“Morning, dad,” Mathew said, his voice barely above a whisper, his throat feeling like it was lined with sandpaper.
His dad looked up, surprise flickering across his face. “Well, look who’s up early. And you called me ‘dad’—not ‘old man’ like you usually do.” He smiled, a small, gentle smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, a smile Mathew had only seen a handful of times in his memory, a smile that made his heart ache with regret and joy.
His mother walked over from the stove, carrying a bowl of porridge, steam curling up from the hot liquid. “Eat fast. Susan’s been waiting for you at the alley mouth for ten minutes. She said she’s not going to wait forever.”
Susan. The name hit Mathew like a bolt of lightning, jolting him back to a flood of memories. Susan, his childhood best friend, the girl with two braids and bright eyes that sparkled like stars, the girl who’d shared her lollipops with him, who’d helped him hide from the school bully, who’d sat next to him on the swings and told him her dreams of becoming an artist. In his last life, they’d gone to different middle schools, then different high schools, their paths drifting apart as they grew older. When they were 18, he’d worked up the courage to tell her he liked her, to ask her to the prom, but he’d chickened out at the last minute, too scared of rejection, too worried about ruining their friendship. A few months later, her family had moved to another city, and they’d lost touch. He’d heard through a mutual friend years later that she’d married a high school teacher, had two kids, and lived a quiet, happy life. He’d always wondered—what if he’d been brave? What if he’d told her how he felt? Would they have been together? Would his life have been different?
“I’ll go now!” Mathew grabbed his schoolbag from the hook by the door, a canvas bag with a superhero printed on it, and ran out into the hallway.
The alley was narrow, its ground paved with red bricks that were worn smooth from years of foot traffic. Old bicycles leaned against the walls, their frames rusted, their seats cracked. A few grandmas sat on small stools by their doorsteps, chatting loudly in the local dialect, their voices mixing with the chirping of birds and the distant sound of a bicycle bell. The air smelled of soy milk and fried dough sticks from the breakfast stall at the end of the alley, a smell that instantly transported Mathew back to his childhood, a time when life was simple, when the biggest worry was whether he’d finish his homework in time to watch cartoons. This was 1995, a year of cassette tapes and landline phones, of handwritten letters and afternoon bike rides, a year when everything felt warm and alive.
At the alley mouth, a girl stood waiting, her back to him. She was wearing the same blue school uniform as Mathew, her two braids bouncing as she shifted from one foot to the other. When she turned around, Mathew’s breath caught in his throat. It was Susan, her eyes bright and clear, her cheeks slightly flushed from the morning chill. She was even prettier than he remembered, her smile wide and genuine.
“Mathew! You’re finally here! I’ve been waiting forever!” Susan pouted, but there was no real anger in her voice. She held out her hand, palm up, revealing a small orange candy wrapped in crinkly paper. “My mom gave me this. She said it’s your favorite flavor—orange. I saved it for you.”
In his last life, he’d taken the candy without a word, shoving it into his pocket, too shy to thank her, too embarrassed to meet her eyes. But now, Mathew took the candy gently, his fingers brushing against hers—soft, warm, and slightly calloused from holding paintbrushes. He smiled, a real smile, one that reached his eyes. “Thank you, Susan. It’s my favorite. I’ll save it for later, when I need something sweet.”
Susan blinked, surprised. “You didn’t call me ‘silly girl’ today. Are you sick? Did you catch a cold?” She reached out her hand, her fingers hovering near his forehead, a look of concern on her face.
Her hand was soft against his skin, and Mathew felt his heart race. He remembered that in his last life, he’d pulled away, muttering something about her being annoying, too embarrassed to let her touch him, too scared of the feelings that were starting to bubble up inside him. But now, he let her hand rest on his forehead, closing his eyes for a moment, savoring the warmth, the connection. “I’m fine. I just… I just want to be nice to you. You’re my best friend, after all.”
Susan’s face turned pink, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks. She looked away, staring at the ground, her shoes scuffing the dirt. “Well, let’s go to school. Mr. Li will be angry if we’re late for math class. He said he’s going to test us on multiplication tables today.”
They walked to school together, the road lined with tall poplar trees, their leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. The sun was rising, casting golden light over the rooftops, and the world felt bright and new. Mathew talked more than he ever had as a child, asking Susan about her summer vacation—did she go anywhere fun? Did she read any good books? Did her mom make her favorite braised pork? Susan smiled, her eyes lighting up as she answered, telling him about her trip to her grandma’s village, about the fireflies she’d seen at night, about how her mom had taught her to make dumplings. In his last life, he’d been quiet, too focused on getting good grades to please his parents, too worried about being teased by the other kids to let himself be vulnerable. He’d never noticed how much Susan loved to talk, how her face lit up when she spoke, how she leaned in closer when he asked her a question, as if sharing her thoughts with him was the most important thing in the world.
When they reached the school gate, the bell rang, a loud, shrill sound that echoed through the courtyard. They hurried up the stairs to their classroom on the second floor, the wooden steps creaking under their feet. The classroom was small and crowded, with wooden desks arranged in rows, each one carved with initials, doodles, and silly messages. The blackboard was covered in white chalk dust, and the air smelled of erasers and paper. Mr. Li, their math teacher, was already standing at the front of the room, a piece of chalk in his hand, a stern look on his face. He was a middle-aged man with a potbelly and thick glasses, and he was known for being strict, but Mathew remembered that he’d always had a soft spot for kids who tried their best.
“Quiet down, class,” Mr. Li said, tapping the chalk on the blackboard. “Today, we’re going to learn the 9 times table. Who can volunteer to recite it first? Don’t be shy—I know some of you have been practicing at home.”
In his last life, Mathew had shrunk down in his seat, his heart pounding, too scared to raise his hand, too worried about making a mistake in front of the class. But now, he knew all the math knowledge up to college, could solve calculus problems in his sleep, could recite multiplication tables backward and forward. He raised his hand high, higher than anyone else, a surge of confidence coursing through him.
“Mathew? You want to try?” Mr. Li raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. Mathew had never been an active student before, had never volunteered for anything, had always preferred to blend into the background.
Mathew stood up, his legs steady, his voice clear. “9 times 1 is 9. 9 times 2 is 18. 9 times 3 is 27. 9 times 4 is 36. 9 times 5 is 45. 9 times 6 is 54. 9 times 7 is 63. 9 times 8 is 72. 9 times 9 is 81.” He recited it perfectly, without a single pause, without a single mistake, his eyes never leaving Mr. Li’s face.
The classroom was quiet for a moment, then erupted in applause. The other kids stared at him in awe, whispering to each other. Susan turned around in her seat, her eyes wide with admiration, a big smile on her face. “Mathew, you’re so good!” she whispered, her voice filled with wonder.
Mathew smiled back at her, a warm feeling spreading through his chest. He knew this was just the beginning. He’d been given a second chance, a chance to do things right, a chance to fix the mistakes of his past. He wanted to make his parents proud, not with money or fame, but with kindness and hard work. He wanted to be with Susan, to tell her how he felt, to never let her slip away again. He wanted to live a life that mattered, a life filled with love and joy, not just empty wealth.
After school, Mathew and Susan walked home together again, the sun setting behind the buildings, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange. When they passed a small shop on the corner, the one that sold ice cream and candy, Mathew stopped. “Wait here for a minute. I’ll be right back.”
He ran into the shop, his hands clenched around the few coins he’d found in his desk drawer that morning. He bought two ice creams—vanilla flavor, Susan’s favorite, the one she’d always beg her mom to buy for her in the summer. When he walked back out, Susan was standing where he’d left her, looking up at the sky, watching the birds fly by.
“Here,” he said, holding out one of the ice creams to her. “For you. Vanilla, right?”
Susan took the ice cream, her eyes wide with surprise, her fingers brushing against his as she took it. “Why are you being so nice to me today? You never buy me ice cream. You always say it’s a waste of money.”
Mathew looked at her, his heart full, his voice serious. “Because you’re my best friend, Susan. The best friend I’ve ever had. And I don’t want to be shy anymore. I don’t want to pretend I don’t care. I want to tell you… I like playing with you. More than anyone else. I want to be with you, always.”
Susan’s face turned bright red, her cheeks glowing in the sunset. She bit her lip, looking down at her ice cream, then back up at him, her eyes shining. “I like playing with you too, Mathew. More than anyone else. My mom says that if you like someone, you should tell them. So… I like you.”
Mathew felt his heart soar. He wanted to hug her, to tell her he loved her, but he was still a little shy, still a 9-year-old boy at heart. Instead, he smiled, a big, goofy smile, and said, “Then let’s be friends forever. No matter what.”
When they reached the alley mouth, Susan’s mom was waiting for her, standing by a bicycle. “Susan, come on. Your dad’s home, and dinner’s almost ready.”
Susan turned to Mathew, her ice cream almost gone. “See you tomorrow, Mathew. Same time?”
“Same time,” Mathew said, waving at her. He watched her climb onto the back of her mom’s bicycle, her braids blowing in the wind, and he felt a warmth in his heart that he’d never felt before. This time, he wouldn’t let her go. This time, he’d hold onto her with everything he had.
That night, Mathew sat at his desk long after his parents had gone to bed, the rabbit lamp casting a soft glow over his notebook. He took out a pencil and wrote down his plans, his handwriting neat and careful, unlike the messy scribbles he’d been known for as a child. First, he would study hard, but not just for grades. He would learn English, because he knew that in a few years, English would be more important than ever, that it would open doors to the world. He would learn computer skills, because he knew that the internet was coming, that it would change everything, and he wanted to be ready. Second, he would help his parents. He remembered that his dad’s factory would close in 1998, that his dad would be out of work for months, struggling to find a new job, his self-esteem shattered. He needed to find a way to help his dad start a small business before that—something he was good at, like fixing bikes or radios. Third, he would stay with Susan. He would be brave, he would tell her how he felt, he would support her dreams of becoming an artist, and he would never let her move away without him.
His mom knocked softly on the door, poking her head in. “Mathew, why are you still up? It’s past your bedtime. You have school tomorrow.” She was holding a glass of warm milk, steam curling up from the rim.
Mathew took the milk, smiling up at her. “I’m sorry, mom. I just… I just want to be a better son. I want to make you and dad proud. I want to tell you that I love you.” The words came out before he could stop them, soft and sincere.
His mom’s eyes filled with tears, and she walked over to him, bending down to kiss his forehead. “Oh, Mathew. We’re already so proud of you. You’re the best son we could ever ask for. And we love you too, more than anything in the world.”
Mathew felt his eyes tear up too. He hugged his mom tightly, holding onto her as if he was afraid she’d disappear. For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel lonely. For the first time, he felt home.
As he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, Mathew thought about his last life—all the money, all the parties, all the people who’d surrounded him but never really known him. He’d been rich, but he’d been empty. He’d had everything, but he’d had nothing that mattered. But now, he was back. Back to 1995, back to his family, back to Susan, back to a life that was simple and warm and full of love. This time, he would do it right. This time, he would cherish every moment, every hug, every smile. This time, he would live a life that was meaningful.
He closed his eyes, a smile on his face. Tomorrow would be a new day. A new start. And he couldn’t wait.
Chapter 2: The First Penny and a Secret Base
The next morning, Mathew woke up with the first light of dawn, long before his mom’s voice could rouse him. The memory of her hug from the night before lingered in his mind, warm and comforting. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and folded his quilt neatly, a crisp square that would have shocked his 9-year-old self—he’d never been neat, always leaving his clothes on the floor and his bed unmade. But now, he wanted to do everything right, to show his parents how much he cared.
He padded quietly to the kitchen, the floorboards creaking under his feet. His mom was standing at the stove, cutting vegetables into a bowl, the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board rhythmic and soothing. Mathew walked over, standing beside her. “Mom, let me do that. I learned how to cut potatoes from grandma last summer. I promise I won’t mess up.”
His mom hesitated, looking down at him with a skeptical smile. “Are you sure? You’ve never been interested in cooking before. You always said it was ‘girl stuff.’”
“I’m sure,” Mathew said, holding out his hand for the knife. “I want to help. You work so hard, mom. Let me take some of the load.”
His mom sighed, but she handed him the knife, her fingers brushing against his to make sure he had a good grip. Mathew took the potatoes, firm and smooth, and began to slice them into even pieces, just like he’d done countless times in his last life when he’d lived alone, too busy for takeout. His mom watched him, her eyes widening as he worked, the knife moving quickly and steadily. “When did you get so good at this? These slices are perfect—even thinner than mine.”
Mathew grinned, a little sheepish. “I practiced in my mind. Every time I saw grandma cut vegetables, I paid attention. I guess it stuck.” It was a silly excuse, but his mom laughed, a bright, musical sound, and patted his shoulder.
His dad walked into the kitchen just then, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He stopped when he saw Mathew at the counter, the knife in his hand, the bowl of potato slices beside him. He said nothing, but he nodded slowly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and Mathew could see the pride in his eyes, a pride that made his chest feel full.
By the time Mathew finished cutting the vegetables and helped his mom set the table, the sun was higher in the sky. He grabbed his schoolbag and ran out the door, eager to see Susan. Sure enough, she was waiting at the alley mouth, her back against the brick wall, holding two steamed buns in her hand. She was wearing a red hair tie, and her braids bounced as she turned to look at him.
“Morning, Mathew!” she said, holding out one of the buns. “My mom made pork buns this morning. She said they’re your favorite. I saved one for you. It’s still warm.”
Mathew took the bun, the steam seeping through the thin paper, warming his hands. He bit into it, the juicy pork filling bursting in his mouth, the flavor rich and familiar. He hadn’t tasted his mom’s pork buns in years—not since he’d moved out of the house as a young man, too busy chasing success to come home for dinner. “This is delicious,” he said, mouth full. “Thank you, Susan. You’re the best.”
Susan’s face turned pink, and she looked away, biting into her own bun. “It’s nothing. I just… I wanted to. Let’s go to school. We don’t want to be late for English class. Ms. Wang said she’s going to teach us new words today.”
They walked to school together, the street bustling with people—vendors setting up their stalls, cyclists ringing their bells, kids running past them, laughing. Mathew thought about his plan to learn English, and an idea popped into his head. “Susan, do you know how many kids in our class struggle with English? Like Xiao Ming—he always fails the tests. And Li Hua can’t remember any of the words.”
Susan nodded, her brow furrowed. “Yeah. Ms. Wang is always upset with them. She says they’re not trying, but I think they just don’t know how to learn. English is hard.”
“What if I help them?” Mathew said, stopping in his tracks. “What if I start a small English class after school? I can teach them how to remember words fast, how to speak simple sentences. I could charge a little money—like 5 jiao per person per day. It’s not much, but it would be enough to buy books or supplies. And if they don’t improve in two weeks, I’ll give their money back.”
In 1995, 5 jiao was barely enough to buy a popsicle or a small notebook, but it was a start. Mathew knew that every penny counted, that saving now would help him when he needed to support his dad’s business later.
Susan’s eyes lit up, and she grabbed his arm, excitement in her voice. “That’s a great idea, Mathew! You’re so good at English—you recited that paragraph perfectly yesterday. I can help you too! I’m good at spelling. I can write down the words and correct their mistakes. We can do it together!”
Mathew smiled, his heart warm. He loved the way Susan always wanted to help, the way she got excited about his ideas. “That would be amazing. Thank you, Susan. We’d make a great team.”
That afternoon, after school, Mathew and Susan found Xiao Ming, Li Hua, and two other kids—Zhang Wei and Chen Yu—sitting on the steps of the school, looking glum. They’d just gotten their English test back, and all of them had failed.
“Hey, guys,” Mathew said, sitting down next to them. “I have an idea. I want to help you with English. I’ll teach you how to remember words fast, how to speak simple sentences. It’s 5 jiao per day, and if you don’t improve in two weeks, I’ll give your money back. What do you think?”
Xiao Ming looked skeptical, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why would we trust you? You’re just a kid like us. And what if it’s a trick? What if you take our money and don’t teach us anything?”
Mathew didn’t blame him for being suspicious. He pulled out his English textbook from his schoolbag and flipped to a random page, a paragraph filled with words the other kids had never seen before. He read it fluently, his pronunciation clear and correct, just like the English tapes his mom had bought him as a child. The kids stared at him in shock, their mouths hanging open.
“Wow,” Li Hua said, her eyes wide. “You’re better than Ms. Wang!”
Mathew smiled. “I’ve been practicing a lot. I can teach you to read like this too. I just need you to trust me.”
Xiao Ming hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. We’ll try. But if you’re lying, we’ll tell the teacher.”
“Deal,” Mathew said, holding out his hand. Xiao Ming shook it, and the others followed suit.
That afternoon, they went to the small park near the school, a quiet spot with a few benches and a big oak tree. Mathew drew pictures in the dirt with a stick to help them remember words— a dog for “dog,” a cat for “cat,” a sun for “sun.” He made up silly songs for the tricky words, songs that rhymed and were easy to remember. “B-I-R-D, bird, bird, flies in the sky. C-A-T, cat, cat, says meow-meow,” he sang, and the kids laughed, joining in.
Susan sat beside him, a notebook in her lap, writing down the words in big, neat letters. She corrected their spelling gently, never making them feel stupid. When Xiao Ming mixed up “he” and “she” for the third time, Susan smiled and pointed to Mathew and herself. “He is Mathew,” she said, tapping Mathew’s chest. “She is me,” she said, tapping her own chest. “See? He is a boy, she is a girl. It’s easy!”
Everyone giggled, and Xiao Ming nodded, a look of understanding on his face. “Oh! I get it now. He is Mathew, she is Susan. Got it!” He never mixed up the words again.
When the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of purple and orange, the kids pulled out their pockets, handing Mathew 5 jiao each. Mathew counted the money—2 yuan total, his first earnings in this life. He split it evenly with Susan, handing her 1 yuan. “Here. This is your share. You worked just as hard as I did.”
Susan shook her head, pushing the money back into his hand. “I don’t want it, Mathew. I helped you because we’re friends, not for money. Keep it. You need it for books.”
Mathew frowned, putting the money back into her hand. “Friends share everything. This is your money too. We can use it to buy ice cream tomorrow, or new notebooks for the class. It’s ours.”
Susan bit her lip, then smiled, putting the money into her pocket. “Okay. But next time, we’ll buy ice cream for everyone. The kids worked hard today.”
Mathew nodded, grinning. “Deal.”
Weeks passed, and word of Mathew’s “magic English class” spread through the school. More kids joined—first a few from their class, then from other classes, even a couple of fourth graders who’d heard how much their friends had improved. Soon, there were 10 kids in the class, and Mathew was earning 5 yuan every day, a small fortune for a 9-year-old. But he didn’t spend the money on toys or video games like the other boys. Instead, he saved every cent in a metal piggy bank his grandma had given him for his birthday, a pig-shaped bank with a slot in the top.
On weekends, he and Susan went to the bookstore downtown, a small, dusty shop with shelves reaching the ceiling. Mathew bought a second-hand English dictionary, its pages dog-eared and marked with notes, and a tattered book about basic computer skills, a subject no one else his age cared about. Susan sat beside him on the floor, reading picture books and pointing out new words she’d learned. “Look, Mathew!” she said, holding up a book with a rainbow on the cover. “This word is ‘rainbow.’ It’s just like the one we saw last Sunday, after the rain. Remember?”
Mathew smiled, looking at the word, then at Susan. Her eyes were bright, her face filled with joy. He realized that learning was more fun with her around, that even the most boring subjects became interesting when she was there to share them with. “I remember,” he said. “It was beautiful. Just like you.”
Susan’s face turned bright red, and she looked away, but he could see the smile on her lips.
Mathew also started hinting to his dad about the future of the factory. One evening, his dad was in the yard, fixing a neighbor’s bike, the wrench in his hand clinking against the metal. Mathew brought him a bottle of cold water, sitting down on a small stool beside him. “Dad, I heard Mr. Chen from the factory talking today. He said the factory isn’t selling enough machines. He said they might have to lay people off next year.”
His dad paused, wiping his hands on his overalls, a look of worry crossing his face. “Kid, don’t worry about adult stuff. The factory has been through tough times before. We’ll be fine.”
But Mathew could see the doubt in his eyes. He knew his dad was scared, that he’d worked at the factory for 10 years, that it was all he knew. “What if you opened your own shop, dad?” Mathew said, his voice careful. “You’re so good at fixing bikes and radios. Everyone in the neighborhood says so. You could open a small repair shop on the corner. I’m sure people would come. We could save up the money together.”
His dad was quiet for a long time, staring at the bike in front of him. “I don’t know, Mathew. Starting a business is risky. What if no one comes? What if I lose all our savings?”
Mathew put his hand on his dad’s arm, his voice steady. “We’ll make it work, dad. I’ll help you. We can make flyers, tell our neighbors. You’re the best repairman around. Everyone trusts you. And I have some money saved up—we can use that to buy tools and supplies.”
His dad looked at him, his eyes softening. “You’ve been saving money?”
Mathew nodded. “I’ve been teaching English after school. I have over 100 yuan already. It’s not much, but it’s a start.”
His dad smiled, a small, gentle smile. “You’re a good kid, Mathew. I’ll think about it. Okay?”
That was enough for Mathew. He knew his dad needed time, that change was scary. But he was hopeful.
One weekend, Mathew and Susan decided to explore the hills behind their neighborhood, a place they’d never been to before. They walked along a narrow path, the grass tickling their legs, the sound of birds singing in the trees. After about 20 minutes, they rounded a corner and found a small cave, hidden behind a bush. It was clean and dry, about the size of a small room, with smooth walls.
“This is amazing!” Susan said, running into the cave, her voice echoing. “We can make this our secret base! No one else will find it. We can bring books here, and snacks, and talk about everything.”
Mathew smiled, watching her. She was so excited, her eyes shining like stars. “I love it,” he said. “It’s perfect. We can clean it up, bring some blankets and pillows, make it cozy.”
They spent the afternoon cleaning the cave, sweeping away the dirt and leaves, bringing old blankets from home and stacking them in the corner. They brought books and a flashlight, and Susan hung up a drawing she’d made—a picture of the two of them, holding hands, standing in front of the cave.
Every day after English class, they went to the secret base, sitting on the blankets and talking. Mathew told her about the future—about smartphones that could take pictures and send messages, about the internet that let you talk to people on the other side of the world, about cars that could drive themselves. Susan listened, wide-eyed, even when some of it sounded impossible. “Will we still be friends when we grow up?” she asked one day, her voice soft.
Mathew looked at her, his heart beating fast. He knew this was the moment, the moment he’d been waiting for. He took her hand, her fingers small and warm in his. “More than friends, Susan. I like you. A lot. Not just as a friend. I want to be with you forever. I want to go to the same middle school, the same high school, the same university. I want to marry you someday.”
Susan’s face turned bright red, and she looked down at their hands, her breath coming fast. Then she looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears of joy. “I like you too, Mathew. So much. My mom said if I like someone, I should tell them, no matter how scared I am. I want to be with you forever too. I want to marry you someday.”
Mathew leaned forward, gently touching his forehead to hers. They sat there for a long time, holding hands, watching the sunlight filter through the cave entrance, painting patterns on the walls. They made a promise that day—a promise to stay together, no matter what, to support each other, to never let anything come between them.
In 1997, Mathew was 11 years old. His English class was still going strong, and he’d saved over 300 yuan. His dad had finally made up his mind—he quit the factory, and with Mathew’s savings and some money he’d put away over the years, he opened a small repair shop on the corner of their street. The shop was tiny, just a single room with a counter and shelves for tools, but it was his dad’s, and that’s all that mattered.
At first, business was slow. People were hesitant to trust a new repair shop, even though they knew Mathew’s dad was good. But Mathew had a plan. He made flyers on his school’s computer—simple, hand-drawn flyers that said “Free Bike and Radio Check! Cheap Prices, Fast Service!” He and Susan handed them out all over the neighborhood, talking to their neighbors, telling them about the shop.
Soon, people started coming. First, it was Mrs. Li, whose radio had stopped working. Then it was Mr. Wang, whose bike had a flat tire. Mathew’s dad worked hard, fixing things quickly and cheaply, and word spread. Soon, the shop was busy every day, people lining up to get their bikes and radios fixed.
His mom was thrilled, hugging Mathew tightly one evening. “Your dad’s shop is doing so well, Mathew. It’s all thanks to you. If you hadn’t encouraged him, he never would have done it.”
Mathew smiled, feeling proud. “It’s not just me, mom. Dad’s the one who does the work. I just helped a little.”
At school, Mathew continued to shine. In the fifth-grade math competition, he solved a problem that even the sixth graders couldn’t figure out—a complex word problem about ratios and fractions. The principal gave him a certificate and a brand-new pencil case, blue with stars on it. He gave it to Susan that afternoon, handing it to her in the secret base. “It matches your drawings,” he said. “You love stars, right?”
Susan’s eyes filled with tears as she took the pencil case, running her fingers over the stars. “I love it, Mathew. Thank you. I’ll keep it forever.”
Mathew also started learning computer skills, spending every afternoon after school in the school’s office, where there was an old 486 computer. He taught himself to type, practicing for hours, until he could type 60 words per minute. He learned how to use basic software, how to make simple greeting cards. For his mom’s birthday, he made her a card on the computer, with a picture of the family and the words “I love you, mom” in big, colorful letters. His mom cried when she saw it, hugging him tightly. “It’s the most beautiful card I’ve ever seen, Mathew. I’ll keep it forever.”
He knew that the internet was coming to their city in 1999, and he wanted to be ready. He read every book about computers he could find, saved every penny he earned, and dreamed of the day he could start his own internet company—one that would help people, not just make money.
Susan was with him every step of the way. She helped him with his homework when he was busy with the English class, she went to the repair shop after school to help his mom sell drinks and snacks, and she listened to him talk about his dreams, never once doubting him. “You’re going to do amazing things, Mathew,” she said one day, sitting in the secret base. “I just know it.”
Mathew smiled, taking her hand. “We’re going to do amazing things. Together.”
That year, they graduated from primary school, both getting into the best middle school in the city—No. 1 Middle School, a school known for its good teachers and high academic standards. On graduation day, they went to their secret base, the sun setting behind the hills. Mathew pulled out a small box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a silver necklace with a tiny star pendant. “I bought this with my English class money,” he said, his voice nervous. “It’s for you. So you’ll remember me, even when we’re in middle school. So you’ll remember our promise.”
Susan’s eyes filled with tears as she took the necklace, letting Mathew fasten it around her neck. The star pendant rested against her chest, shining in the sunlight. “I’ll never take it off,” she said, her voice shaking. “I promise. And I have a gift for you too.” She handed him a notebook, its cover decorated with drawings of stars and flowers. Inside, there were pictures of their days together—Mathew reciting multiplication tables, them eating ice cream, them cleaning the secret base, them holding hands.
Mathew hugged her tightly, the notebook pressed against his chest. “Thank you, Susan. I’ll keep this forever. I’ll never forget you. I’ll never break our promise.”
As they walked down the hill, hand in hand, Mathew looked at the sunset, feeling grateful. In his last life, he’d been a shy, lonely 11-year-old, too focused on grades to make friends, too scared to follow his dreams. But now, he had a loving family, a girlfriend who loved him, a plan for the future, and a heart full of hope. He knew there would be challenges ahead, but he wasn’t afraid. Because he had Susan by his side, and that’s all he needed.
