Girls I Once Secretly Loved

Fang Chang’an pondered for a long while and came to the conclusion that if his parents stayed home farming as they always had, it would be nearly impossible for them to find any real opportunities. He decided, therefore, to follow the path he’d taken in his previous life and let his parents go out to work.

It had been over twenty years since the beginning of the reform and opening, and the first few waves of people to grow wealthy had already done so—and would only become wealthier still. China had joined the WTO less than two years before, and was only just stepping onto the broad avenue to becoming the world’s factory. There were already quite a few people leaving for the coastal regions to work, even in neighboring villages, but overall they were still a minority, though their numbers were rising fast.

From this great tide of people flooding into the cities, a new group of the prosperous would inevitably emerge. Though it would be hard for them to amass fortunes like the earliest ones, what could you do if you were born late? Complaints were useless; you could only strive to seize opportunities.

Of course, Fang Chang’an didn’t wish for his whole family to spend their lives working for others. But as his parents were now, both in character and ability, they lacked what was needed. They had to venture out and see the world, accumulate some experience, and only then could he help steer them toward their own chances.

He glanced into the bedroom and saw his younger brother and sister sitting upright even as they watched TV, and couldn’t help but smile. Song Rong, their mother, rarely allowed the three children to watch television often. But with the village elementary school still closed, Fang Changming and Fang Yanran’s summer break hadn’t truly ended, and so Song Rong had relaxed her rules a little. The two younger ones watched intently, worried about being reprimanded, sitting up straight as if in class.

In the rural environment of the time, Song Rong was a rare parent who valued education. When Fang Chang’an first started elementary school, his grades weren’t good, so every day of the summer she sat by his side at home, watching him study. Even when working in the fields, she’d have him bring his books along, needing to see with her own eyes that he was reading. For this, over the years, she’d been openly and secretly mocked, since most people thought sending children to school was a waste of money. Kids might as well muddle through middle school in the next village, graduating or not didn’t matter; then they could go to technical school, or just work in the fields or take up labor, which seemed much more worthwhile than spending money on schooling.

Fang Chang’an withdrew his gaze from the east room, and looked toward his mother, who was sitting at the door washing clothes. He called softly, “Mom.”

Song Rong paused in her scrubbing and looked up, her expression questioning, at this eldest son who’d always been solitary and quiet, yet clever and sensible.

Fang Chang’an hesitated a little, then asked, “How much money do we have left at home?”

Song Rong’s hands froze for a moment, but she quickly resumed her calm and replied, “Why? Do you need money? How much?”

“It’s not that,” Fang Chang’an said. He put on an expression of uncertainty, in keeping with his usual self, then as if making up his mind, he said, “I’m about to start middle school, Changming will be in fourth grade, Yanran is entering second. We’ll all be in school, and that costs money... How much can we earn each year from farming?”

A hint of worry appeared in Song Rong’s eyes. Clearly she’d often agonized over this, but it was still a surprise for her son to bring it up at his age. She thought for a moment, then forced a smile, “Don’t worry about it, just focus on your studies.”

“I will study hard, I just wanted to ask,” Fang Chang’an replied.

Song Rong said, “The watermelons weren’t good this year, otherwise we’d have made a bit more...”

“We only have just over five acres, and several plots aren’t good for growing melons, and...” Fang Chang’an trailed off, hesitated, then fell silent. Song Rong didn’t press him, just waited.

The rain outside looked like it might let up. Fang Chang’an glanced at the thin streams of water dripping from the asbestos roof over the kitchen, then turned back to his mother and asked, “Didn’t you say a while back that Jingjing from Uncle Jing’s family was working away from home? And that uncle from Lijia Village too...”

Song Rong realized what he was getting at. Sure enough, Fang Chang’an continued, “Is it... does that make more money than farming?”

Song Rong straightened, wiped her hair with her wrist, and Fang Chang’an quickly helped push her hair behind her ear. She turned her gaze to him, sighed, and then bowed her head to resume scrubbing. “I’ve already told your dad—let him go work away, and I’ll stay home to watch you three through school...”

Her voice grew soft. “But your dad’s never been far from home, only as far as the city at most. Going to work, that’s thousands of miles away! He wouldn’t know anyone there...”

“We can’t stay in Majia Gully our whole lives,” Fang Chang’an said. “We have to take the first step... Why don’t you two go together?”

Song Rong looked at him. “And what about you three?”

“Let Grandpa and Grandma move in with us.”

She looked at her son again, said nothing, dumped out the soapy water, and refilled her washbasin from the bucket. There wasn’t much water left. Fang Chang’an saw that the rain had nearly stopped, and as his mother always rinsed the clothes twice, she’d need more water. He called into the house, “Dad? Dad?”

Fang Lujun replied from inside, “What is it?”

Song Rong turned to look at her son, and Fang Chang’an called out, “There’s no water left, I can’t carry it. Could you go pump some?”

Fang Lujun sounded annoyed, “It’s raining!”

Fang Chang’an called back, “It’s stopped now. Mom’s still washing clothes.”

Song Rong, knowing her husband’s temperament and not wanting Fang Chang’an to be scolded, said, “I’ll go myself in a minute.”

“No, if you’re both going out and coming back, why should Mom have to wash clothes while you just lie there watching TV?” Fang Chang’an argued.

He got up, walked to the bedroom door, and, smiling, said to his now slightly annoyed father, “Besides, what kind of husband lets his wife do all the chores while he lies there watching TV? That’s not like you, Dad—you’re a good husband, aren’t you?”

Fang Lujun was the type who responded to softness rather than force; praise could make him give you the shirt off his back. Although surprised at his son’s uncharacteristic behavior, he couldn’t help but give in. Sighing, he got up from the bed and, complaining the whole way, walked out. “Sheesh, you’re never this filial unless you want me to do something... always sending me here and there...”

Fang Chang’an followed him out, grinning. “It’s because you care about your wife and son, Dad. Otherwise, if you asked me to pump water, I wouldn’t dare disobey.”

“Could you even lift it?”

Fang Chang’an had always been quiet and delicate, with a heavy heart and little to say. Whenever there was work like pumping water or starting the fire, his parents usually asked Changming first. Though two years younger, Changming was nearly as tall as his older brother.

Fang Lujun, muttering, took the bucket out into the light drizzle, walked to the well in the courtyard, put down the bucket, grabbed the wet wooden handle, and began to pump.

Song Rong seemed in better spirits now, looking at her husband working in the yard, then at her son sitting down with a book. She smiled and kept on washing.

Though Fang Lujun often dodged fieldwork and went off to play cards, when he did work at home or in the fields, he was quick and efficient. As Song Rong put it, “After playing cards, your dad can get more done in half an hour than I could in an entire afternoon.”

Which, of course, also said something about her own skills.

Soon, Fang Lujun had filled the bucket to the brim, set it behind the door, and called out, “If that’s not enough, just shout for me again. Honestly... can’t even watch TV in peace.”

Fang Chang’an gave his father a thumbs-up and praised him with a laugh, “Dad, you’re awesome!”

Fang Lujun was a little unused to the attention, but clearly enjoyed it. He said nothing, but from his expression, you could tell he was pleased as he went back inside and chatted with Changming and Yanran about the TV drama.

Fang Chang’an smiled, then resumed his conversation with his mother. “Whatever happens, they’re still Grandpa and Grandma—they couldn’t just ignore us.”

When Fang Lujun had just married, he’d had a small business and a bit of pride. Song Rong, an only daughter, had never had to worry about money and tended to spend freely, which the two elderly parents disapproved of. Besides that, Song Rong was mild and generous but not talkative, not one to curry favor with the elders. At the time, her younger sister hadn’t yet married, and as the only daughter, Song Rong’s parents gave her whatever they could. The younger sister, preparing her own dowry, often took things from Song Rong’s.

Fang Lujun was generally very filial, even the type to bring water for his parents to soak their feet. He was soft-hearted and kept his grievances to himself, but when he drank or lost at cards, he’d go to his mother or sister to stand up for his wife.

So, after giving away things, the couple received no goodwill; instead, resentment simmered on all sides.

Fang Chang’an’s extended family was large: his eldest uncle Fang Luguo had a son and a daughter; his eldest aunt Fang Xia had a son and a daughter; his second aunt Fang Yan had two sons; his uncle Fang Luyong had a son and a daughter; and then there were Fang Chang’an and his two siblings.

With so many grandchildren, they were hardly treasured. From as far back as he could remember, Grandma never warmed to him and his siblings. If Fang Lujun didn’t come home from playing cards, and Song Rong, slow with her work and stubborn about finishing it, brought the three children home late from the fields, Grandpa might take them home for lunch or dinner. The three siblings always tried to avoid going, choosing hunger over another meal at Grandpa’s, because they never got a kind look from Grandma. If there were treats—biscuits, tangerines, bananas, or boiled eggs—they’d be hidden away, lest the three from the second son’s family ask for them.

It was unnecessary worry. Whenever Fang Chang’an and his siblings visited, they’d eat watery porridge and steamed buns, nibbling even a stick of pickled vegetable with care. They never dared ask for seconds, nor did they linger. Unlike at their maternal grandmother’s, they never felt at ease.

People say children are innocent, but in truth, they’re the most sensitive to warmth and coldness in the human heart.

After Fang Lujun’s death in his previous life, Song Rong went out to work, and Fang Chang’an and his siblings lived with their grandparents. Blood ties meant Grandma could not truly abandon them, but there was never much care or affection.

Fang Lujun stood one seventy-five, and Song Rong was one sixty-five, both tall in their generation. In the next, Fang Chang’an reached one eighty-three, Fang Changming one eighty-six, but little Yanran barely passed one sixty, not even as tall as her mother. The reason was that she spent the longest with their grandparents, and her nutrition suffered. Song Rong often blamed herself for this.

Fang Changming left school before finishing middle school to work and stayed with their mother, while Yanran didn’t leave home until after high school.

Fang Chang’an remembered all this clearly, but even if his parents left to work again in this life, he would never let those old miseries repeat themselves.

Song Rong glanced at him as if reflecting, and then sighed. “We’ll see. Your father might not even be willing to go.”

Fang Chang’an glanced inside, then leaned in closer, lowering his voice like a conspirator. “Dad just plays cards and drinks at home. If he goes away, he won’t know anyone, but even when he gets familiar, he’ll have a regular job—it won’t be like now, always gambling. Besides, they crack down on gambling out there.”

Song Rong realized he was right, but only nodded quietly. “We’ll see,” she said again.

Fang Chang’an knew his mother’s temperament was still a little unseasoned, but she was capable of shouldering burdens. Unlike his father, she could keep calm. He’d already said more than enough for one day, so he let the matter rest and returned to his own thoughts.

His youth in his previous life had been painfully dull, and he’d only let loose after starting university—too much so, in fact. With this second chance, he wanted not only to change his family’s fate but to make his own life more exciting, to follow the right path as he grew.

After all, he was now a soul from the future, not the old Chang’an who could quietly endure loneliness.

And what is youth without girls? Fang Chang’an counted his regrets on his fingers:

His elementary school crush on Ma Qing; infatuation with Shen Mo in seventh grade; Wang Ke in eighth; Liang Jingyu in ninth; the younger twin from the neighboring class in his first year of high school; the elder twin, after classes changed, in his second and third years; and during his repeat year… who was that girl again?

He puzzled over it, annoyed that he couldn’t remember her name, even though it was the most recent. She was beautiful, from a well-off family, but after a breakup, she’d thrown herself away, seeking out men for comfort, which earned her the nickname “Eighty” because, rumor had it, she’d had eighty such encounters.

But it all depended on her mood, since she wasn’t in it for money. What a pity he hadn’t even had enough for a single “eighty” back then.

Of course, the future Fang Chang’an, who’d helped many junior girls, had tastes quite different from his high school self. Even if that girl hadn’t fallen yet, he had no real interest.

Someone who could fall apart over a trivial matter would always be a risk. Who knew when she might blow up again?

Excluding the one whose name he couldn’t recall, there were still six regrets. Fang Chang’an felt a bit troubled. Which one should he make up for first?