Inside a run-down mud-brick house, a young man sat on the heated kang bed, eyes dull and unfocused, staring into space like his soul still hadn’t caught up.

He looked around the room. Other than the kang, there were only a few pieces of furniture. A filthy wooden trunk, so dirty its original color was long gone, used for storing clothes.

On a dark red washstand sat a chipped white enamel basin. The nicks had worn through the coating so badly that the black iron underneath showed through, streaked with rust.

Other than that, there were just two little stools, both old enough to look like they’d been around forever. Aside from those, there was nothing else in the room.

Cole Harrington sat on the kang and took it all in. He had been awake for over half an hour now, and at last he was sure of it—he had been reborn.

Through the window, he looked out into the yard. There was no glass in the frame, only yellowed rough paper pasted over it. In summer it blocked light but not rain; in winter the wind whistled right through and could freeze a person half to death. Even that paper was full of holes, the sight of it enough to make your chest tighten.

The whole yard held two mud-brick rooms. He had one, and his mother and younger sister shared the other. Off to the side was a tiny lean-to that served as the kitchen.

The little yard was fenced with rough branches. In the southeast corner sat a chicken coop, with three old hens and one rooster inside. That was the most valuable property the family owned.

It was also the family’s only source of extra income besides farming. Seeing all this, Cole couldn’t help letting out a bitter laugh. Back then, his family really was poor. This wasn’t living—it was surviving. If you made it through, you counted as one of the lucky ones.

Then his eyes suddenly sharpened. He spotted a sheet of red paper pasted on the kitchen wall. He rubbed his eyes and looked harder. It was a big bright-red paper-cut of the character for double happiness.

Cole froze. His face changed at once. He sprang off the kang in one motion, stirring up a cloud of dust from the floor. He started coughing hard from the force of it.

But he had no mind for that now. He strode quickly to the wooden trunk, because on top of it sat the only brand-new thing in the house—a wall calendar.

There were no cell phones in those days. People kept track of time with calendars, tearing off one page each day.

He stared at the date on the calendar. August 14, 1994. Sunday. The day had been circled in pen long ago.

Cole let out a long breath of relief. Everything was still just in time.

August 14. That date was carved into his bones, because it was the wedding day of his younger sister, Rosa Harrington, who was one year younger than him.

Cole looked at the sky outside. The east was only just turning pale with first light. There was still time. He quickly headed for the door.

His mother, Crystal Fontaine, was busy in the yard. When she saw her son push the door open and come out, she casually said, "Dachuan, since you’re up, help tidy the house. The neighbors will be over soon to lend a hand. It’s your sister’s big day today. Be happy."

Cole looked at his mother. In his previous life, she had worked herself to death. When she died, she weighed less than sixty pounds. His eyes tightened, and the corners of them began to sting. He opened his mouth, wanting to call her Mom, but he was too overwhelmed to get the word out.

His lips moved, opening and closing, but not a sound came. His nose turned sour, and tears spilled down.

The woman before him already had gray at her temples. She was only a little over forty, but she looked like someone in her fifties or even sixties. The wrinkles on her face, the whitening hair by her ears, the knot between her brows that seemed never to loosen, and that hoarse voice, rough as a chestnut shell scraping at the throat—it all made his heart ache.

Seeing Cole start to cry, Crystal’s already red-rimmed eyes overflowed too. Choking back sobs, she said, "Dachuan, don’t cry, don’t cry. Today’s your sister’s wedding day. Mom knows you feel awful. Mom feels awful too. But I’ve got no way out. I’m useless... I got no ability..."

Cole rushed forward and held his mother tightly.

He knew exactly what she meant.

A wedding day should be a happy occasion for any family, but not for theirs.

His sister Rosa was only eighteen, barely an adult, and she hadn’t even finished high school. The man she was marrying was a thirty-year-old cripple from the next village, lazy, greedy, and known for being no good.

The reason for the marriage was to scrape together Cole’s tuition.

A month earlier, after graduating high school, Cole had received his university acceptance letter. The family had rejoiced at first, but the happiness didn’t last long. Then came the question of tuition. Two thousand yuan. For Cole’s family, that was an astronomical sum.

Crystal Fontaine had gone around humbly borrowing from every friend and relative she could think of, but what she gathered was just a drop in the bucket. In the end, the village matchmaker came up with an idea. She said Rosa wasn’t young anymore, and in the village girls her age were already being matched. Why not arrange a marriage for Rosa, take the bride price, and use it to send her brother Cole to college?

Crystal had hesitated again and again, then stayed awake all night before finally agreeing. Rosa locked herself in her room and cried for two straight days. The pillow by her bed got soaked, dried, then soaked again. In the end, she agreed too.

Agreed, yes—but in those days, two thousand yuan was no small amount. In the countryside, if a household managed to become a ten-thousand-yuan family, they could be invited to the county seat to receive public commendation.

There were very few families that could afford a bride price of two thousand yuan. The matchmaker found the Whitfields in the neighboring village. The Whitfields were doing fairly well. They had one son and one daughter. Their daughter had married into the county town and married well. But their son was lame, lazy, and had such a bad reputation he couldn’t find a wife.

At that time, there really weren’t many households that could produce two thousand yuan in bride price. Only the Whitfields, because of their son’s situation, were willing to pay that amount. So after the matchmaker brought both sides together, the marriage was settled.

"Mom, is Rosa up yet?" Cole finally managed to force out his voice, asking through a choke in his throat. If there was one person he had wronged most in his last life, it was Rosa.

Crystal shook her head. "She’s still lying on the bed. Tossed and turned the whole night, probably didn’t sleep at all. In the middle of the night I heard your sister crying again, all by herself. Dachuan, if you make something of yourself later on—

you must never forget your sister. If you do, then even if I die, I won’t die with my eyes closed."

After saying that sharply, Crystal didn’t wait for his answer. She wiped her tears, turned, and went right back to work. That was how people of her generation faced hardship. They didn’t even have time to sink into sadness. They had to fight with everything they had just to stay alive.

Cole stood there in a daze. His heart felt like someone had grabbed it in a fist and was squeezing with all their strength. It hurt so badly he could barely breathe.

In his last life, he had nodded hard and promised his mother. Then through his sister’s whole wedding, he hid in the room with his head buried against his chest, avoiding everything like an ostrich. He listened to the noise and laughter in the yard, listened to the wedding party arrive with horns and drums, listened as they took his sister away—and from beginning to end, he never had the courage to step out of that room.

Half a month later, he took his sister’s bride price money and left for college.

But this time, he would not. He would not be that ostrich again. He would not selfishly trade his sister’s lifelong happiness for a future of his own.

As time passed, the sun climbed higher and higher, and the little yard had already grown lively. The neighbors had come to help. A big iron pot was set up in the yard, and two hand-cranked blowers hummed as they fed the fire, making the flames roar even higher.

Cole went into the kitchen, took out a cleaver, then carried a chair to the grindstone by the gate and sat down. Slowly, he began to sharpen the blade.

Behind him hung the bright red paper-cut of happiness, blazing against the backdrop of that shabby, crumbling, yet strangely bustling little yard.