Wang Shouren rubbed his throbbing temples and stared blankly at the calendar on the wall.
Thursday, December 7, 1962, heavy snow.
He blinked, wondering if he had gotten up too quickly and was probably dreaming. He lay back down, intending to drift off to sleep. He wasn't interested in dreams that involved going back to the past.
However, the cold wind rushing into the room through the cracks in the window, and the already chilly kang (heated brick bed), told him that things were not so simple.
He woke up, completely awakened by the cold.
His head was throbbing more and more, and he continued to rub his temples, trying to sort out the memories that had inexplicably appeared in his mind.
The original owner of this body was also named Wang Shouren. He was only sixteen years old and had always lived in his hometown in the countryside. His mother had passed away early, and his father had brought him to the city to attend school two years ago. His family was relatively well-off, living in a large courtyard near Nanluoguxiang in Beijing. They had two rooms, one large and one small, totaling about 36 square meters.
If I had tried harder next year, I probably would have been able to get into high school.
But the problem is that my father died in a work-related accident a month ago.
The factory gave him a sum of compensation and agreed to let him take over the job.
Perhaps unable to bear the blow, he fell seriously ill and passed away, thus benefiting Wang Shouren, who had traveled from the modern era.
The dim light in the room and the slightly musty smell constantly told him that time travel was real.
Looking around the room, yellowed old newspapers clung stickily to the ceiling, the walls were mottled, and the windows weren't the modern glass windows, but rather the gray paper windows often seen in period dramas.
Below the window was a heated kang (a traditional Chinese bed-stove), and the bedding on it was emitting a "charming" fragrance.
He sniffed, trying to take a closer sniff, and a strange smell rushed into his nasal cavity, instantly making him feel much more alert.
She pulled the blanket off herself with a hint of disgust.
The wind howled outside the window for a couple of moments, then he obediently shrank back into bed.
He's from the South and has never seen such extreme cold in the North.
Many people say that the cold in the South is a magical attack, while the cold in the North is a physical attack. In fact, times have changed. People are well-dressed, well-housed, and have central heating. If you let them come to this era and try it, physical or magical attacks would be the same—it would be the same level of cold that makes you want to die.
Opposite the heated kang (a traditional Chinese bed-stove) was a large double-door wardrobe with a mirror. In the middle of the room stood an eight-immortal table and two old-fashioned official's hat chairs. Apart from these, there was no other furniture. The furniture was very well maintained; although it was quite old and the type of wood was unknown, it was very clean.
Wang Shouren grabbed the clothes from the bedside and put them on himself in layers, then got up and went to the cabinet.
The mirror on the cabinet door reflected a handsome young man, whose good looks were second only to the reader.
His face was pale, his hair was greasy and looked like it hadn't been washed for days, and his clothes were dusty and gray. Upon closer inspection, you could still see that they were originally blue.
Wang Shouren rubbed his face vigorously. Only now did he truly realize that he had indeed traveled through time to the 1960s.
As he flipped through the merged memories, his expression became very strange.
Nanluoguxiang?
An old man named Yi Zhonghai?
Second Uncle Liu Haizhong?
Uncle San's salt isn't expensive? Pshaw! It's expensive in Yanbu! (Just showing you how to pronounce these three words, nothing more. *doge*)
He Yuzhu, the king of simps?
Familiar names drifted into my memory.
Just as he was thinking about continuing to ponder this, his stomach rumbled, and a strong feeling of hunger surged up.
He has been in a deep sleep since last night, and has not made any money for more than ten hours, so his stomach is naturally not full.
He walked to the table, lifted the rather old-fashioned kettle on it, shook it, and found that it was still more than half full of water.
Wang Shouren decided to use this water to solve the problem first.
His hand rose into the air, but suddenly stopped. A grid-like space suddenly appeared in his mind, like a backpack in a game, with one compartment after another. He had a thought that he could put the water bottle into the space with a thought.
The next moment, with a whoosh, the kettle that was originally on the table disappeared, and an identical kettle appeared in his personal space.
The space wasn't large, but with a reference point, he could roughly estimate it to be about two cubic meters.
Another thought crossed my mind, and the kettle was back on the table.
Wang Shouren rubbed his hands together excitedly. Good heavens! A system! Space!
In an instant, countless ways to utilize space flashed through my mind, such as delivering packages, and so on.
If it were in his time, he would definitely be the most dazzling star in the express delivery industry.
He picked up the kettle, opened the cap, and tilted his head back.
"puff!"
"Hot hot hot hot hot..."
One shouldn't be too cocky, because being too cocky always leads to getting hurt. This is the conclusion Wang Shouren reached after being burned and sticking out his tongue like a husky.
After a few minutes to calm myself down, I felt an extremely strong hunger. I had to take care of my stomach first, no matter what.
Based on his memory, he went to the outer room, opened the rice jar next to the stove, and peeked inside.
There wasn't much stuff, just a shrunken cloth bag that, when lifted, weighed about seven or eight pounds and was full of cornmeal. He grabbed a handful; it felt rough, and although it looked quite yellow, it really irritated his throat. He didn't want to irritate his lips, which were still red from being burned.
He turned around and went back into the house, starting to rummage through drawers and cabinets.
Although the clothes weren't great, the original owner's family was genuinely not poor.
The family was simple, consisting of only him and his father. His mother had passed away three years ago. His father had been promoted to a fifth-level blacksmith two years ago, earning 65.5 yuan a month. The family didn't have many expenses. Over the years, they had saved about 300 yuan, plus a 500 yuan pension, dozens of various tickets, and a copper bracelet.
This is a huge sum of money.
In this day and age, a bicycle, which is considered a luxury item, costs 180 yuan. If you have one, you'll be the coolest kid in the whole courtyard.
Previously, the original owner's father had planned to support the original owner's schooling and get him a bicycle when the original owner entered high school.
When the original owner heard this news, he was so excited that he couldn't sleep for nights on end.
Thinking of this, Wang Shouren couldn't help but sigh.
"Father..."
I tossed the money and bracelet into my personal storage space; it didn't take up much room, just a box's worth of space. Composing myself, I headed outside.
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