Su Su was clearing the dishes.

She was still pondering Bai Su’s weird, unconventional tactics—that little brat.

Stubborn as a mule? Too proud to admit fault?

Hmph, just a kid’s naivety.

So many young fools believe face is the world’s most precious thing.

They cling to it childishly, even turning on family and friends.

Only when grown do they learn face is nearly worthless in the adult world.

In a profit-driven world, what value does something so cheap hold?

Just a crutch for the mediocre to comfort themselves.

But honestly, that stubborn brat refusing to yield… was kinda cute?

Some things are only treasured after they’re lost.

Su Su lowered her eyes, a soft smile spreading.

Her youthful innocence now glowed like treasures in memory’s river.

Those cringey, arrogant boasts still made her blush.

But after the blush came warmth—a nostalgic rush of youth.

Ah—youth truly was wonderful.

Bai Susu, a “middle-aged aunt” with forty-five years of life crammed into fifteen plus thirty, sighed with old-soul weariness.

“Uh, Su Su, let me handle that.” Hands reached from behind, taking all the dishes.

It was that little brat, Bai Su.

“Eh!!! When did you get here?!” Bai Susu jumped, startled.

“Just now.” Bai Su dumped the dishes into the sink and started scrubbing.

“How do you sneak around like a ghost? No footsteps at all,” Su Su muttered.

“Hm?” Bai Su raised an eyebrow. “I thought I heard someone say I’m handsome.”

Su Su: “….”

Shedding his burdens had unleashed his true, annoying self.

Wisely, Su Su ignored him. “Bro, we’re out of money.”

…

Silence fell thick and sudden.

Bai Su paused, lips pressing thin.

Then both sighed in unison.

The departed were gone; the living remained.

The past was past. Lost things wouldn’t return.

Bai Su and Su Su agreed: it was time to face the future.

Like… how to eat?

Food is life’s iron and steel; skip a meal, hunger bites hard.

Rough truth: since ancient times, “food is the people’s heaven.”

Even Maslow’s hierarchy placed food and warmth as humanity’s bedrock need.

Only after that could dreams bloom.

So the problem hit hard: no money meant no food.

Their parents spent freely, leaving little behind.

Even pinching pennies, their savings would last six months max.

That was without Bai Su’s tuition and living costs.

Add those? They’d be eating dirt.

Worse—local land prices meant they couldn’t even afford dirt.

Su Su sighed again.

Why was she such a weak reincarnator?

Others became literary geniuses in elementary school, millionaires by middle school.

In high school, they stomped on aliens and punched corporate giants.

By college, they aimed for the stars.

Yet here she was, sweating over meals.

If veteran reincarnators knew, she’d die of shame.

Su Su’s heart twisted.

Novels lied.

Success wasn’t easy for reincarnators.

Countless stories made it seem effortless, like breathing.

But reality? A reincarnator’s only edge was knowing broad trends and big events—avoiding obvious mistakes.

They weren’t gods.

No one recalls exact details from years past.

Try remembering one random year’s events. Could you?

Most couldn’t.

No one lives thinking, “What if I reincarnate?”

So no one memorizes trivial-seeming moments that later matter.

Because no one believes in rebirth.

It was 2008 now. What happened that year before?

Su Su strained through memory’s currents.

Beijing Olympics. Nationwide snowstorms. Sichuan earthquake. Stock crash. Sanlu milk scandal. Shenzhou 7 launch…

A disaster-filled year.

Su Su sighed.

Hardly a money-making year.

See—even with bug-like reincarnation knowledge, it was useless.

She knew China’s internet boom would explode profits.

Two young men surnamed Ma would become legends.

But she couldn’t just fly to them whispering, “I believe in you.”

They, like her, lacked startup cash.

“Internet, internet… Any get-rich-quick home job?” Su Su muttered dreamily.

Wait!

Her eyes lit up.

Hehe, she chuckled, patting Bai Su’s shoulder.

Bai Su saw her eerie grin. A chill shot down his spine. He gasped. “Su Su, why that dangerous smile? What’s your plan?”

Su Su sized up the boy. Then dropped it: “Bro, can you write novels?”

“Huh?” Bai Su blinked, confused. “Why ask that?”

“Young man, ever heard of web novels?”

“???”

That day, in their small, cozy home, Chinese web literature’s first great procrastinator and serial abandoner was born.

Many years later, humanity would recall the terror of endless delays and the despair trapped in a novel-killer’s cage.