Chapter 4: Abundance of Gear, Yet Scarcity of Equipment

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Zhai Da’s home was nestled in an old factory complex known as the “Third Wool Spinning District.” Dongyang County lay on the outskirts of Sanbao Province, situated at the northernmost edge. Compared to the rest of the province, it was a typical example of absolute underdevelopment within the region and was relatively impoverished on the national scale.

It ranked first among the poorest counties in the entire province.

The earliest establishment, the San Yi Wool Spinning Factory, was one of the few industrial enterprises in Dongyang County. Its main business was wool spinning, serving both military and civilian needs—producing thick army jackets in summer and short-sleeved shirts and shorts in winter.

Back then, most places had their own wool factories; it was the most primitive form of light industry.

There was a time when it flourished. As a state-owned factory, building housing for workers was standard practice. From the “Wool Spinning First District” to the “Wool Spinning New Village,” Dongyang County had four or five such neighborhoods.

Locals were accustomed to referring to these districts as “Big Wool,” “Second Wool,” and so on, hence Zhai Da’s home was in the Third Wool.

Of course, things had changed drastically. The factory had been barely surviving for over a decade.

As for the house, it was allocated when his grandfather was alive. It was said to be related to some professional ranking, making it larger than those given to ordinary workers—two bedrooms, a living room, and a storage room, with no shared space, totaling over 60 square meters.

He was from a single-parent family; his father had passed away before he could remember, leaving only a faint impression and some estranged relatives.

Thus, he lived with his mother alone. It was more than enough space—quite roomy, in fact.

Zhai Da followed his mother upstairs, appearing calm and composed, but his eyes darted around discreetly. It had been a long time since he’d returned to this place.

After his mother’s death in his previous life, the house had remained unsold and empty for several years. Once the emotional hurdle was overcome, it was rented out.

He had only come back once or twice during those years, once when a tenant was caught running an illegal business inside by the “Hat Uncle.”

Such bad luck!

The building itself was “factory-built,” with a rather peculiar design: four floors in total, all doors facing the same direction along a long corridor, much like worker dormitories.

Zhai Da’s home was at the very end, passing seven or eight doors along the way.

Everyone knew each other well, and now, at mealtime, with the main door open for ventilation, passing neighbors exchanged a few words.

“Xiao Li, cooking again? Xiao Da’s in for a treat~”

“Aunt Liu’s right—my mom’s cooking is unbeatable~”

“Xiao Da getting off school so early today? Caught by your mom at the internet café again, huh?”

“Old Wang, your leg’s still kicking! Looking healthy!”

Old Wang: ?

In truth, Zhai Da couldn’t recall most neighbors’ full names, only their surnames. Yet the closeness here surpassed that of big cities—neighbors helped one another, and familiar faces at home made the place lively.

If any tenant tried secretly running a banquet, the neighbors would help report it!

Reaching the last house at the far end, Zhai Da paused, surprised to see a girl standing by his doorstep.

Her hair was long, tied in a simple ponytail. Her skin was pale with a slight bluish tint, her features sharply defined, with large eyes and slightly elongated outer corners. She gave off an aura of aloofness and unapproachability, though a closer look revealed she simply wore a neutral expression.

Her long eyelashes caught the light, appearing warm and delicate. Her lips were faintly outlined, nearly blending into her pale complexion, rendering her appearance exceptionally... pure.

He could find no better word.

Most strikingly, the girl seemed vaguely familiar.

Yet, he only remembered Lin Shuyao, who wrote love letters, by her legs alone. This girl, far more beautiful by at least two levels, eluded his memory.

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The girl leaned against the wall, engrossed in a book titled “Mathematical Olympiad Mini Series,” sunlight streaming through the corridor windows.

In this small county town and old neighborhood, seeing someone holding such a book reminded Zhai Da of young urbanites in city cafés, clutching volumes like “To Live” or “The Moon and Sixpence.”

Of course, the Olympiad book was a higher caliber—ordinary people wouldn’t even think to pretend with that.

The girl noticed Yu Xiaoli and spoke up, “Teacher Yu, you left in a hurry this afternoon, and the pattern pieces weren’t finished. Manager Liu said they’re needed tomorrow and asked me to deliver them to you.”

Yu Xiaoli smiled as she accepted a plastic bag. The “pattern pieces” were clothing templates drawn on paper to guide cutting and sewing, aiming for standardized production.

Hearing her son collapsed and hospitalized this afternoon, Yu Xiaoli had no mind for work. Manager Liu’s delivery was a clear hint for her to work overtime at home.

After handing over the package, the girl bowed politely. When she looked up, her gaze lingered briefly on Zhai Da’s face.

Zhai Da met the gaze of this pure girl.

Calling his mother “Teacher”? Judging by her age and manner of speech, she seemed exactly like a student, yet she was a factory worker?

Factory workers these days were so well qualified? No wonder Mrs. Yu always wanted him to join the factory.

After Lu Wei left, Zhai Da asked curiously,

“Mom, who’s that?”

“She’s a newcomer at the factory, just arrived not long ago—my apprentice. The kid calls me ‘teacher’ all the time; it’s a little embarrassing,” Yu Xiaoli said.

Though she said that, Yu Xiaoli enjoyed hearing it—it was better than “Aunt Yu.”

Zhai Da’s memories held no trace of such an event in his previous life. But it made sense—he hadn’t fainted during exams before, so there was no “pattern delivery” scenario either.

Yet why did he still feel that girl was familiar?

Was his body craving again?

Back inside, Yu Xiaoli headed straight to the kitchen. Zhai Da lingered at the door, dawdling while changing shoes, secretly surveying his “former home.”

Though it was an ordinary, worn-down “old and small” apartment, a smile tugged at Zhai Da’s lips more than any AK-47 could suppress.

Even the peculiar “smell” lingering in the air from the aged decor was strangely sweet and fragrant.

Returning to his room, the sensation of youth striking his face hit him even more sharply.

The pirate poster, Zhou’s album CD, a supposedly eye-protecting desk lamp, tutoring books on the desk, and “Man’s Magazine” tucked beneath the mattress...

This room had once been the entire world of a boy.

Back in 2008, every object could turn him into a machine, plunging him into memories.

For instance, the pirate poster came free with each issue of “Anime Frontline,” which always bundled countless extras. He never understood how the magazine made money.

Then there was Zhou’s CD, bought from a record store at the school gate. The owner swore it was authentic and sold it for 18.8 yuan. But when Zhai Da played it, it was “Lonely Cold Sandbar.”

The CD started playing without any announcement, and the disc bore the image of Young Zhou. For a whole month, Zhai Da thought it was Young Zhou singing, only to realize later it was Old Zhou.

As for “Man’s Magazine,” no need to explain—it came in handy for occasional attempts at manliness.

Well... occasionally.

But Zhai Da had no time for nostalgia now. He had more important matters at hand.

Namely, rummaging through cupboards and drawers to see if he could find more [equipment].

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He nearly turned his room upside down, then, while Yu Xiaoli cooked, searched many other places outside, until his nostrils filled with dust.

In an old box, he even unearthed several boxes of aged “Angong Niuhuang Pills”!

His heart leapt: Startup funds secured!

A closer look revealed they were “Pregnancy Burdock Pills.”

After some fiddling, Zhai Da was disappointed to discover that there seemed to be no special items in the house that could be transformed into [equipment]...

In other words, aside from the system-forced transformation of the [Clown Love Letter], their home had only an “Erba Dabang” bicycle as a special item.

Everything else—even some treasured gold jewelry of Yu Xiaoli’s and his own nostalgic trinkets infused with adolescent memories—were ordinary objects, unrecognized by the system.

“That makes sense. Otherwise, the system’s criteria would be too loose... it can’t be that special items are everywhere.”

“Strong emotions, obsessions, and feelings cling to objects... so old items have a higher chance, new ones almost none... Let’s think differently: items with stories? Do antiques count?”

“Worldwide, there must be many special items that can be turned into [equipment], probably hundreds even in a small place like Dongyang County. But from my perspective, discovering and possessing them remains rare.”

Currently, there were two white [equipment]: the [Clown Love Letter], which was mostly for amusement, and the [Permanent Erba Dabang], ridden by his mother to commute safely to the factory.

Roughly speaking, his account was still unopened!

And humor alone wouldn’t put food on the table.

“Xiao Da~ dinner’s ready!”

“Coming!”

Using the last bit of time, Zhai Da pulled out a scrap of paper and wrote a few lines.

“1: Further explore the system.”

“2: Rescue my grades, aim for undergraduate admission. No time for romance now; can stagger it later.”

“3: Don’t want to be so exhausted again this lifetime. At worst, wait to buy that lottery ticket again. Earn what I can, but there must be some money—lying flat without money is just waiting to die.”

“4: Spend quality time with Mom, listen to her, avoid making her angry, and find an opportunity to take her to the big city for a check-up.”

“Xiao Da~ hurry up~”

He stood up, ready to enjoy the dinner he had longed for over ten years, his mother’s meal.

Just as he reached for the door, Zhai Da withdrew his hand.

Turning back, he added one more line on the paper.

“5: Become a better self... chase the sun and moon, never forget the mountains and rivers.”

Then, looking into the small round mirror on the desk, he raised an eyebrow at his young, tender reflection.

He turned, grasped the old brass doorknob, worn smooth from years of use.

With a gentle twist,

He opened the door and stepped into a brand-new life.