An Old Sweet Story About Rebirth

It was late afternoon.
The sun scorched the pavement from above, hot enough to melt asphalt — or anyone foolish enough to be out in it.

Tyler made his way alone to the corner store near the factory, shoulders tight, jaw set.
Inside, the shopkeeper’s wife and her cousin had just finished lunch. Each nursed a bottle of soda, a slow-moving fan stirring the thick air as they chatted in lazy, half-hearted tones.
A handwritten cardboard sign stood outside the door:
Ice Cream — $1.00
Cold Soda — 50¢
Public Phone — 30¢ per minute

Tyler licked his dry lips, picked up the dusty phone receiver, and dialed a long string of numbers.
A robotic voice crackled through the handset:
“English: 121. Math: 135…”

He didn’t move, didn’t blink, just started winding the spiral phone cord around his finger, tighter and tighter.
“Total score: 621.”
Tyler closed his eyes.

A moment later, he gently hung up, reached into the pocket of his faded jeans, and pulled out a crumpled one-dollar bill.
The shopkeeper’s wife shuffled over from behind the counter. She opened the drawer, grabbed some change, and dropped it on the counter with a clink — thirty cents.
Normally, she wouldn’t say a word to him. She looked through him, not at him.

But today was different.
Today was one of those days.
She sucked her teeth and finally spoke. “Score check, «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» huh? How’d it go?”

At that, her cousin leaned around the shelf, curiosity piqued, eyeing the boy who’d just used the phone.
He was small for his age, maybe sixteen or seventeen at most. Pale, soft skin — the kind you only saw on kids — reddened at the cheeks from the punishing heat. His face was narrow, features neat, and even though he worked at the factory, his old T-shirt and jeans were clean, like someone who still belonged in a classroom, not a production line.
Tyler didn’t answer right away. Instead, he carefully flattened the wrinkled seventy-cent change, then said softly, “Didn’t make it.”

He folded the coins into the bill, tucked it into his pocket, and stepped back out into the blinding sun.
The door clicked shut behind him.
The shopkeeper’s wife snorted. “Figures. Kid like that — college? Yeah, right.”
Her cousin frowned. “He seemed pretty decent. Quiet. Why’re you so harsh on him?”

He looked like a good kid — polite, tidy, soft-spoken. What made him that in her eyes?
The woman smirked, the corners of her mouth lifting in something between scorn and delight.
“You don’t know this town,” she said, giving her cousin a wink. “You don’t know his story. His mother — when she was alive — she was one of those.”

She made a crude gesture with her hand. “Street trash.”
The cousin’s eyes widened. “No way.”
“Oh yeah. And you know what she did? She’d work inside, and he—he’d stand outside and keep watch. Tell me that’s not born filth.”

“I’m telling you,” she went on, leaning forward, “one time she didn’t like the price a guy offered—”
Spit flew with every word.
Her cousin was rapt, face alight.

No one questioned whether any of it was true — or where the gossip had come from. No one cared.
It was a dull, airless afternoon, and in a place like this, dirty stories about other people were a form of entertainment.
 

****
Evening fell.
The factory whistle blew.

Tyler packed away his lunch tin and water bottle, then slipped into the crowd of workers drifting toward the exit, laughter and small talk buzzing around him. He said nothing, eyes forward.
Just ten yards from the gate, he spotted a small figure under the streetlight, jumping up and waving her arms wildly.
"Ty! Ty!"

It was his little sister — Emily.
Emily had started school early. She had just turned eleven, though she barely looked nine. She was a petite, quiet girl, her frame still narrow with youth, her eyes always bright with something just short of wonder.
Tyler hurried toward her, half panicked, half confused. He crouched in front of her and gripped her shoulders gently.

"What are you doing here? I told you to stay home. Did you eat dinner?"
Emily grabbed his arm and rocked it back and forth, practically bouncing.
"I did! I ate! I just… I knew your scores came out today, and I couldn’t wait anymore, so I came."

She beamed up at him, hope practically glowing on her face.
"How’d you do? You got into State, right?"
"We’re going to Greenville together, right?"

Greenville. The nearest city. The place they’d been dreaming about for years.
Emily had already been accepted into the Greenville Academy — a prestigious full-boarding middle school. She was a born overachiever, and her entrance exam score had been no surprise to anyone.
The plan was simple. Emily would go to the academy. Tyler would go to Greenville University. They’d finally leave their dead-end town behind.

Tyler bit his lower lip again — so hard this time that he tasted blood.
He exhaled through his nose and said softly, "I’m sorry... I didn’t score high enough."
Emily stopped mid-step, her hand still wrapped around his.

"What?" she blinked, as if she hadn’t heard him.
He drew a steady breath, eyes down. "I didn’t get in. Not even to a community college."
She blinked again. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Then the tears did.
Tyler moved fast, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "Hey, hey. It’s okay, Em. Don’t cry."
"I’ll retake the exams. I swear."

"We’ll still go to Greenville. You’ll live on campus. I’ll work nearby. I’ll come see you when I can, okay?"
Emily only cried harder.
Through her sobs, she kept saying, "No way… They must’ve made a mistake… They must’ve…"

Tyler looked away.
No mistake.
His score — 621 — was incredible. Way above the threshold for a top university.

Not Ivy League, maybe. But State? Absolutely. With room to spare. He could’ve gotten into one of their best programs.
But he wasn’t going.
He hadn’t told anyone the real number. He wasn’t going to apply. Wasn’t going to college at all.

A few days ago, he’d taken Emily to a hospital in Greenville. She’d been complaining about chest pain, shortness of breath. Something hadn’t felt right.
The diagnosis: an atrial septal defect — a hole in the wall of her heart.
The doctor said she needed surgery. Sooner rather than later.

He’d asked how much.
Thirty thousand dollars.
Tyler had three thousand in savings — money he’d scraped together from every summer, every winter break, every weekend shift he could get his hands on.

Three thousand. Ten times too small.
He’d stood at the hospital window, staring at the woman behind the glass.
"I… don’t have enough," he’d said, voice flat. "What should I do?"

The cashier didn’t look up. She didn’t even pause. She just called out, “Next.”
And that was when Tyler understood.
If you don’t have money — no one helps you. You make your own way.

He sat on a bench outside the hospital for fifteen minutes, elbows on knees, running numbers in his head.
Then he made his decision.
Forget college.

He’d move to Greenville early.
Take whatever job he could get — warehouses, kitchens, construction sites, whatever. As long as it paid.
He’d earn thirty thousand dollars.

Emily would get her surgery.
After that… maybe he’d try again. Another year, another exam.
There wasn’t a second plan. There was no "if this doesn't work."
There was only this.

 
****
The Alley

They walked slowly home under the streetlights.
Emily had been crying the whole way.
By the time they reached the narrow alley near their apartment building, Tyler had finally calmed her down. She sniffled, but the tears had stopped.

Seeing that, he exhaled in quiet relief.
“In a couple days,” he said, trying to sound upbeat, “we’ll go check out your new school, remember? Greenville Academy...”
He didn’t finish.

A mocking voice cut through the night air — thin and sharp, like a knife against glass.
“Well, well. Look who it is. Mister Honor Roll himself. Always top of the class, right?”
Tyler’s shoulders tensed.

He knew that voice.
A few local dropouts — the kind who stopped going to school after fifth or sixth grade — hung around the neighborhood like stray dogs. Tyler usually avoided them, crossing the street when he saw them coming.
Tonight… he hadn’t been watching.

He moved instinctively, stepping in front of Emily, shielding her.
Emily gripped his wrist tightly, eyes wide with fear.
The leader of the group let out a low whistle and called louder, “What’s the rush, straight-A boy? Homework waiting for you?”

Tyler didn’t look at them. He kept his eyes forward and started walking.
The guy stepped directly into their path.
“Why so cold, huh? Didn’t get in, did you?”

“Not so different from us now, are you? No school, no future.”
Behind him, a chorus of laughter.
Tyler kept his gaze low. “Excuse us,” he said quietly. “We just want to go home.”

That only made them laugh harder.
The leader mimicked his tone in a prissy, exaggerated voice. “We’re not stopping you.”
“We just thought maybe you two could join us for a little midnight snack. We’ll walk you home after, scout’s honor.”

They all knew Tyler.
Dad gone. Mom dead. Dragging his little sister around like a broken promise. A kid like that should’ve ended up one of them — street trash with no direction.
But he hadn’t dropped out.

He’d finished high school.
He’d dared to take the college entrance exam.
And that pissed them off more than anything.

Why should a kid like him get a shot at something better?
They’d never picked a fight with him before.
Partly because Tyler always disappeared before things got ugly.

Partly because of the rumors — that the quiet, skinny kid turned into a lunatic in a fight. That someone had tried to shake him down once and Tyler had fought like he wanted to die.
But tonight… tonight was different.
They’d heard he hadn’t made it.

And now, they wanted to watch him break.
The leader's voice darkened. “What? Don’t feel like it?”
Tyler’s right hand tightened around the strap of his bag — knuckles white.

The others jumped in behind their leader, voices rising:
“Quit pretending, you piece of trash!”
“Everybody knows what your family is — garbage!”

Tyler’s head snapped up.
And that’s when one of them crossed the line.
“What if you go on home,” one sneered, “and leave your little sister with us?”

“I mean, your mom was a whore, right? Let’s not waste time — might as well train the next one early!”
A hand reached toward Emily.
Big mistake.

“Back off!” someone yelled — but it wasn’t Tyler.
It was the punk himself, stumbling backward with a yell as Tyler crashed into him shoulder-first.
The guy slipped and landed flat on his back.

The leader’s cigarette hit the pavement.
“He hit us? This little punk hit us?”
He spat. “Get him!”

The group surged forward.
Tyler pushed Emily behind him. “Run!” he shouted. “Go home — now!”
Then he swung the strap off his shoulder.

He didn’t hesitate.
He spotted the one coming at him first — the blond — and swung his bag full-force.
Thud.

The heavy steel water bottle inside slammed into the guy’s shoulder, sending him reeling backward with a howl.
“He’s got something in there! He’s cheating!”
“Doesn’t matter — take him down!”

Some grabbed bricks from the ground. Others pulled out pocketknives.
They came at him fast.
Emily froze, too scared to scream properly — her voice came out in choked gasps. “Help! Somebody—please!”

From one of the apartment buildings nearby — their own — a window creaked open.
A second passed.
Then it slammed shut.

No voices. No footsteps. Just the sounds of fists hitting flesh, curses echoing in the dark, and a little girl crying for help.
Tyler fought like a man possessed.
The water bottle, the lunch tin — whatever he had, he used.

And for a while, he held his ground.
But they were too many.
He was losing ground.

And then—
A car horn blared. Once. Twice. Then again.
Everyone paused. Eyes darted to the alley entrance.

Blinding headlights swept across the pavement, pinning them in their glare.
A couple of them cursed, shielding their eyes.
Two vehicles pulled up. Tires screeched slightly against the curb.

Doors flew open.
Men jumped out — silhouettes backlit by harsh white beams.
Too bright to see their faces.

But a voice rang out — deep, sharp, and heavy with command:
“That’s enough.”
 

__________________
📌 TL Note
This is not a literal translation of the original Chinese web novel, but an adapted literary retelling aimed at preserving the spirit, themes, and emotional depth of the story — in a form that feels natural and immersive to an English-speaking audience.

Why Adaptation?
Many elements of the original text — names, locations, cultural references, idioms, and societal context — are deeply rooted in Chinese life. Instead of offering direct translations that might feel unfamiliar or confusing, this version transforms those elements into equivalents that resonate with Western readers, without losing the emotional weight or narrative purpose.
For example:

Characters' names have been localized (e.g., Chí Yù becomes Tyler) to reflect their personalities and make them accessible.
Places have been reimagined as American-style towns or cities, while keeping the economic and social struggles intact.
Currency is shown in dollars, not yuan.

School systems, exams, and family dynamics have been translated to match Western structures, while preserving the moral and emotional stakes of the original.
What Stays True?
The heart of the story — its emotional arcs, character development, and core messages — remain faithful to the source. Dialogue tone, pacing, and scene structure follow the original with care, only adjusted where clarity or narrative flow demanded it.

This adaptation was made with respect and love for the original work, with the hope of bringing it to a wider audience without cultural or linguistic barriers getting in the way.
If you’re reading this: welcome — and thank you for giving this story a place in your imagination.