Chapter Two: The Largest Urban Village Redevelopment Project

All the way home, walking alone, Xia Yubing found herself absent-minded. At Fourth High, Zhao Zejun was considered an unremarkable boy in every respect. When the girls chatted about boys, the talk was always about who played basketball well, who was handsome, or who sang nicely—his name almost never came up.

In two years as classmates, she had exchanged only a handful of words with Zhao Zejun. Of course, she hadn't spoken much with other boys either.

Yet, after just two brief encounters today—copying vocabulary, being caught by Old He, the conflict with Old He, and finally walking out of the classroom of his own accord—this seemingly uneventful string of incidents left Xia Yubing with a feeling that none of her male peers had ever given her.

The same thing, the same words, coming from different people, can leave impressions as different as night and day.

This boy was steady.

The demeanor of a mature man holds an innate and powerful allure for a seventeen or eighteen-year-old girl just awakening to romance. For Xia Yubing, whose parents had divorced early and who had grown up lacking a father's care, the effect was only more pronounced.

Her unprecedented initiative in stopping Zhao Zejun, ostensibly to thank him, was something she understood perfectly well—if it were only to thank him, she wouldn't have privately invited a boy to eat, let alone discuss poetry, love, and happiness.

Yes, she was curious about this classmate she barely knew.

She hadn't expected that he had seen "A Chinese Odyssey," knew Haizi’s poetry, and even shared her view of that poem.

Some of her best friends also liked the poem, but only she felt that despite its beauty, it carried a whiff of despair before death—a notion for which she was always teased as being too pessimistic. Yet the unremarkable Zhao Zejun turned out to be her kindred spirit.

All in all, Xia Yubing found many qualities in Zhao Zejun that made her see him in a new light.

"Why hadn't I noticed this guy before?" she wondered.

...

While Xia Yubing was lost in thought, Zhao Zejun had already arrived home.

It was an old seven-story building, constructed in the early 1990s when the City Transport Corporation had not yet gone bankrupt, built as staff housing.

Zhao Zejun's father was a teacher at the corporation’s affiliated school. Back when teachers had not yet become objects of derision but were still highly respected, his father was given priority for a large apartment.

Two bedrooms and a living room, fifty-six square meters.

Seeing the familiar green-painted iron door, Zhao Zejun felt a sudden warmth in his heart.

He and his father had carried that iron door up from the first floor during the summer of his third year in middle school. He’d helped his father paint and install it, working through an entire weekend. It wasn’t just the iron door—this fifty-six-square-meter apartment was filled with too many indelible memories.

Hearing the door open, a woman in her forties emerged from the kitchen, wearing an apron and carrying a plate of scrambled eggs with tomatoes.

“Why are you back so late?”

Before Zhao Zejun could answer, she set down the plate and turned back into the kitchen, calling out, “Go wash your hands and eat. Your father’s been whining with hunger waiting for you.”

“When did I whine?” protested a middle-aged man in a tank top and shorts, who walked out from the master bedroom, set aside a paperback copy of "Comprehensive Mirror to Aid in Government," and told Zhao Zejun, “Your mom fried chicken drumsticks today—your favorite. Go serve the rice.”

Zhao Zejun stared at his father and his mother bustling in and out of the kitchen, standing there for ten seconds before holding back tears. He murmured an assent, tossed his backpack onto the bed in his room, washed his hands, and served the rice.

In 2001, his father’s hair was not yet white, his back still straight, still the cheerful, confident teacher he remembered.

In 2001, his mother’s eyes showed no sign of worry, only happiness.

In the years that followed, the family would get a bigger apartment through redevelopment, their income would steadily increase, and their material life would improve day by day. But the family’s sense of happiness did not grow much. His father, having lost a fortune in the stock market crash of 2008, nearly fell into depression.

As life improved, smiles became less frequent.

Rapid economic development wore down his body, his father’s spirit, and took away his mother’s youth.

Zhao Zejun suddenly felt grateful to fate. The price of this time-travel was not as high as he had first thought. All that heaven had taken from him were the trivial possessions accumulated in his previous thirty years; the people and feelings he truly cared about were still by his side.

In this life, he hoped he could make their smiles never fade, even as the years went by.

“Mom, you seem to have become prettier,” Zhao Zejun said, biting into a chicken wing—the same familiar recipe, the same familiar taste.

The taste of home.

“Nonsense,” his mother Zhou Ya replied, smiling.

“I think our son has a point. You do look prettier lately,” his father Zhao Tao eyed Zhou Ya seriously for a few seconds, then turned to Zhao Zejun and added, “But your mother was always beautiful when she was young.”

“Eat your meal. Enough with the nonsense,” Zhou Ya said, waving her hand with a laugh.

After dinner, Zhao Zejun said he needed to do homework and shut himself in his room.

Once their son was in his room, Zhao Tao and Zhou Ya also went into the master bedroom. As soon as they entered, Zhou Ya’s smile faded. She sat on the bed with a troubled sigh and said, “It’s decided at my work. I’ll be laid off in the next batch—probably in the first half of next year.”

Zhao Tao’s expression was somber too. “I’m afraid things aren’t looking good at my school either. I’ll see if I can pick up more classes elsewhere. No matter what, we have to make sure our son can go to college.”

...

In his room, Zhao Zejun took a stack of large sheets used for calligraphy practice and wrote down all the useful information from his previous life that he could recall—sorted by time and category: policy and leadership changes, stock market trends, real estate, the internet, major news events, urban development plans, international oil prices...

He filled several pages. Over the weekend, he shut himself in his room for two days, making sure he could remember everything. Then he balled up all the sheets containing secrets, soaked them with water, kneaded them to a pulp, and flushed them down the toilet in batches—no one could ever recover them now.

For the remaining year of high school, Zhao Zejun set himself two essential goals.

First: accumulate as much seed capital as possible to prepare for the future—the more, the better.

In the coming decade, every hot industry would be a money pit in its early stages. If Jack Ma hadn’t received SoftBank’s $20 million investment in 2000, there would have been no Taobao sweeping the nation.

Second: get into Southeast University in the provincial capital!

Going to college was not only his parents’ wish; it was also vital for his own rebirth plan—perhaps even indispensable.

Actually, there was a third, lesser goal—good if achieved, but not urgent.

To secure a fallback for himself and his family.

Zhao Zejun was clear-headed: the advantage of a time traveler was foresight, not omnipotence.

In terms of personal ability, he was still that thirty-something small-company manager—stronger than his peers, maybe impressive among ordinary people.

But if one day he entered the business world, could he really compete with those seasoned tycoons?

Not necessarily.

Even now, with twenty million dollars, he might not outdo Jack Ma.

Ability and experience need tempering. In his previous life, he was limited by his platform—his vision and skills were not broad enough. This time, he needed to refine himself through the process of making money.

And who was to say he wouldn’t one day travel back to his old world, or even to another, like Azeroth?

If that ever happened, what would become of his loved ones here?

He had to leave something behind.

So, it was best to arrange a backup plan for the future—even if he didn’t achieve great things, at least his family could live a stable life, free from money worries.

Zhao Zejun spent ages in the bathroom, prompting his mother Zhou Ya to ask through the door, “Are you okay, son? Is the toilet out of water again?”

The question was so familiar it reminded Zhao Zejun of the scene from "Kung Fu Hustle" where the character with his head full of foam asked, “Boss lady, why’s there no water?”

He chuckled and replied, “I’m fine. I’ll be out soon.”

Living on the fifth floor, their water supply came from a secondary system. The old building often suffered from low water pressure and frequent outages.

“This old place—I wonder when they’ll finally redevelop it,” his mother muttered in the living room.

Zhao Zejun flushed and left the bathroom, casually saying, “Probably within a year or two,” as he walked to the window and gazed at the stretch of urban village below.

The official name was Gaogang Village—a community of nearly two thousand households. Originally built as resettlement housing for farmers during the city’s expansion, in the 1980s it became home to workers from several large state-owned enterprises. Later, as the enterprises collapsed and workers were laid off, Gaogang Village quickly declined and became the largest urban village in Yijiang City.

Looking down from above, Gaogang Village was a dark sprawl of ramshackle shanties and illegal constructions—like a scar on the city’s body.

Of his two high school goals, the first would be pursued right here in this urban village.

That not-so-urgent fallback plan was also tied to this place.

Redevelopment.

In 2001, real estate had not yet taken off; average housing prices in Yijiang City were below 1,300 per square meter. Few people had gotten rich overnight from redevelopment.

Few, but not none—Gaogang Village was the exception.

In 2001, a bold new mayor was appointed in Yijiang City. With a tough attitude and firm hand, he launched a series of urban development policies—the most notable being the redevelopment of urban villages.

Gaogang Village was among the first pilot projects, with strong implementation at every government level. Iron-fisted policies were paired with exceptionally generous compensation packages.

What everyone had thought would be an impossible relocation was completed in less than three months—residents compensated and moved.

The redevelopment included several old buildings nearby, including Zhao Zejun’s own. His family had even been “holdouts” for a month, so he knew the process and compensation terms inside out.

In Gaogang Village, some people got rich overnight. The biggest winner received twelve new apartments plus a hefty cash payout.

An average middle-class family, after a lifetime of hard work, could never earn twelve apartments!

Zhao Zejun also remembered clearly: halfway through the process, a few “mysterious figures” appeared, offering to buy the future new apartments from residents at current prices.

In effect, they were buying 2005’s apartments at 2002’s prices.

With these mysterious buyers, residents had another option: they could cash in their future property rights.

Years later, the Gaogang Village redevelopment was still touted as a model “people’s project” and a case study in efficient relocation.

The redevelopment notice was issued in early June 2002, the day after college entrance exams, and measurements started immediately. After the notice, there was no room for manipulation.

That was nine months from now.

“Dad, is Gaogang Village going to be redeveloped soon?” Zhao Zejun asked his father, feigning curiosity.

“Why are you so interested in redevelopment?” his mother called from the kitchen. “You’ll be taking the college entrance exam next semester—just focus on your studies, leave family matters to us.”

“It’s good for boys to care about current affairs, so they don’t become bookish,” Zhao Tao put down his book, nodded, and said, “From an urban development perspective, the redevelopment of urban villages is inevitable. Poor environment, complex resident makeup, obstacles to planning and stability—now that land is becoming scarce, and Gaogang Village is within the first ring road, its location is excellent. So yes, it will definitely be redeveloped.”

If Zhao Zejun were to analyze the problems of urban villages, he could be far more thorough than Zhao Tao—not because he was smarter, but because he had lived through the next decade of the city’s development.

Still, he adopted an eager, attentive look, nodding frequently as his father spoke, then said, “So, why don’t we buy some shanty houses now and wait for redevelopment? That would be great.”

“Don’t you start with your son’s wild ideas! We only have a few tens of thousands saved, and your college expenses and the household rely on that,” Zhou Ya said, nudging Zhao Tao and reminding him she was about to be laid off—they couldn’t afford to risk their savings.

Zhao Tao nodded slightly in understanding, then asked, “What’s your thinking? Go ahead and explain.”

For over an hour, Zhao Zejun laid out his analysis—small units, one-for-one compensation, additional purchases... Professional terms tumbled from his mouth, leaving his parents dumbfounded.

By the end, Zhao Tao was almost convinced.

Even so, the family had no intention of buying shanty houses in Gaogang Village.

Others had tried the same idea before, hoping to get rich before the redevelopment, but for nearly a decade, every year there were rumors of redevelopment, yet nothing happened. The houses were shanties—if not redeveloped, no one wanted to buy, and even renting them out was hard.

Those who tried had their money trapped in Gaogang Village.

Unclear property rights, complex demographics, overcrowding—all made redevelopment seem impossible.

Of course, Zhao Zejun knew these obstacles were nothing, but he couldn’t explain this to his family—they wouldn’t believe him.

This outcome was exactly as he expected.

His family had thirty or forty thousand in savings, painstakingly set aside by Zhao Tao from extra classes since the 1990s. They had elderly relatives and a son about to enter university, and though his parents hadn’t said so, Zhao Zejun knew his mother would soon be laid off, and his father’s school might not last two more years.

Money was already tight, and every yuan was needed.

If his parents, on the word of their high school son, risked all their savings on shanty houses, Zhao Zejun would have wondered if they’d been replaced by imposters!

From the start, he’d never intended to use his family’s savings.

The only reason for discussing redevelopment and housing prices was to plant the idea in his parents’ minds: “Our son wants to buy property before redevelopment.” That way, if he did make money from it in the future, they wouldn’t be too shocked or suspicious.

Now that this purpose was achieved, he’d have to find his own way to raise enough money before June next year to buy as much property as possible.

Just after lunch, the phone rang.

As soon as he heard the voice on the other end, Zhao Zejun’s eyes reddened.

Men do not easily weep—unless truly heartbroken.

It had been less than a week since he returned, and already his eyes had reddened twice—not because he was sentimental, but because of the person on the other end and all that had happened in the past, which he could never forget.