The house smelled of steamed rice and yesterday's rain.
Long Jin stood in the doorway. Six years old, holding a worn schoolbag.
His father looked up from the newspaper. "Back already? No playing?"
The voice was a ghost. A memory given sound. Long Jin's throat tightened.
"Tired," he said. His own voice, high and thin, still felt like a disguise.
His mother emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a flower-printed apron. "Wash up. Dinner soon."
They were younger than his memories of them. Hair darker. Postures straighter. Not yet bowed by a son's failure, by a grief he had brought to their doorstep in another life.
He had gotten them killed. Not directly. But his war had spilled over. A car "accident" on a mountain road. A ledger too many.
[Emotional Capital: Father +100 (Fixed Bond)]
[Emotional Capital: Mother +100 (Fixed Bond)]
[System Note: Fixed bonds do not depreciate. They are the foundation. Protect them.]
He walked to the small bathroom. Closed the door. Locked it.
The face in the mirror was a stranger. Round cheeks. Unmarked skin. Eyes that held seventy-two years of hell.
He splashed water. The cold was a shock.
[Operational Security Protocol: Initiate]
[Task 1: Assess domicile for vulnerabilities]
[Task 2: Establish secure communication with Asset Li Mei]
[Task 3: Generate seed capital]
He had ¥347. A week's allowance saved in a tin box shaped like a pig.
It was nothing. It was everything.
Dinner was quiet. Pork belly and greens. Rice. His father talked about factory quotas. His mother about a neighbor's wedding.
Long Jin chewed. Listened. Cataloged.
The window latch was loose. The back door lock was a simple pin-tumbler. The telephone was in the main hallway—no privacy.
His childhood home was a sieve.
"You're quiet," his mother said, touching his forehead. "Feeling sick?"
"No," he said. "Just thinking."
"Think less. Eat more." His father grinned, dropping another piece of pork into his bowl.
The kindness was a knife. He didn't deserve it. Not yet.
He earned it later. After dinner, he washed the dishes without being asked. His mother stared.
"What's gotten into you?"
"I'm growing up," he said.
He went to his room. A small space. A narrow bed. A desk. A window overlooking a narrow alley.
He opened the pig box. Counted the bills and coins. ¥347 exactly.
[Net Worth: ¥347]
[Cache: 100/100 Units]
[Objective: Accumulate Defensive Capital (Target: ¥20,000,000,000)]
The scale was ludicrous. The timeline was a lifetime.
He needed a first move. A high-percentage, low-profile play.
He lay in bed, staring at the water-stain on the ceiling that looked like a bird. He let his mind drift through the memory cache. The future was a library. He had to check out the right book.
He needed something soon. Something a child could do. Something that wouldn't trigger scrutiny.
1978.Summer was coming. A hot one. He remembered it. The Great Heatwave of '78. Three weeks of brutal, record-breaking temperatures. Power cuts. Water rationing.
And a surge in demand for one thing.
Cold drinks.
A plan clicked into place. Simple. Clean. Profitable.
[Proposed Venture: Mobile Beverage Sales]
[Product: Lemonade (Iced)]
[Key Advantage: Predictive Weather Knowledge]
[Required Start-up Capital: ¥50]
[Estimated ROI: 1500%+]
[Risk Profile: Low (Childhood Enterprise)]
He would need Li Mei.
The next morning, he found her by the same swings.
She was waiting. Her braids were tight. Her eyes were already scanning.
"My mother asked about you," she said without greeting. "About the drawing."
"What did you say?"
"I said you have a big imagination." She looked at him. "It wasn't a lie."
He nodded. "We need to talk. Privately."
They walked to the far corner of the yard, behind the tool shed. It smelled of old wood and gasoline.
"I have a plan," he said. "To make money. A lot of it. Starting with almost nothing."
She crossed her small arms. "How?"
"Lemonade."
She blinked. "That's your plan? A drink stand?"
"The hottest summer in fifty years starts in nine days," he said, his voice low. "It will last three weeks. The city will boil. People will pay. We will be positioned."
"How do you know it will be hot?"
"I remember."
She was silent for a long moment. "What do you need?"
"Partners. You. And maybe one more. Someone strong. Someone who can carry."
Her eyes narrowed in thought. "Wang Lei."
The name was a punch. Wang Lei. In another life, his first friend. His first betrayal. The man who would later say, "Because he could."
"Why him?" Long Jin's voice was tight.
"He's big for eight. The other boys listen to him. His father has a cart we could maybe borrow." She studied his face. "You know him, don't you? From before."
"Yes."
"And?"
"And it ends badly." The truth tasted like ash.
Li Mei didn't flinch. "Then we change the ending. Or we use him until we don't need him."
The cold calculus in her voice was startling. It was her mother's lineage speaking. The Silent Blade. She was five, but the instinct was there.
"We use him," Long Jin agreed. The moral ledger flickered in his mind. He ignored it. "But carefully."
They found Wang Lei at the wire fence, watching older boys play soccer. He was tall, broad-shouldered even at eight. A natural leader in a world of children.
"Lei," Li Mei said.
He turned. "Mei. And the new kid." His gaze was assessing, not unkind. "What do you want?"
"A business proposal," Long Jin said.
Wang Lei laughed. "You're six."
"And you want money for new soccer boots," Long Jin said. He remembered this. Wang Lei's father was a factory worker. Money was tight. The boots were a dream.
Wang Lei's smile faded. "How did you…"
"I pay attention. I have a way to get them. In three weeks."
Interest flickered in the older boy's eyes. "How?"
Long Jin laid it out. The lemonade stand. The coming heat. The locations—outside the factory gates at shift change, near the park on Sunday. The need for a cart, for muscle.
"We split profits three ways," Long Jin finished. "Equal shares."
"What's your stake?" Wang Lei asked, shrewd.
"The idea. The recipe. The timing." Long Jin met his gaze. "And the initial investment. Fifty yuan."
Wang Lei whistled. "That's a lot of candy money."
"It's not for candy."
The older boy chewed his lip, looking between the intense six-year-old and the serious five-year-old girl. "Okay," he said finally. "But I'm in charge of the cart. And we do it my way in the streets. You don't know the rules."
"Deal," Long Jin said.
[Partnership Formed: Wang Lei]
[Loyalty Metric: 65/100]
[System Note: This is a volatile asset. Monitor closely.]
The next week was a flurry of preparation.
Long Jin invested his ¥50. Bought lemons, sugar, and a block of ice from the vendor two streets over. Haggled with the skill of a retired billionaire, astonishing the old woman.
"You drive a hard bargain for a little ghost," she cackled, handing over the goods.
Wang Lei secured the cart—a rickety wooden thing with one wobbly wheel. His father, curious but amused, helped him fix it.
Li Mei procured cups. Stolen, borrowed, and found. A mismatched army of glass and tin.
They practiced in the alley behind Long Jin's home. Squeezing lemons. Mixing the syrup. Portioning the ice. Wang Lei's strength was key. He could lift the heavy ice bucket. He could push the cart for miles.
Long Jin watched their hands. Li Mei's were precise, efficient. Wang Lei's were strong, clumsy.
A microcosm of what was to come.
The day before the heatwave was forecast to begin, they held a final meeting under a streetlamp.
"Tomorrow," Long Jin said. "We start at the east gate of the textile factory. Shift ends at four. Thirsty workers. We sell until we're empty."
"Price?" Wang Lei asked.
"Five fen per cup."
"That's too high," Lei argued. "The ice water guy sells for two."
"Our product is superior," Long Jin said. "And the heat will do the selling for us."
Li Mei nodded. "We'll sell out."
Wang Lei looked skeptical but agreed. "Your money."
That night, Long Jin lay awake. The system was quiet. Just the persistent display.
[Net Worth: ¥297]
[Cache: 100/100 Units]
[Phase: Calculator]
He had spent ¥50. He had no product, only potential. It was the first bet of his new life.
He thought of Li Mei's steady hands. Of Wang Lei's bullish confidence.
He thought of the enemies sleeping now, unaware that a ghost had entered the game with a ledger.
The sun rose hot.
Day one.
By ten a.m., the air was thick and heavy. By noon, it was an oven.
They pushed the cart to the factory gate, arriving at three-thirty. The shade was scarce. Long Jin felt sweat trickle down his back.
Workers began to stream out at four. Men and women in drab uniforms, faces flushed with heat and exhaustion.
Wang Lei called out, his voice surprisingly loud and clear. "Ice-cold lemonade! Fresh! Five fen!"
The first customer was a skeptical older man. "Cold?"
"See the ice?" Wang Lei pointed.
The man bought a cup. Drained it in one gulp. His eyes closed in relief. "Another."
Word spread.
They were surrounded. Hands holding coins. Voices calling orders.
Li Mei took money. Made change with dizzying speed. Long Jin poured, his small hands steady on the ladle.
The ice melted fast. The lemonade level sank.
In forty-five minutes, they were empty. The cart held nothing but sticky rings and lemon rinds.
They counted the money in the alley, hidden from view.
Coins and notes piled on the cart's wooden planks.
Wang Lei's eyes were wide. "How much?"
Long Jin counted. Methodical. Final.
"One hundred and twenty-four yuan," he said.
Silence.
They had turned ¥50 into ¥124 in one afternoon. A 148% return. And they still had assets—the cart, the buckets, the cups.
[Venture: First Day Results]
[Revenue: ¥124]
[Cost: ¥50]
[Gross Profit: ¥74]
[Net Profit (After Estimated Depreciation): ¥70]
[Return on Investment: 140%]
[System Note: Operational efficiency exceeded projections.]
Wang Lei let out a whoop, slapping Long Jin on the back. "You were right, little boss! You were right!"
Li Mei smiled, a real one that lit up her face. She met Long Jin's eyes over the pile of money. It was more than profit. It was validation. Of his memories. Of their pact.
They split the profit as promised. ¥23 each, and they put ¥1 back into the kitty for tomorrow's supplies.
Long Jin held his share. It was dirty money, earned with sweat and lemon juice. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
[Net Worth: ¥320]
[Daily Change: +¥23]
[Cache: 100/100 Units]
[Emotional Capital: Wang Lei +10 (Loyalty Metric: 75/100)]
[Emotional Capital: Li Mei +5 (Trust)]
Walking home, the heat still pressing down, Long Jin felt something unfamiliar.
A flicker of hope.
It was dangerous. Hope was an unhedged position. It could be wiped out in a second.
But it was there.
He had taken the first step. He had turned memory into momentum.
That night, as he lay in bed, the system finally delivered a new message. Not a calculation. An observation.
[Phase 1 Progress: 0.1%]
[Note: The compound interest of action has begun. The principal is small. The rate of return is promising. Continue.]
Outside his window, the city slept in the suffocating heat.
Long Jin did not sleep.
He was running numbers. Projecting curves. Planning the next move, and the one after that.
He had found his wife. He had made his first yuan.
The war was still decades away. But the first trench had been dug.
And it smelled of lemons.