The most important days of the New Year were the first and second days of the lunar calendar. In the past, the fifteenth day of the first month also mattered, but as holidays grew shorter, firecrackers were banned, and temple fairs were restricted, people gradually lost interest in the Lantern Festival.
On the second day of the New Year, it was tradition to visit the wife’s family.
Zhou You drove early in the morning, taking his parents to his grandmother’s house. The trunk was packed with gifts—besides what was for the elderly, there were cigarettes, alcohol, and tea for his uncle.
But his uncle probably wasn’t home today, since he’d be taking his wife to her family’s place too.
Before leaving, Zhou You had given his mother some cash for distributing red envelopes today.
After all, Zhou You had several cousins—older and younger brothers and sisters—and some of them had married early and had kids, making for a sizable, dark-clad crowd.
His aunt on his mother’s side had three children: two boys and one girl. His other aunt had two girls. Among them, the eldest cousin from the first aunt was already married.
Technically, he should be accompanying his wife to her family’s home today, but knowing Zhou You was back, he wanted to chat more with him.
In the countryside, someone like Zhou You—who studied hard, got into university, and even became a university professor—was a rare find.
So he wanted to ask for advice on the future. This cousin, named Sun Peng, was 29. He had dropped out of school early to work as a migrant laborer, mainly on construction sites. He earned every penny through hard labor, barely returning home a few times a year.
His kids were left-behind children, raised solely by his wife. Now he wanted to ask Zhou You if there was a better way.
When Sun Peng saw Zhou You’s Wrangler, he couldn’t help but feel tempted, insisting on taking it for a spin. His mother scolded him a few times before he gave up.
Zhou You didn’t mind—after all, the car was meant to be driven. Once his aunt left, he tossed the keys to Sun Peng, who eagerly jumped in and drove around.
Having worked on construction sites for years, Sun Peng was tanned dark, his hands rough and strong.
Before Zhou You’s rebirth, Sun Peng had stayed in construction work, never finding another suitable job. He was always the youngest on the site, but after him, fewer and fewer villagers were willing to work in construction.
Later, due to work, Zhou You visited a construction site and found that, aside from college graduates, almost no front-line construction workers were under 40.
The average age exceeded 50, and there was a generational gap among migrant workers. Zhou You used to worry about who would do the front-line work in the future, but he stopped worrying when many real estate companies went bankrupt.
Besides, as long as rural people had land, they wouldn’t starve—it was just a matter of earning more or less. But once they abandoned the land for the city, uncertain years could make even eating a problem.
“You, are you busy at work? How’s being a university professor?” Sun Peng asked curiously.
“Not busy. I only teach a few classes a week, and once they’re done, I’m free.”
“That’s so easy. No wonder everyone wants to study. I don’t want to keep working on construction sites—wind and sun every day, from morning till night. You get paid for the days you work, but if you don’t work, you get nothing,” Sun Peng said enviously.
As they chatted, Guo Jing ran over. She was the second child of his other aunt, a senior in high school who would later get into university, becoming the second college student in the family.
“Brother You, what’s university like? Is it fun once you get in?” Guo Jing asked, full of curiosity and longing.
“University is pretty free. After you finish your coursework, you can do whatever you want. It’s different from high school, with its strict schedule,” Zhou You said honestly.
The more suppressed you were, the stronger the rebound.
Those who were heavily oppressed in high school often let loose in university, finding no one watching over them and feeling a bit lost, unsure of where to go.
So, most guys turned to gaming, playing obsessively to fill the void. The milder cases failed courses and had to retake them; the worse ones got expelled.
“How are your grades now? Any idea what school or major you want to aim for?” Zhou You asked, leaning back comfortably in his chair.
“My grades are okay. According to my teacher, I can probably get into a first-tier university with some effort, maybe even a 211 or 985,” she said, ranking among the top in her class.
“I don’t know much else. My parents just tell me to study, and they said to ask you about choosing schools and majors when the time comes,” Guo Jing said nonchalantly.
That made sense. Kids these days couldn’t worry about everything. Getting into university was already good enough. Who really understood majors? How many people did?
Biology, chemistry, environmental science, materials science—these were known as the four major “pitfall” majors, burying countless talented people.
Guo Jing had done well in her exams and got into a 211 university, but she chose the wrong major—biology. After graduating with a bachelor’s, she had almost no prospects. She gritted her teeth and got a master’s, but still found no job. Finally, she pushed through to a PhD. Who knew if she’d graduate on time?
Society changed too fast. Studying well wasn’t as good as choosing well. Many students from average schools who studied computer science rode the wave of the computer boom.
Back then, computer science was a niche field, and many were assigned to it by default.
Only after graduation, when the internet exploded, did the whole industry take off, making everyone in it a fortune.
Fate was predetermined—sometimes you had to believe it.
In his past life, when he gave advice, he wasn’t doing well himself, so his opinions weren’t taken seriously. This time, with a bit of financial success on display, they’d probably listen, since he was a university professor now.
He’d talk more later, see what interests she had. Whatever she studied, it couldn’t be biology. At worst, she could attend his school, making it easier for him to look after her.
Honestly, the best path for Guo Jing would be to study his major, then take the civil service exam after graduation, which aligned with his aunt’s expectations.
Many people thought that way—they didn’t expect their daughters to earn a fortune, just to have a stable job and live a healthy, safe life.
During the meal, the main topic was Zhou You becoming a university professor and earning his own money.
His aunts hoped Zhou You would guide their kids more and help out his cousins when possible.
Within his ability, he wanted to help, but how?
A small favor earned gratitude; a big one bred resentment. Giving money directly wasn’t right.
They couldn’t invest in stocks.
Bitcoin was out of the question.
Starting a factory was a dead end too—even a mask factory might not survive until then. But maybe in a few years, he could open one.
Then he could stockpile raw materials in advance. Instead of selling masks, just selling the materials could make him rich for life, with no risk.
As low-level farmers, they had few ways to get rich—no skills, no resources, no connections.
Zhou You didn’t promise anything outright, saying he hadn’t found a suitable project for everyone yet. When one came up, they’d see.
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