Cai Wudi stared out the train window, the familiar rhythmic clatter of the tracks blending with his thoughts. His parents had disappeared when he was young, leaving holes in his childhood that no one could fill. His maternal grandparents were strangers he never met, and his father's mother had passed not long after his parents vanished. Now, with his grandfather recently gone, he was returning to take over the family property — a responsibility that felt heavy but inevitable.
He cursed under his breath, not at anyone in particular, but at a family that seemed determined to abandon him in every generation.
The train slowed as it neared the station. When he stepped off, he was surprised at how much the city had changed. Two years ago, this part of town had been quiet, almost abandoned. Now, the streets farther away hummed with life — the coal mine had opened, the industries had followed, and the city's population had swelled.
But Cai Wudi's neighborhood hadn't grown with it. The low-income area where his shop stood had remained stubbornly stagnant, the buildings aging faster than the money flowing in. Property and goods had grown more expensive, but the streets here still carried the same tired air. He couldn't help but frown. Running the shop might be more difficult than he'd anticipated.
Even so, he thought about Lin Yue, his childhood friend. She had gone off to the big city with him once, chasing opportunities neither of them could quite define at the time. They had slowly drifted apart over the years — not because of fights, but because life simply moved them in different directions. He hadn't seen her in years, and likely never would in this city. Yet, he knew that just because he hadn't been here, or she hadn't been in touch, didn't mean they'd completely forgotten each other. It was a comforting, fleeting thought as he adjusted his bag and started walking.
He scanned the streets, already calculating. Even with the city growing, his part of town had stayed behind. That meant fewer customers, lower profit margins, and higher relative costs. But maybe, just maybe, with the right effort, he could make the shop work — sell it, or turn it into something profitable. Selling his grandfather's property didn't feel like a betrayal; it was just a pragmatic choice.
"Well," he muttered under his breath, "time to see if this old place is worth anything… and maybe make a little money along the way."
The city had grown, the neighborhood had stayed the same, and Cai Wudi… well, he was about to find out what taking over the family property really meant
Cai Wudi walked down the quiet street leading to his family's old shop. The road was empty, no souls in sight, yet from a few streets over, he could still hear the faint hum of a bustling crowd. The contrast struck him — life moving on somewhere else, while this little corner seemed frozen in time.
As he drew nearer, the familiar outline of the shop came into view. The first floor was completely empty. Dust coated every shelf, every counter, and every crevice. He frowned, running a hand along the dusty countertop. It had been years since the place had seen a single customer. His grandfather, it seemed, had been using it only as a place to sleep lately, leaving it shuttered and untouched for the last five years.
Even if the shop isn't open, Cai Wudi thought wryly, you should still keep the place clean. You sleep on the third floor, after all.
He stepped inside, letting his eyes roam over the familiar layout. The first floor held the main shop space, with a small warehouse tucked in the back. Another storage area waited in the backyard, while the second floor contained an extra room for overstock, a modest living room, and a tiny kitchen. The third floor was strictly private — three bedrooms and a study.
If I could get any customers, he mused, this would be perfect.
Cai Wudi climbed the stairs to the third floor, stopping in front of his grandfather's room. He hesitated for a long moment, hand raised to knock. Then, swallowing his unease, he pushed the door open. The room was almost empty — just the bed and a worn wardrobe. A lump formed in his throat, and he felt a tear prick the corner of his eye.
Without thinking, he fell to his knees, lowering his forehead to the floor in a deep kowtow. "Grandpa… I'm sorry I wasn't here in your last moments. I know there is nothing I can do for you now. So… I can only promise to live my best life, like you always asked me to."
The silence of the empty room seemed to swallow his words. Dust motes danced in the slanted sunlight through the window, a quiet witness to his vow. For a moment, the weight of loss pressed down on him, and the world outside — the bustling city, the rising industry, the future of the shop — seemed to pause, honoring his grandfather's memory.
Cai Wudi stood slowly and shook his head. First things first, he thought. He needed to go pick up his grandfather's ashes from the crematorium. But before leaving, he decided to collect himself in the living room.
He sank into the couch, letting the weight of grief and responsibility press down for a moment. That's when his eyes landed on a folded envelope sitting conspicuously on the coffee table. He picked it up and unfolded it. The handwriting was unmistakable: his grandfather's.
"Cai Wudi," it began, "if you are reading this, it means I have passed. I leave you my best wishes, and know that you are the only family you have left in this world."
So far, so normal. But then Cai Wudi blinked as he read the next line:
"To honor the family name, you should consider taking in a few… concubines. Yes, a handful. Proliferate, multiply, and keep the line strong. Do not worry about my remains; my old friend will see to them."
Cai Wudi froze, the letter trembling slightly in his hands. Wait… what? Concubines? His brain short-circuited for a moment. Since when does honoring a family mean adopting a harem?
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. And he has an old friend to take care of his ashes? Why didn't I know Grandpa had friends? Shouldn't this be my family's job?
Then a more personal thought crept in, one he couldn't ignore: And… who will take care of my remains when I'm gone?
A small, mischievous grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. Maybe Grandpa had a point. A few extra wives could solve that problem too…
Cai Wudi shook his head again, muttering to himself: What am I getting myself into? First, a dusty old shop… now, a family legacy of concubines? Besides that this is earth, strictly speaking polygamy is basically outlawed world wide.
But deep down, he couldn't deny a tiny spark of curiosity — and perhaps a dash of ambition — flickering to life
Cai Wudi's eyes drifted back to the letter, lingering on the final paragraph:
"Lastly, just live the best life you can. If you can have money, have money. If you can have love, have love. If you can have power, have power. As long as you want it, strive for it; if you don't want it, don't strive for it. Love, Grandpa."
He paused, rereading the words. Though it didn't rhyme or follow any poetic form, it somehow felt poetic in its simplicity. Cai Wudi smiled faintly, a warm, bittersweet feeling filling him.
Shoving the letter aside, he climbed down the stairs and entered the dusty first-floor shop. He grabbed a broom and started sweeping, the dust swirling around his feet. As he worked, memories drifted unbidden: afternoons spent helping his grandfather stock shelves, quiet nights studying behind the counter, the comforting smell of old wood and paper.
It would be great to open this place up again… he thought, glancing at the empty shelves. But reality hit. The biggest problem is… customers.
His eyes swept over the bare counters. Then, a harsher truth surfaced: Wait… how can I even open a shop if I have no goods?
Cai Wudi chuckled, shaking his head. Seriously… how did I not think of that? I just spent the last of my money getting a train ride back here.
He went over to the cabinets and the fridge, opening them with cautious hope. Inside: a single case of instant noodles, a few vegetables, and a half-drunk gallon of milk that looked, at best, questionable.
Well… with this, if I'm careful, I can last about four days. He sighed. I really need to sell this place ASAP. Maybe I can find a day job as a construction worker.
He paused, thinking about the local economy. Most of the miners are already dedicated, but with the city growing and the population booming, construction has been thriving. That could work… if I move fast.
Cai Wudi glanced around the empty shop again. Dust settled on the shelves, sun slanting through the windows, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. Alright… step one: clean up. Step two: figure out a way to ensure I don't starve next week.
Cai Wudi continued sweeping, wiping down dusty shelves, and rearranging the few items he had salvaged. The shop, once abandoned and forgotten, slowly began to look like a place someone could actually step inside without gagging.
Finally, he finished the last shelf and stepped back to survey his work. The dust had vanished, the counters gleamed faintly under the afternoon sun, and for the first time in years, the shop felt… alive.
Now this is presentable, he thought, a small smile tugging at his lips. No one would want a dirty old shop. Now, at least, they can only say it's old.
He turned to inspect the far corner one last time when a sudden, unexpected sound made him freeze.
Ding.
A soft chime echoed in the quiet room. Then, just as suddenly, a glowing blue panel popped up in front of him, hovering in the air like it had always been there, waiting.
Cai Wudi blinked. What the hell is this?