During the Da Qian Dynasty, in the village of Xilang.
The golden wheat fields rippled in the sunset, air filled with the scent of harvest. Farmers bustled along the field edges, while trails of smoke drifted lazily from the rooftops—every household was busy preparing dinner.
In the courtyard of the Walton household, five-year-old Chris Walton crouched on the ground, teasing a bug with a stick. He watched as it twisted and turned, struggling desperately to get away from him.
Passing by, his cousin Alice Walton gave him a side-eye and scoffed, “Still playing with bugs at your age. That’s pathetic.”
Chris lazily tilted his head up, gave her a once-over, then said, “Didn’t you wet the bed when you were seven?”
Alice flushed scarlet. She was ten now—way past the age when such things were funny. “You… you liar!” she snapped, stomping her foot. Mortified, she turned on her heel and dashed off.
Chris snorted, then lowered his head to keep playing with the ant.
“Dummy! Come here to Mama,” a hushed whisper came from the kitchen. A head peeked out—it was Rose Smith, his mother, gesturing for him to come over quickly and quietly.
At her call, Chris glanced down at the bug still squirming for its life. With the air of a merciful judge, he dropped his stick. “We’re all just trying to get through life,” he thought. “What’s the point of going after each other?”
Once inside the kitchen, Rose quickly shoved a piece of egg into his mouth, nervously glancing around. “Hurry and eat before someone sees,” she murmured.
Chris swallowed quickly. Seeing he’d eaten it all, she relaxed a bit, though her tone carried a faint frustration. “If it weren’t for the wheat harvest these days, I wouldn’t even have the heart to cook an egg. But with how stingy your grandparents are, do you think they’d ever spare you one? Come on, I’ve got more.”
She stealthily slipped him two more big chunks of egg.
“You have some, Mama,” Chris said, nudging the chopsticks toward her lips.
Rose’s heart melted at her son’s sweet gesture. “Mama’s fine. You eat,” she said, then cupped his chin and popped the food into his mouth.
Afterward, she ushered him back into the yard to play while she cheerfully went back to making soup.
Chris strolled back outside, savoring the lingering taste of egg on his tongue.
In his previous life, his parents had divorced when he was five. They’d fought bitterly over who would take him in—though a year or two later, both had remarried and had new families. He became the forgotten one, left behind with his grandparents.
By the time he turned fifteen, both elders had passed away, and from then on, there was no one waiting for him to come home. His so-called father sent money for a while, but once he graduated high school, even that stopped.He paid for college with student loans, while living expenses came from scholarships and working part-time during breaks.
Luckily, his schedule in college wasn’t too packed, and he had a sharp mind. He used his spare time to gather info and built a small app for second-hand trading. When the user base grew enough, he sold it and made a good chunk of money.
He managed to clear his loans before graduation and took a short break before job hunting.
Just when he thought his life was finally turning around, he acted on impulse and jumped into the river to save a friend who tried to take his own life.
What he didn’t expect was the guy clinging to him like he wanted both of them dead. The struggle dragged them both under.
This messed-up world really breaks people down.
After death, he drifted in some dark space for what felt like forever—long enough to lose track of time.
Then suddenly…
He was born again!
And since he came out all wrinkly, red, and splotchy, his dad peeked once and blurted out, “What an ugly little thing!”
And just like that, he earned the nickname “Ugly Egg.”
By the time he was three, he couldn’t take it anymore and demanded a proper name. His well-read uncle finally gave him one: Chris Walton, same as in his past life.
Even with the new name, the family still called him Ugly Egg. Five years of that would numb anyone.
What could he do? Being a kid meant having no say.
That evening, the whole family sat down for dinner.
Food was limited. Everyone had their own portions.
The men got two barley buns and even a bowl of precious white flour soup. Women and kids? Just one veggie bun and a small bowl of soup.
Pickled veggies for flavor. The only dish—scrambled eggs with greens—was right in the middle of the table, close to the seat of honor.
Grandpa didn’t move, so no one else dared touch it.
Well… almost no one.
Chris automatically glanced at his father, David Walton.
David’s eyes were locked on the eggs, gulping as he stared.
He gave in eventually, raising his chopsticks slowly toward the dish.
Predictably, Elsie Lewis swatted his hand away. “You think you deserve those eggs? Everyone’s been working their backs sore today, and here you are bouncing around like it’s a holiday! You’re either drinking water or running off to the toilet every few minutes. Just like a lazy mule—more poop than work! Barely did a thing all day, but we sure heard you yap non-stop!”
David didn’t even flinch. Instead, he shot back without shame, “Weren’t the eggs made to be eaten? So I’m eating!”He shot to his feet and, while Elsie Lewis wasn’t paying attention, grabbed a chopstick’s worth and popped it into his mouth, chewing with his eyes half-closed like he was savoring delicacies from heaven.
Elsie Lewis rolled her eyes so hard it looked like they were about to fall out of her head. The rest of the table hardly blinked—they were used to this by now.
William Walton didn’t even try to stop his second son. Instead, like nothing happened, he calmly pulled the plate of eggs closer and used his chopsticks to pick up a portion, dropping it into Charles Walton’s bowl. His tone was warm. “Reading takes it out of you these days. Eat more. Keep your strength up.”
Charles Walton gave a polite smile. “Thanks, Father. You should have some too.”
Even though he said that, he didn’t make any move to return the eggs. He snapped them up like they were his.
William Walton nodded, pleased. “My eldest is really thoughtful.” Then, as if by accident, he glanced at his second son.
David Walton sneered and rolled his eyes so aggressively it might’ve hurt. He didn’t lift a finger like usual. Guess Father’s eyes are only good for staring blankly—couldn’t see anything that’s really going on.
After a few bites, Charles Walton seemed to remember something. Casually, he added, “By the way, Father, Mother—I’ll be heading out again tomorrow. Don’t worry about making meals for me this week.”
William Walton nodded without hesitation. “You focus on your work. We’ll handle things here.”
Chris Walton noticed the moment those words left his grandfather’s mouth, his parents and Third Uncle’s family all tensed up. Without waiting a beat, he buried his head in his bowl.
The storm was coming.
Sure enough, as soon as William Walton stopped talking, David Walton’s expression turned stormy. “Funny how whenever there’s work to be done at home, Big Brother has business elsewhere. Every single time. Don’t tell me this is just coincidence.”
Charles Walton sighed, looking at his little brother like he pitied his ignorance. “It’s not something a man like you could understand. Matters of scholarly pursuit are—”
David Walton cut in with a mocking laugh, rolling his eyes and swinging his head dramatically. He drawled, “Oh, right—we’re scholars. You wouldn’t get it. Whatever I say goes—‘cause you just don’t understand—it’s a scholar thing~”
His tone dripped with sarcasm so much that veins popped on both William Walton and Elsie Lewis’s foreheads. Charles Walton looked like he’d just bitten a lemon.
David, being no fool, didn’t wait. He promptly lunged across the table, snagged the plate of stir-fried egg and greens, and expertly divided it among the bowls of his own family. “Eat up! Go on, don’t be shy!”
The rest of them just sat there, stunned.
Elsie Lewis lost it and shot to her feet. “Put it back! You ungrateful brat! Trying to kill me with anger?!”
She chucked her chopsticks at him, but he ducked easily.
With his rice bowl in hand, David darted toward the courtyard while shoveling food into his mouth, yelling as he went, “Better eat up, or those biased old folks will snatch it all back in a heartbeat!”
