Ch 220: Guide to Running a Shop in Another World

Xiao Ze had just arrived at his desk at work after getting some water from the break room when he noticed a message from the Childhood Tutoring Center on his phone.

Since filling out that “childhood test” at the center, he hadn’t returned to No. 66 Sanhua Road.

He’d tried analyzing his own feelings and realized that his reluctance was likely rooted in the fragile pride adults cling to. It was just a simple form, yet he’d earnestly written down one of the darkest memories from his childhood. If he’d been sixteen, he might not have felt so exposed, but at twenty-two, with his life still tangled and aimless, confiding in a near-stranger felt like an embarrassing display of vulnerability. The more he thought about it, the worse it seemed, but he couldn’t help replaying it in his mind.

That night, he’d decided to avoid the tutoring center—but these days, he still found himself quietly following it online.

The Dream Bubble Solution and Emotion Bubble Solution had received rave reviews, with users sharing their experiences every day. Last week, the center had even launched a new treat called “Good Mood Glutinous Rice Balls,” said to evoke mood-lifting visions. Xiao Ze immediately guessed it was the same treat the shopkeeper had given him that night to try, and, as he expected, it was a hit.

Some customers had even taken the rice balls and bubble solution to a testing center and posted the reports online, showing only ordinary ingredients, with no anomalies detected. This small controversy even made a brief splash online. Some believed the products were ordinary goods, and any effects felt were simply due to some form of hypnosis—a scam. But customers who had tried the bubble solution and rice balls felt otherwise, and the rumor faded away.

Xiao Ze still occasionally used the bubble solution, though sparingly. When emotions became too heavy to bear, he would blow bubbles or sleep a bit to find some relief. He surmised the shopkeeper’s ability might involve attaching a “mood” to an object to influence people around it. Essentially, she could somehow “solidify” a vibe. Imagining her creating an atmosphere of despair, for example, was enough to make him shiver slightly.

He shook off the thought and looked back at his phone, rereading the new message. The Childhood Tutoring Center was now offering a “powerful new tool” for helping people make up for lost childhoods, and the shopkeeper insisted he come try it out.

“A powerful new tool?”

It sounded unconvincing, especially with the shopkeeper’s overly emphatic use of brackets around “most powerful tool,” which came off as a bit childish.

…

That evening, Xiao Ze found himself standing outside the tutoring center, having agonized all day at work but ultimately showing up anyway.

Erxin, who had now become the center’s mascot, was lounging on the shopkeeper’s chair, either sleeping, grooming, or gazing through the glass at passersby. Noticing Xiao Ze lingering outside, the chubby cat leaped down gracefully, pawing at the glass with a soft “meow~.”

Hearing the noise, Lu Yao emerged, smiling when she saw Xiao Ze. “I’ve been waiting for you all day! Come in—I’ll introduce you to our new ‘teacher.’”

Teacher?

Xiao Ze followed Lu Yao into what had previously been the center’s off-limits secret room.

The room was sparsely furnished, with only a set of table and chairs, and an entire wall of small drawer-like compartments across from the door. Xiao Ze took in the sight for a moment before sitting at the table, where he noticed a black dragon figurine curled up as if sleeping.

The figurine was entirely black, with a few barely noticeable silver flecks on the tip of its tail. Chubby and round, the little dragon hugged its tail with its paws, eyes closed. The attention to detail was remarkable; it had a certain mysterious charm that was both exquisite and captivating.

Suspended about a centimeter above the curled body of the little black dragon was a silver sphere, slightly larger than the sleeping dragon, as if it were being gently cradled by the dragon’s form.

Pointing to the sphere, Lu Yao introduced, “This is Alfred, the new tutor at our center—and, as I mentioned in my message, our ‘most powerful tool.’”

Xiao Ze: “…Alfred…a tutor?”

Lu Yao laughed, “Don’t look so surprised—let me explain.”

Lu Yao’s time machine consisted of two main components. First, the small silver sphere on the table, containing a powerful energy source, supported the shopkeeper in helping clients travel through time. The sphere’s main material came from Harold’s dragon scales, and its energy came from a fusion of high-purity magic stone and crystal core energy liquid, creating a battery that could facilitate roughly ten time travels before needing replacement.

The second component was the Mind Key, an essential tool for accessing one’s childhood.

To reach a specific temporal point, precise coordinates were necessary, and retrieving them required an object that had recorded a passage through time. But how could one find time that had already passed? For that, an artifact that recorded time was needed.

Since the tutoring center’s purpose was to visit clients’ pasts, the client’s “growth line” was required—essentially, their life line, which records every event from birth to death, similar to the small markers on a temporal line in the form of beads on a string.

Season follows season, life sprouts anew in spring only to decay into soil once more. Time has never ceased.

Is there something that records every detail of a person’s life from birth to death? This is the key medium in creating the Mind Key.

Lu Yao had tried various materials—hair, skin, nails, teeth. But these were constantly replaced as people aged, so the records they held were minimal.

Xiao Ze’s eyes widened slightly as Lu Yao explained the time machine; the whole thing was becoming like a wild fantasy novel. It was so absurd that he couldn’t even muster a more exaggerated reaction. Instead, he calmly asked, “Are you saying you need one of my finger bones to make the key?”

Lu Yao nodded, “Yes. Bones, like the rings of a tree, hold information about one’s entire growth, from birth up to the present.”

Xiao Ze held out his hand, “So, how will you remove it? I’m assuming taking a piece of finger bone will leave me partially disabled.”

Lu Yao retrieved a small bone-extraction box from under the table and put on gloves. “Don’t worry. We only need the information recorded on the bone. Once I remove this small piece, I’ll replace it with an identical bone—only the new one won’t have your past information.”

Here was where the convenience of replication magic came in.

As she spoke, Lu Yao used a tool to carefully remove a tiny piece from the tip of Xiao Ze’s left pinky finger. “All done. Just wait thirty seconds.”

Xiao Ze: “…”

It was done already? That was way too fast. And it didn’t even hurt—he couldn’t figure out how it worked.

Lu Yao placed the bone fragment into the extraction box and, thirty seconds later, took out two identical bones. She placed the replica back into Xiao Ze’s pinky and then took the original fragment into a room newly carved out along one side of the wall, “Just five more minutes.”

The client’s life-recording bone, combined with Harold’s dragon scale, created a unique “Mind Key” for that individual. It looked similar to the Time Key but was formed with black lines, with small white beads along the line.

The Mind Key was much smaller than the Time Key, delicate and petite.

Xiao Ze took the black-and-white key from Lu Yao, frowning in disbelief, “This is a toy, right? I still think you’re pulling my leg—setting up this whole complex backstory, making models. It’s like something out of a novel.”

Lu Yao sat down, picked up the hovering silver sphere, revealing a small slot underneath. “Try inserting it,” she said.

Xiao Ze didn’t expect the sphere to have this kind of structure and felt as if the shopkeeper was simply humoring him with some game. Without much thought, he inserted the key.

Click—

The silver sphere split into fragments, scattering rays of blinding light that engulfed both of them.

When Xiao Ze opened his eyes, he was no longer in the childhood tutoring center. The scene in front of him was both unfamiliar and familiar.

The community daycare center in Daimo City.

Before the age of six, he had spent most of his time here.

The earliest memory Xiao Ze wrote on his childhood test form began at this playground, near a fence covered with ivy.

Until he was five, his favorite spot was sitting on the steps beneath the ivy fence, waiting for his mother to pick him up.

This was the very memory he’d recorded on that test form.

The key was real. The shopkeeper hadn’t lied.

“So, this is where you spent your early years?” Lu Yao emerged from behind a flower bed, looking around.

Xiao Ze was surprised. “Shopkeeper?”

Hearing footsteps, Lu Yao pulled Xiao Ze to hide behind the flower bed, sneaking a look over the top.

A tiny child in overalls hugged a brown teddy bear, toddling toward the ivy fence. He looked around, took a step down, then another, and finally sat on the steps.

Lu Yao turned to look at Xiao Ze.

Xiao Ze tilted his head slightly, avoiding her gaze, his ears tinged red.

That small child was none other than his younger self.

While other kids played wildly on the playground, Little Xiao Ze sat quietly on the steps, watching the ants crawl by. The bear in his arms was a gift from his mom that morning, who promised to pick him up later and take him to his favorite kids’ meal.

As the sun set, other kids were picked up by their parents. But Little Xiao Ze remained there, waiting.

His mother didn’t show up.

That day was Xiao Ze’s fifth birthday.

This was the memory he carried—the evening when he waited for his mother, who never came.

Each visit through time could only last three minutes, but time in the past flowed differently. In Daimo City’s timeline, three minutes equated to an entire afternoon as Lu Yao and the adult Xiao Ze watched from the bushes, quietly observing Little Xiao Ze’s solitary wait.

Upon returning to the childhood tutoring center, Xiao Ze recounted what happened after that afternoon.

Late that night, his mother called the daycare. She had to cover an emergency surgery that extended until just now, preventing her from coming to pick him up.

Little Xiao Ze stood by the caregiver’s side, staring at the wood grain of the table legs.

For the next several days, his mother didn’t come, and he continued staying at the daycare. At night, Xiao Ze overheard the caregivers whispering in the hallway.

“He’s already five, and his ability only lights up his fingers… He probably won’t have a second awakening.”

It dawned on him that his mother had likely given up on him.

A week later, his mother finally returned, bringing Xiao Ze a big bag of snacks and a new toy.

The little Xiao Ze finally saw his mother and ran over joyfully, a smile just beginning to spread across his young face.

But then, a stranger appeared, his hand resting on his mother’s shoulder, rough fingers grazing Xiao Ze’s cheek.

His mother had remarried.

During those days she left him at the daycare, she’d gotten married and even gone on her honeymoon.

Misfortune, it seemed, had already written its prelude by then.

Within three months, his mother became pregnant.

The day she found out, she and the man took Xiao Ze to an amusement park.

After a day of wild fun, his mother took Xiao Ze’s hand, smiling, and placed it on her belly. “Xiao Ze, you’re going to have a little brother or sister soon.”

Later, his sister was born, a child with remarkable talent.

At ten months old, she awakened her ability.

It was of the natural type; she could control water elements.

At age two, she had a second awakening.

Not only could she manipulate water, but she could also alter its properties.

Three days after her second awakening, Xiao Ze’s mother took him shopping for new clothes, a backpack, and new school supplies, and then enrolled him in a boarding school.

That year, Xiao Ze had just started second grade.

As he spoke, he explained that gifts were always a signal.

They were a cloak wrapping up a lie, a prelude to losing something.

Every time, without exception.

To him, there was no such thing as a free gift in the world.

If one existed, it surely already carried an unseen price.

Lu Yao nodded. “Indeed, I’ve calculated the cost of this time-travel trip for you.”

Xiao Ze, interrupted, wasn’t upset. He didn’t enjoy delving deeply into his past anyway. He pulled out his wallet with a wry smile, feeling oddly relieved. “Good to know.”

He believed his childhood regrets could never be remedied.

Even if a time machine existed, revisiting the weaknesses and fears hidden in those old memories would only serve to reinforce the reality that he was gradually, methodically abandoned.

But Lu Yao reached into her coat and pulled out a silver key, then lifted the silver sphere, which had transformed back into the teacher Alfred, and motioned to Xiao Ze. “Don’t worry about paying just yet. Your childhood tutoring session has only just begun.”

Xiao Ze looked puzzled. “You’ve seen everything; my childhood won’t change.”

Lu Yao nodded. “The past is unchangeable; that’s why this is called a tutoring center. The point of tutoring is to fill in the missing parts and help us acquire perspectives and skills that can redirect our lives. The goal isn’t to alter the past but to impact the present—this very moment.”

Seeing Xiao Ze’s confusion, Lu Yao activated the key, initiating the second phase. “Attention, Student No. 1, Xiao Ze: the childhood tutoring session is officially beginning.”

A bright light enveloped them, and when Xiao Ze opened his eyes again, he was back at the familiar ivy-covered fence of the daycare center in Daimo City.

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