Chapter 1 Back to 1980
When Deng Shirong opened his eyes again, he saw an old table that was so worn it wouldn't even be considered good for firewood. On the table sat a kerosene lamp. Inside its transparent glass tube, a small flame emitted a dim light.
Across from the table sat Deng Yungui, a thin middle-aged man. In Shirong's memory, this nephew—five generations his junior—had been dead for nearly twenty years. Yet here he was, alive and well, holding a hookah in one hand while skillfully packing tobacco into its mouthpiece with the other. After filling it, Yungui picked up the kerosene lamp, lit the tobacco, and took a few puffs.
Seeing this scene, Shirong's eyelids twitched. Is this a dream?
After a few drags, Yungui set down the hookah and looked at Shirong. "Uncle Jiu," he said, "as the saying goes, the bold die from overeating, and the timid die from starvation. Last summer, many people in Stone Dragon Brigade implemented the household contract responsibility system. They freed up manpower to engage in side businesses and made a lot of money.
Uncle Jiu, you always say that those at the forefront aren't afraid, so why should we, who are just following the trend, be scared?"
Hearing this, Shirong realized the scene before him must have taken place in 1980. Back then, his cousin Deng Yungui had wanted to partner with him, a master of the large vat kiln, to lease the brigade's kiln.
Does this mean I've been reborn and returned to 1980?
"Uncle Jiu, don't hesitate. Let's do this together!" Yungui urged.
Shirong snapped out of his thoughts. "Yungui, this is a big decision. Let me think it over and give you an answer tomorrow."
Yungui didn't expect Shirong to agree immediately. Getting a decision by tomorrow was already quick. He nodded and said, "Alright, Uncle Jiu. Think it over carefully. I have other things to attend to, so I'll head back now."
"Mm."
As soon as Yungui left, seven people of varying heights walked in—Shirong's seven children.
The moment he saw his eldest son, Deng Yuntai, Shirong, who had thought he could remain calm after being reborn, couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion.
It's been 44 years since I last saw my steady, reliable eldest son.
In his past life, Shirong and Yungui had partnered to lease the brigade's tile kiln and renamed it the tile factory.
That August, a matchmaker had introduced a girl from the neighboring commune to Yuntai. But on the way to the blind date, Yuntai had met with an accident…
The memory of burying his eldest son was a pain Shirong carried for the rest of his life. Yuntai's death had been his greatest regret.
"Dad, what did Brother Yungui come to talk to you about?" Yuntai asked. In the dim light, he didn't notice the emotion in his father's eyes.
Shirong composed himself. "He wants to partner with me to lease the brigade's kiln."
Yuntai's eyes lit up. "Dad, that's a great opportunity. Did you agree?"
Shirong shook his head. "Not yet."
Yuntai thought for a moment. "Are you worried about the political climate?"
Shirong smiled. "No, it's not that. I'm just not optimistic about the future of the tile industry, so I didn't agree right away."
As he spoke, Shirong couldn't help but sigh inwardly. In his past life, he and Yungui had run the tile factory together. Business had been decent in the early years, allowing the family to eat meat occasionally.
But the good times didn't last. As society developed, durable alternatives replaced fragile ceramics. Jars, tiles, and similar items—easily broken with the slightest touch—gradually lost their market.
If Shirong remembered correctly, they had leased the kiln in 1980. By 1987, business had declined. After struggling for three more years, the factory, already operating at a loss, finally shut down.
Yuntai was surprised by his father's reasoning. After graduating from high school, he had spent over two years learning the craft of making large vats under his father's guidance. Only at the end of last year had he officially become a qualified master.
Now, his father—the man who had taught him the trade—was saying he didn't see a future in it?
"But pottery and ceramics are essential to daily life. Shouldn't this industry have a bright future? Dad, how can you tell it won't develop further?"
Shirong replied, "It's just a guess. The industry will do well in the short term, but I'm not sure about the long term."
Yuntai breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good to hear."
"Dad, are you still planning to partner with Brother Yungui to lease the kiln?" asked the second son, Deng Yunheng.
Shirong had five sons and two daughters. The sons were named after the Five Great Mountains: the eldest, Deng Yuntai, 20, a high school graduate; the second, Deng Yunheng, 16, in his first year of high school; the third, Deng Yunsong, 12, in fifth grade; the fourth, Deng Yunhua, 10, in third grade; and the fifth, Deng Yunheng, 8, in first grade.
The two daughters were named after pearls: the eldest, Deng Yunzhen, 18, a junior high graduate; and the youngest, Deng Yunzhu, 14, in primary school.
"I'll likely partner with him, but I need to think carefully about how to proceed," Shirong said. He waved his hand. "It's late. Everyone, go to bed."
"Okay!" The children responded and returned to their rooms in the dark.
After watching them leave, Shirong took the kerosene lamp and went to his own room.
The earthy scent of the room, filled with the smell of mud and linen, brought him an unexpected sense of peace. He placed the lamp on a stool, sat by the bed, and began to examine the "golden finger" he had sensed upon waking.
When he had first regained consciousness, Shirong had felt something unusual in his mind. But at the time, he had been too shocked by his rebirth and preoccupied with Yungui to focus on it.
Now, with time to spare, he decided to investigate.
After a few minutes of concentration, Shirong's expression turned strange. The function of his golden finger was not what he had expected.
It was called the Matchmaker Reward System (Version 1.0). Its sole function was to multiply any earnings from matchmaking by ten.
In other words, any money or goods Shirong earned as a matchmaker would be rewarded tenfold by the system.
"This is pushing me to become a matchmaker!" Shirong muttered to himself.
If he were twenty years younger, he might have chosen to venture out into the world. With 44 years of future knowledge, he could have thrived.
But at 44, Shirong no longer had the ambition to explore. Since fate had given him this golden finger, he thought it might not be so bad to stay in the countryside, live a stable life, and work as a matchmaker.
(End of Chapter)