"God knows how much I regret having you! God knows!"
The hoarse, rap-like scolding of a woman shattered Song Ya's peaceful dream. He sighed and sat up reluctantly, slowly pulling a sweater over his head.
It had already been over ten days since he crossed over. Whether or not he had adapted, he could only endure for now.
Of course, he wasn't Song Ya anymore, and he wasn't Chinese. His full name now was Alexander Song, a fifteen-year-old boy whose biological parents had died in a car accident, now living with his aunt in Chicago.
"M-FXXX, seventeen! Seventeen, and she already acts like a b****, staying out all night! M-FXXkrrrr~"
The sound of crude, rapid-fire insults from downstairs pierced his ears. His Aunt Susie was "educating" her seventeen-year-old daughter, Connie, Alexander's cousin.
"She's your own flesh and blood." Song Ya sighed to himself.
Compared to the subtlety of the Chinese, African Americans expressed their feelings much more "intensely" and "outspokenly." Calling your own daughter a b**** and cursing her mother was just a regular thing for Aunt Susie.
"Yeah, yeah! Speaking of b****es, isn't it someone who had two kids at seventeen?"
After years of being yelled at, Connie had clearly toughened up. She quickly shot back, without a hint of weakness. Aunt Susie had her first son, Tony, at sixteen, then had Connie the next year. After that, the man who helped her create them disappeared without a trace...
"SHXX!"
Aunt Susie, hitting a sore spot, exploded in anger. "SHXX! You heartless little b****, just like that cold-hearted man. I curse you! I M-FXXXing curse you!"
"Hey, hey, isn't the point that she stayed out all night?" Song Ya thought, rolling his eyes internally.
On this issue, if he were in China, parents would never lose focus on the main issue, but Aunt Susie, in the heat of the argument, had completely forgotten the original point about Connie not coming home all night.
After getting dressed, Song Ya went out and turned into the nearby bathroom, turned on the faucet, and started washing up.
The sound of running water temporarily drowned out the argument downstairs. He looked into the mirror and took another look at himself in this life.
By Chinese standards of beauty for black people, he had a somewhat youthful and good-looking face, and since he had half Chinese heritage, his skin tone was a bit lighter. At fifteen, he was already over 1.7 meters tall, and his body was quite well proportioned... Of course, as a transmigrator, his future success was guaranteed, so the appearance of his body didn't matter much. After all, this was America, a capitalist society where money could buy anything.
"But here's the thing: you send me here and don't give me any special abilities, fine. But not even letting me keep my memories from the past life? That's just too much!"
For the past few days, no matter how hard Song Ya tried, his memories of his previous life were nothing but a blur. The only thing that had improved was his math skills. As for major historical events or books and games he'd seen or played before, he couldn't remember any of it. And that sudden jump in his math scores wasn't much of an achievement anyway—Chicago's South Side, predominantly black, was a poor area, and the community school had a very low level of education. The test difficulty was already easy, and if his Chinese racial talent didn't help, Song Ya wouldn't have a chance.
"Who's the lazy one now? Get downstairs for breakfast!"
With so many kids and not enough energy to treat them differently, Aunt Susie treated everyone equally, including with her harsh words.
"I'm coming!"
Song Ya quickly finished getting ready and hurried downstairs.
The creaky sound of the staircase indicated the house was old. It was a typical small house in a poor neighborhood: a detached house with very little space between it and the neighboring houses. Mostly made of wood, the second floor had two bedrooms and a bathroom. The larger room was divided into two, with Song Ya and his cousin Tony sharing one, while Connie and her ten-year-old sister, Emily, shared the other. Aunt Susie and her son Freddy, who was under a year old, stayed in the original smaller room.
The first floor was an open space combining the living room, kitchen, and dining room, with only a small bathroom under the stairs.
Despite all the noise, everyone was getting on with their business. Aunt Susie, holding a spatula, tended to the golden scrambled eggs in the pan while holding Freddy, who had big blue eyes, in her other arm. Aunt Susie's latest boyfriend was a white man, so Freddy was mixed race.
Connie and Emily were sitting at the table, taking turns shoving cereal and milk into their bowls.
Meanwhile, Tony was tilting his head back, greedily spraying whipped cream into his mouth.
"Open wide."
He swallowed a mouthful of whipped cream, then turned the can toward Song Ya.
"No thanks."
Song Ya shook his head. The soul inside this body was now someone else, and with Aunt Susie and Tony's bucket-shaped builds, not to mention Connie's clear horizontal growth trend, obesity was definitely something he had to watch out for in this life.
"You've changed a lot, Alex." Tony said.
"Really?" Song Ya's heart skipped a beat. "In what way?"
"Well..."
Tony started finishing off his milk and oatmeal, "Just... just a feeling, you know."
"Simple! It's for a girl!" Connie teased, successfully shifting the topic. "So, who's the lucky girl?"
"I..." Song Ya hadn't quite caught up with the conversation when Aunt Susie divided the soft scrambled eggs into four plates in front of the siblings. "Shut your damn mouth and eat quickly, or you'll miss the bus!" She clearly didn't like Connie at the moment.
"I'll change my clothes! Be right back!" Connie quickly stood up and dashed upstairs.
In America, if a girl was wearing yesterday's clothes, it usually meant she hadn't come home all night. So, Connie's primary reason for returning home this morning was to change clothes.
"Who dropped her off this morning?" Aunt Susie seized the opportunity to whisper, apparently not having forgotten about it.
"I don't know. I just heard the engine." Tony replied, giving Song Ya's foot a quick nudge under the table.
Song Ya shook his head. He truly didn't know. Emily also shook her head.
Aunt Susie didn't press the issue further and returned to washing the kitchenware. "Ah, black women..." she muttered in a low voice.
Milk, cereal, scrambled eggs—Song Ya finished them all in just three minutes. It was 1990 now. While America's welfare system might not be as good as the one back in his previous life, for a single mother with five kids, meeting the basic needs of food, clothing, shelter, and education didn't seem like an issue. The food even seemed overly calorie-dense.
Once Connie was changed, the four siblings said goodbye to Aunt Susie and left the house together.
Unlike his previous impression of America, there were no lush lawns in front or behind the houses here. Instead, there was dead grass, scattered junk, broken fences, and various old cars. Even Aunt Susie's house had a small Cameroonian flag hanging outside, signaling that some people in the neighborhood still remembered their roots in Africa.
"Cold!"
Chicago in February was not only cold, but the wind was strong. Emily shivered and quickly hid behind Tony.
Tony turned around, pulled Emily into his arms, and used his hand to shield her face. Everyone hunched their shoulders and hurried towards the bus stop, which was a few hundred meters away.