Later on, Grandpa Morrow was dealt with seriously. Nobody knew which unit Grandpa Morrow belonged to or what exactly he did, but that was only because the villagers lacked the knowledge—not because Grandpa Morrow himself wasn’t impressive. There’s no doubt he was destined for great things in the army, but this time, the punishment basically wrecked most of his military career—at least, in theory.
But in reality, the verdict came down fast: Grandpa Morrow was to reflect at home for six months, forbidden from reporting to his unit—Yang Qi suddenly felt that the boss Grandpa Morrow followed was really something, obviously shielding him and protecting the family. No clue who that boss was, but if he’s still alive, he ought to be thanked.
During those six months, Grandpa Morrow held down the fort at home, unbothered by wind or rain, standing tall like a pillar holding up a clear sky. Not only that, Grandpa Morrow and Grandma Morrow put in some effort and ended up expecting another child—so that’s where Uncle came from.
Six months flew by, but the Cultural Revolution lasted a whole decade. No matter how reluctant, Grandpa Morrow eventually went back to the army, and the village was left with just the three women. This remote mountain village barely had any real connection with the outside world. The nationwide revolution was burning like wildfire, but the local revolutionaries here could only catch snippets of news on the radio—they didn’t get any real help.
Those big shots busy stirring up the revolution had no time for a backwater like this.
So, Grandpa Morrow, who once chopped off a guy’s ear with a knife, became the village’s living King of Hell—none of the revolutionaries dared mess with him. The legend of One-Ear was still fresh, and Grandpa’s reputation lingered. Even after he left, few people dared to lay a finger on the three women.
But if they couldn’t go after them openly, they’d try sneaky tricks—instead of adults, they’d push the kids to do it. Grandma Morrow was shunned and bullied by the work team, and the two sisters who used to be the queens of the kids suddenly became public enemies. After all, to be a king, you have to be different, and being different puts you right on the edge between being hated and admired. With the times pushing from behind, their happy days were gone for good, and all the colors in their memories turned gloomy.
But as the saying goes, a sharp sword is forged through grinding, and plum blossoms get their fragrance from bitter cold. Only by surviving the harshest winter can you see the brightest spring. It was in these tough times that the two sisters developed unbreakable grit and a spirit of facing challenges head-on. Those ten years were a disaster, but also a decade of growth. Ten years isn’t short or long, but even the worst times eventually pass. Time flew by, and the family’s life slowly went from rock bottom to something a little better.
In 1976, the tenth year, the Cultural Revolution drew to a close and revolutionary fervor faded. The crazed masses slowly woke up from their chaotic dream, and all those ideas and doctrines they’d hyped up began to lose their grip. Sanity was creeping back in, and the battered country needed to return to normal.
A lot happened that year.
January 8th, Premier ****** passed away.
July 6th, Commander-in-Chief Zhu De passed away.
July 28th, the Tangshan Earthquake struck—240,000 dead, 160,000 injured.
September 9th, Chairman ****** passed away at the age of eighty-three.
October 6th, the "******" were arrested. On the 21st, 1.5 million people marched to celebrate the smashing of ******.
The ten-year-long ********** finally came to an end.
1976—a year of disasters, a year of upheaval, a year when the fate of the nation turned.
In 1976, the two sisters blossomed into graceful young women—top of their class, honest and upright. Uncle grew into a strapping teenager, handy with farm chores and keeping up with his studies. Grandpa’s career was on the rise, getting more recognition and promotions. Grandma kept the household running like clockwork, and the family’s finances improved. Even with three kids to raise, money wasn’t tight.
As transportation got better, the mountain village went from totally isolated and backward to finally connecting with the outside world.
Every now and then, Grandma would take the kids to the town for market days or temple fairs—seeing all sorts of weird and wonderful things, buying rare treats. Everything was looking up, hinting that warmth was returning to the family. The colors in this memory world grew vivid again, which means Mom’s mood at the time was positively cheerful.
But in that same year, 1976, out of the blue—a bolt from the blue struck: Joan Morrow vanished.
April, 1976.
Still April. Always April.
That day, spring shone bright, the sun was dazzling. That day, the weather was perfect, not a cloud in the sky. That day, the gloom had lifted, the sun rose in the east. That day, every household finally shook off the lingering chill of spring, hauling out their bedding to air out a whole winter’s worth of fatigue. That day, men and women alike emerged from long-term mental repression, ready to greet the end of the post-Cultural Revolution era.
The sun always comes out after the storm. The wild ride was almost over, good days were just around the corner—everyone could feel it in their bones. So on that day, folks wore their best smiles, put on new clothes, and headed off to market or the temple fair.
No matter how you looked at it, that day was a good day—absolutely nothing could go wrong.
Grandma took Mom, Mom dragged Uncle along, and Uncle munched on cornbread. The three of them waved goodbye to Joan Morrow, then hopped on Old Liu’s donkey cart at the end of the village, bumping all the way to town. “I’ll bring you some snacks!” Jill Young saw Mom wink secretly at Auntie as they said goodbye, whispering, “Just stay home and do your homework, I’ll copy it when I get back.”
Whether Mom admits it or not, Jill Young always noticed that Auntie was the more diligent student, and naturally, her grades were better too.
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And then, just like Dad described: Mom suddenly fainted at the market, Grandma was frantic, and when they got home, Auntie was gone—completely vanished, no news at all. Dad’s account was spot on.
—But that’s not the point.
Susan Morrow’s memory was so clear that in this world of recollection, the county town and the temple fair were vivid and flawless, like a real place. But the moment the three turned to leave home, the moment Joan Morrow smiled and waved them off and walked back to the door, that familiar doorway became a total blind spot.
Because Susan Morrow had no idea what happened inside, no matter how Jill Young tried to observe, there was nothing—absolutely nothing to see. The whole mountain village was shrouded in a fog of forgotten memories.
So—
[Rewind, keep rewinding, back it up!]
A will appeared in this world of memory—the will of Susan Morrow, but also Jill Young and Dream Monroe. The combined will of all three. In the world of memory, this was basically divine intervention. And so, like a TV show on rewind, time started running backwards under their determined hands.
People moving forward started backing up, birds that had taken flight landed again. Fluffy seeds floating in the breeze zipped back together, re-forming into dandelions on their stems. Everything was rewinding, everything was starting over. Their mental energy was draining fast, the world of memory was turning upside down, and they were back at the moment of farewell.
“I’ll bring you some snacks. Just stay home and do your homework—I’ll copy it when I’m back.” Same scene, same routine, same old story—can’t change what’s happened, but you can use some mysterious tricks to dig up info you never knew before.
The three left again, the donkey’s bell jingling, the whip cracking in the air. Jill Young watched her teenage aunt turn and walk back to the old house, while she herself stood like a stubborn nail at the door, hoping for something magical to happen.
“Go, Mom, go!” Jill Young clenched her fists, silently cheering for her mom. But as Auntie stepped over the threshold, the fog of memory rolled in again, swallowing the whole village and making it feel just like Silent Hill—all lost in shadow.
Still nothing.
Then let’s try again!
[Rewind!]
Again—no luck.
[Rewind again!]
Still—not working.
[Let’s do it all over again!]
No one was counting the mental strain anymore, or the exhaustion of their willpower. Every time they hit rewind, it slammed their minds. Even Sun Wukong couldn’t carry Tang Monk straight up to heaven, and Susan Morrow’s just a regular person—queen and goddess combined, and still wiped out.
But none of the three called it quits. It wasn’t just stubbornness or refusing to give up—it was a gut feeling: strike while the iron’s hot, second time’s weaker, third time’s out. This time, they had to succeed!
They reloaded, and reloaded again—like a gamer spamming the save-load trick to beat a boss that just won’t die. Not just rewinding to that special day, but sometimes starting their whole childhood over, again and again. In the world of the mind, ages flash by in an instant, time loses all meaning. Even Jill Young couldn’t help but feel worn out after so many cycles.
But Susan Morrow didn’t give up.
It was the only way—to find her sister, to save her niece. The only way.
Meanwhile, in the real world, the sea breeze stirred, tick-tock, tick-tock, the second hand swept the clock face with a hypnotic rhythm. In the hall, Jack Young paced back and forth, arms folded, tense and solemn.
He didn’t know that with every step, every glance at his watch, the world of the mind was cycling through birth and decay all over again.
He didn’t know that every tick of the second hand was stretching into nearly ten years in the world of memory.
But he did know that this mental journey was bound to be full of danger. So he kept a serious face, glanced up to meet Uncle Chao’s eyes in the corner, and saw the same look reflected back.