Reborn: From Street Stall to the World's Richest

Yang Fan abruptly opened his eyes. Harsh sunlight streamed through the old wooden window lattice, casting irregular patches of light across the mottled concrete floor. The faint smell of coal smoke mingled with the aroma of food coming from next door. In his ears were the hum of an old ceiling fan and the cries of vendors echoing through the alley below: “Popsicles, three cents each!” “Fresh watermelon, sweeter than honey!”

This wasn’t the 2024 he knew.

Yang Fan stiffly raised his hand. Before him was a young, slightly rough but vigorous hand, not the one with distinct knuckles that had spent years pounding on a keyboard. He looked around. The cramped room held a creaking wooden bed, a wardrobe with peeling paint, and a desk piled with textbooks. A yellowed poster of a basketball star hung on the wall.