Dreaming Back to the 90s to Help My Dad Chase Away Rivals (BL)

Chapter 1: Dreaming Back to the Old House

Translator: dapotaturs

Release Date: 03/17/2024

Other translated works in Dapotaturs's profile:

(1) After Leaving the Sports Circle. I Became a Cooking God (Completed BL)

(2) Traveling through the Sixties with the Male God ( Completed BL)

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Chapter 1: Dreaming Back to the Old House

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

In the living room, the second hand of the "Sanwu" old-fashioned mantel clock ticked away, emitting a rhythmic mechanical ticking sound.

On the right side of the mantel clock was a statue of the White Porcelain Guanyin, and in the blue-and-white large incense burner in front of the statue, the half-burnt incense emitted a faint sandalwood fragrance. Grayish-blue smoke rose slowly, drifting from the first floor up the stairs to the second floor and the small attic.

As the hour struck, the mantel clock chimed loudly, waking up Ning Xiaobei, who was sleeping in the attic.

He groggily opened his eyes, momentarily unsure of his surroundings.

The room's windows were covered with thick curtains, with only thin streams of golden light seeping through the gaps in the two curtains, like golden threads preventing the room from being completely shrouded in darkness.

Where was this place?

Ning Xiaobei was startled and jumped out of bed, only to hit his head heavily on the beam of the attic's triangular room with a "thud." The pain made him see stars, and he collapsed back onto the bed, the metal wire bedframe creaking.

"Xiaobei, what are you doing? Wake up and come down, your father has already prepared breakfast. Come down quickly and eat."

In the living room downstairs, Ning's elderly grandmother, who was reciting scriptures, heard the noise from upstairs. With her eyes half-open, she glanced in the direction of the stairs but did not stop counting her prayer beads.

This voice?

Ning Xiaobei touched the lump on his head, wearing an expression of disbelief—this accent, tinged with Shanghai dialect, belonged to no one but his grandmother, right?

But wait, didn't his grandmother pass away more than twenty years ago?

He sniffed, catching a whiff of the distinctive scent of old houses in the Jiangnan area, with its damp wooden aroma, filling his nostrils.

Ning Xiaobei released his head and, relying on his residual memory, felt the uneven wall with his right hand. His hand shifted slightly to the right, and sure enough, he found a rope.

Pulling the rope, a small lamp lit up on the left side of the bed, casting a dim yellow light across the less than five square meters attic.

He saw the steel wire military bed he was lying on, the "National Bed Sheet" imprinted with lilies on the bed, the small wooden desk next to the bed, and the skylight blocked by curtains above the desk, his face suddenly changing drastically.

This was his home, but not the apartment building he bought a few years ago, but the old house from his childhood—this was his attic.

"Why turn on the lights in broad daylight? Do you think you're some kind of rich young master from the old society? Hurry up! Get dressed, and come down for breakfast. You're not some big shot who needs to be asked three or four times to eat breakfast," complained Grandma Ning, though old, still sharp-sighted and sharp-eared, upon hearing the sound of the light switch being pulled upstairs.