On the surface, this is a story about kids getting into fights and a grandmother defending her granddaughter. But dig a little deeper and there's so much more going on thematically. The egg-buying venture is fascinating to me. Yuwei, who has memories from two different lives, sees an opportunity where others don't. She needs to connect with village chiefs, negotiate with farmers, understand supply chains—all while being a teenager. This isn't just plot convenience; it's about agency. After everything that happened at school, after being called unwanted and bullied, Yuwei is proving she can create her own path. She's not waiting to be saved—she's building something. The button Zhou Yulan is holding—'a small button'—that detail stuck with me. What does it represent? A fragment of the past? A connection to something lost? The sister rubbing it gently while sitting blankly at her desk suggests it's a talisman of some kind, a tangible link to memories that both lives share. And then there's the recurring motif of food as love. The noodles, the fried egg, the fish and rice from Grandma Xu's table. In a world where these kids are hungry—literally and metaphorically—food becomes this language of care. Lin Hongmei saving the last bit of white flour, Grandma Xu insisting Yuwei eat because 'look how skinny you are,' the whole courtyard compound sharing meals and watching over each other's children. Food is survival, but it's also community. The grandmother's declaration that 'we don't go looking for trouble—but we're never afraid of it either' feels like the thesis statement for the whole book. It's about dignity, about knowing your worth, about protecting what matters without being aggressive about it.