My Brother Became a Mechanic, I Became the Heir

“Two families would like to take you home. Which one do you want to go with?” In my previous life, I chose the Warren family, who ran an auto repair shop. We lived a modest life and barely made ends meet, but they loved me like their own son. My adoptive father taught me how to repair engines, while my adoptive mother packed hard-boiled eggs into my schoolbag every morning. Grayson Zane, on the other hand, chose the wealthy Jude family. He lived in a mansion and attended an elite private school, yet he would call me late at night, crying. “They’re so cold and aloof. They’re impossible to get along with, and they don’t care about me.” Now, he stood beside me, his eyes firmly fixed on the Warren couple to our left. I knew he had been reborn too. I took a step toward the right. “Mr. Jude, Mrs. Jude, can I go home with you?” Chapter 1 Mr. Jude was startled for a moment. He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and studied me for two seconds before nodding. “All right.” Grayson Zane whipped around to look at me. His lips moved soundlessly, his eyes filled with disbelief. I did not look back at him. “Grayson, what do you think?” asked Mrs. Hayes, the director, as she bent down with a smile on her face. “I’ll go home with Mr. and Mrs. Warren, who run the auto shop!” Grayson’s voice trembled as he threw himself at them. “I really like you both! And I love cars too. I promise I’ll be a good boy!” Mr. Warren rubbed his oil-stained hands against his pants over and over before finally daring to pat Grayson on the shoulder. “Good boy. If you’d like to learn how to fix cars, I’ll teach you everything I know!” Mrs. Warren immediately pulled Grayson into her arms. The plastic bag slipped from her hand and rolled across the ground, sending a few oranges tumbling out. Her eyes turned red. “Oh, you poor sweetheart. Aren’t you just precious?” I stood beside Mr. Jude and watched them embrace. A faint ache stirred in my chest. In the previous life, those same hands had taken me away from the orphanage. They taught me how to tighten bolts, change tires, and diagnose problems just by listening to the engine. Everything my adoptive father taught me was enough to carry me through two lifetimes. This time, Grayson was going with them instead, and that was fine. Grayson and I grew up together. He was not a bad person by nature. He simply wanted a warm, lively family, and I knew that. “Your name’s Huxley?” Mrs. Jude looked down at me. “Are your things packed?” “Yes.” “Then let’s go.” She turned around and walked away. The sharp click of her leather shoes echoed through the hallway. Mr. Jude picked up my duffel bag for me. As we passed Grayson, he was clinging to Mr. Warren’s arm, sobbing so hard that his whole body shook. Tears and snot covered his face. Mrs. Warren wiped his face as she laughed. “Silly boy, you have a family now. What are you crying for?” Once we stepped outside the orphanage, Mr. Jude pressed a button on his key fob. Two yards away, a black SUV beeped. Mrs. Jude opened the rear door and said, “Get in.” I climbed inside. The leather seat felt cool against my skin, and the car smelled faintly of pine. Mrs. Jude got into the passenger seat and turned to me. “Your room is ready. If you need anything, just tell Mrs. Quinn.” Her tone was polite, as though she were welcoming a young guest into her home. “Thank you, Mrs. Jude.” She nodded and said nothing more. Mr. Jude started the engine. Its deep rumble filled the car. By the iron gate, Mrs. Warren was carrying Grayson out of the orphanage while Mr. Warren followed behind with his duffel bag. I leaned back in my seat and watched the iron gate of the orphanage grow smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. I was grateful to the Warrens for taking care of me in my previous life. This time, Grayson would be there to keep them company. I quietly let out a sigh of relief. My new life had just begun. … Mrs. Quinn was waiting for us at the entrance of the mansion. She wore a gray uniform with a neatly tied apron. When she saw me, she put on a smile. “Huxley, you’re here. Your room is upstairs, the one facing south. You’ll get plenty of sunlight in the morning.” “Thank you.” She reached out and took the duffel bag from my hands. Mrs. Jude slipped off her coat and hung it in the foyer. Without turning around, she said, “Mrs. Quinn, keep dinner light. Huxley is still growing.” “Of course, ma’am. There’ll be herb-roasted fish, vegetable soup, and a light egg dish.” I followed Mrs. Quinn upstairs. The solid-wood staircase creaked softly beneath our feet. When Mrs. Quinn pushed open the door, I stood there for a moment, stunned. An entire rack of tools lined the wall, not toys. Wrenches, socket sets, screwdrivers, torque wrenches, and multimeters… Each tool hung neatly from its own hook, polished to such a shine that it caught the light. Chapter 2 In the corner stood a small engine teardown stand. Beside it were brand-new protective gloves and safety goggles. “Mr. Jude said you like cars.” Mrs. Quinn smiled. “He had these brought in especially for you. He said you could take things apart and tinker with them whenever you had nothing else to do.” I walked over to the tool rack and let my fingers glide over the row of wrenches. It was a complete set, the exact same kind I used at the auto shop in my previous life. Even the brand was the same. He had chosen sizes that fit my hands perfectly. “Do you like them?” I did not notice when Mrs. Jude appeared in the doorway. I turned around. She leaned against the doorframe, her expression as reserved as ever. However, I noticed her fingers tapping lightly against the wood. She was waiting for my answer. “I like them.” I nodded, a little more emphatically than necessary. “I really like them.” Something softened in her expression, just barely. “That’s all that matters. Dinner in an hour.” She turned around and headed downstairs. Her footsteps were almost silent. I stood in front of the tool rack and slipped on the protective gloves. It was a 1.5-liter turbocharged four-cylinder engine. I ran my fingers along the cylinder wall. The wear was even. The piston rings could easily last another 50,000 miles. … Dinner was quiet. Mr. and Mr. Jude occasionally exchanged a few words in low voices, but it was all about work—things like hybrid platform development, dyno testing schedules, and third-quarter production ramp-up. I took a bite of the egg while listening carefully. “By the way…” Mason set down his cutlery. “Huxley, what would you like to learn?” “I’d like to learn how to take apart engines.” I set down my spoon. “I’d like to start with the basics.” The two exchanged a glance. I said, “I can do it. I know how to use the tools.” Mr. Jude studied me for two seconds before smiling. It was a faint smile, but I caught it. He slid his phone across the table. On the screen was a cross-sectional diagram of an engine, every component labeled with a number. “Learn the parts first. Once you can name a hundred of them, I’ll teach you how to tear down your first engine.” “Okay.” Mrs. Jude placed a piece of fish on my plate. Her movements were gentle, almost as though she was afraid of disturbing something. I lowered my head and ate the fish. It was incredibly tender, nothing like the fish Mr. Warren used to pan-fry in an aluminium pot in my previous life. However, I liked both. After dinner, I went back to my room and texted Grayson: [Are you there yet?] It took him more than ten minutes to reply. [Yes, I’m here.] He sent a photo with it. Grayson was sitting on an old couch inside the auto shop. Behind him, tires, oil drums, and rows of wrenches hung along the walls. Mr. Warren stood beside him, holding up a bottle of soda. His face was creased with a broad, genuine smile. Mrs. Warren was carrying dishes over to the coffee table. An aluminum pot, enamel bowls, and sturdy ceramic dishes crowded the table, packed together in a cozy, overflowing jumble. I stared at the photo for a long time. Then I replied: [Great.] Grayson immediately called me. “Huxley, you have no idea how awesome it is here!” Grayson’s voice was brimming with excitement. “Mr. Warren just taught me how to take a tire off! I didn’t have enough strength, so he found me a breaker bar! One twist and the lug nuts came right off!” “Just be careful.” “Don’t worry! Mrs. Warren made me tea. She said cold hands can mess up your tendons!” I could hear him crunching on something. “How about you? Are you having good food over there?” “I had some fish. Herb-roasted fish.” “No meat, huh?” He lowered his voice and continued, “Mr. Warren says he’s taking me out for roasted lamb shank the day after tomorrow. Jealous?” “Not really.” “Oh, get out of here!” I could hear him giggling on the other end. “Uh… Thank you. Thanks for letting me have them. Anyway, I’m going to help Mr. Warren move some tires. Talk later!” The call ended. I gripped my phone and leaned back against the headboard. Outside the window, the streetlights glowed, casting long, slender shadows from the wrenches on the tool rack. I got out of bed and walked over to the engine diagram. Then I started counting the parts. One, two, three… I had reached seven when Mrs. Quinn knocked and stepped inside. She was carrying a glass of warm milk. “Huxley, have some of this if you can’t sleep. Mrs. Jude asked me to bring it up.” “Thank you, Mrs. Quinn.” She glanced at the diagram on the wall and smiled. “Working this hard already?” Chapter 3 I took the glass of milk and replied, “I just… wanted to take a look first.” After Mrs. Quinn left, I finished the milk and turned off the lights. In the darkness, the shadows of the wrenches stretched across the ceiling. I closed my eyes. I could still hear the chugging thump of Mr. Warren's air compressor from my previous life. Back then, I thought that was how my life would always be—fixing cars, saving money, and raising a family. I would work until I was old, then set up a reclining chair outside the shop and watch people come and go on the street. Now, I lay on a bed so soft the mattress felt like a cloud. The ceiling above me was spotless. Mr. Jude said he would teach me to tear down an engine once I could name a hundred parts. I would start tomorrow. … After my first week, I managed to memorize 97 parts. On the evening of the eighth day, while Mrs. Jude was setting dinner on the table, Mr. Jude suddenly slid his phone in front of me. “Do you recognize these?” The screen showed close-up photos of several engine components. I set down my cutlery and took a look. “Crankshaft, connecting rod, piston, camshaft, valve, timing chain.” Mr. Jude took his phone back. Mrs. Jude paused halfway through picking up a piece of food. “You've memorized them already?” asked Mr. Jude. “I study them when I can’t sleep.” I lowered my head and shoveled the pasta into my mouth. The truth was, it was not because I could not sleep. In my previous life, I had worked on at least 800 engines, if not a thousand. Mr. Jude said nothing more. However, when I passed the study that night, I heard him on the phone. “The fundamentals are solid… He’s faster than I expected… Let’s watch him for a little longer.” His voice was low, but my hearing was sharper than most people’s. Back when I worked at the auto shop, Mr. Warren used to send me under cars to listen for abnormal engine noises. Those years had trained my ears well enough that hearing a few words through a closed door was nothing. … On the tenth day, Mr. Jude took me to the factory. Jude Corporation’s testing facility was far larger than I had imagined. It was built entirely from steel, with more than a dozen overhead cranes hanging from the ceiling. Yellow warning lines stretched across the floor from one end to the other. Rows of engine test stands lined the walls, while dense graphs and data streams flickered across the monitors. The air was thick with the mixed smell of gasoline and coolant. I took a deep breath. “What do you smell?” Mr. Jude stood beside me. “Gasoline, antifreeze, motor oil, and…” I sniffed again. “Brake fluid? Which test stand is running a brake-system test?” Mr. Jude glanced at me. He did not say anything. Instead, he pointed toward the third row on the left. Sure enough, one of the test stands there had a brake-fluid line attached. He pushed open a glass door and walked into the observation room. Three engineers sat inside, data streams racing across the screens in front of them. One of them rose to his feet and greeted, “Mr. Jude.” “Keep running the test.” Mr. Jude walked up to the screen. “Have you looked at the oil-pressure fluctuations on this 1.5-liter turbo prototype under high-RPM conditions?” “We’re looking into it now. The data shows the pressure curve starts to drop after 6,000 RPM. We suspect there may be a design flaw in the oil pump’s pickup.” Mr. Jude stared at the graph for five seconds. “Take out the oil pump and inspect the pickup screen and its flow area. And check the position of the oil-pan baffle. The oil sloshing around in the pan could be affecting it.” The engineer was startled for a moment. “Mr. Jude, how did you figure that out?” “Above 6,000 RPM, the oil in the pan starts to slosh. If the pickup is positioned incorrectly, it can intermittently draw in air. Take it apart and you’ll see.” The engineer quickly jotted it down on his tablet. I stood three feet behind Mr. Jude, savoring every word and committing each one to memory. Oil-pump pickup position, pressure drop above 6,000 RPM, and oil-pan baffle. I had encountered something similar in my previous life—a domestic SUV with an oil warning light that would come on at high RPM. They checked it three times and still could not find the cause. In the end, Mr. Warren cut open the oil pan and discovered that the baffle angle was off by two degrees. The model was eventually recalled. There were 20,000 vehicles in total. I stepped out of the observation room and leaned against the hallway wall. Inside, Mr. Jude continued discussing the issue with the engineers. I closed my eyes, trying to remember the engine code of that SUV. It was manufactured by Jude Corporation. I remembered it clearly. It would hit the market in four years. Two years after that, it would be recalled.