Chapter 1: Rebirth in the Seventies

“Commander Han is such a good man, how did he end up with a woman like Luo Yaqing?”

“Exactly! She’s always trying to kill herself—who can live like that?”

“I think she just needs a good beating. Only after Han Zhixu beats her a few times will she learn to behave.”

“I heard Luo Yaqing’s relatives in the city were rehabilitated.”

“Really? No wonder she’s making such a fuss—she probably wants to go back to her old life as a spoiled capitalist’s daughter.”

“That woman has no conscience. If Commander Han hadn’t married her, how could she be living comfortably in the military family compound?”

“Right? Without him, she would’ve been sent down to the countryside to shovel manure.”

Luo Yaqing stood by the window, listening through the glass to the gossiping women outside.

She had spent half the day trying to come to terms with the fact that she’d time-traveled.

A plane crash had flung her, once an outstanding young musician, into the body of a small-town wife in 1976 with the same name.

The original Luo Yaqing was eighteen, born into a small capitalist family in the city. Six months ago, she was married off to a regimental commander named Han Zhixu and relocated to a remote military compound far from urban life.

As for the marital relationship…

Luo Yaqing glanced down at the bandage on her wrist—let’s just say it wasn’t good.

The original owner looked down on her rural-born husband, thinking Han Zhixu was a backward bumpkin, too old and entirely unworthy of her.

In the past six months, she hadn’t let him into the bedroom or even touch her.

The marriage was forced—an arrangement made in chaotic, unstable times.

After a major upheaval in her family and the loss of her closest kin, the original Luo Yaqing grudgingly accepted her aunt’s arrangement.

So when news came that her uncle had been politically rehabilitated, she immediately started dreaming of returning to the city.

She threw tantrums, smashed things, and tried to force Han Zhixu to divorce her—but every attempt failed.

When tantrums didn’t work, she took it further—cutting her wrist.

But the self-harm achieved nothing. She suffered, but her husband remained unmoved, determined to continue the marriage.

Fuming with rage, she locked herself in the room, refusing food and water for days.

They say a melon forcibly picked isn’t sweet.

Luo Yaqing couldn’t understand—things had escalated to this point, so why wouldn’t Han Zhixu let her go?

Thinking more carefully, she realized that an ordinary man might have divorced her already, but a soldier cared about appearances.

With a sigh, she looked around the room: a double bed, a bedside table, and two camphor wood trunks.

Stepping out into the outer room, she saw a makeshift single bed against the wall, a coal stove in the center of the brick floor, a small dining table beside it, and a two-tiered cabinet for bowls and utensils.

Life was… quite rough.

“Gurgle—”

Her stomach growled loudly, a wave of hunger washing over her.

No time to think further—she rushed to the cabinet to look for food.

To her dismay, it was empty—not even a pair of chopsticks, let alone food.

Closing the cupboard that could make even a rat weep, she rubbed her rumbling belly and resumed rummaging.

“Soft, patient guidance works best. Just be a bit more patient.”

On his way back, Han Zhixu carried a lunchbox while listening to the commissar’s earnest advice.

He had never considered divorcing Luo Yaqing. He had made a promise to someone back then—to take care of her for life.

“Have a proper talk when you get home, calm her down,” said Political Commissar Wang kindly.

“Yes, sir,” Han Zhixu replied, then strode off toward home.

“Foolish boy, reaping what he sowed, marrying a woman like that…” Political Commissar Wang shook his head as he watched the tall, upright figure walk away. Managing the emotional state of officers was a real headache.

Han Zhixu opened the door and immediately saw Luo Yaqing hunched over an enamel jar, shoving hunks of rendered pork fat into her mouth.

Big chunks of salty lard—and she didn’t even flinch.

Mid-bite, Luo Yaqing heard the door and looked up to see a tall, lean man standing in the doorway.

His features were sharp, with deep-set eyes, a straight nose, and a defined jawline. He was strikingly handsome, his skin a healthy bronze from the sun.

This man…

With her mouth still full of lard, Luo Yaqing froze, her eyes locked on him.

This was the original owner’s husband, Han Zhixu.

And damn—he was good-looking.

He ticked every one of her aesthetic boxes.

Their eyes met briefly before Han Zhixu looked away and walked in, setting down the lunchbox. He checked the coal in the stove, then picked up the aluminum kettle and left the room again without a word.

Luo Yaqing instinctively followed, step for step.

She wanted to greet him, but hadn’t decided what to call him.

Comrade? Husband? Darling?

Standing in the courtyard, she saw rows of identical homes separated by wooden fences, each with a tiny yard. Honeycomb briquettes were piled under every eave.

A pile of cabbages sat under their window.

While she was still taking it in, Han Zhixu had already chopped kindling and picked a coal briquette to start the fire.

“Oh my, cooking again, Commander Han?”

A round-faced woman peered over the fence, smiling sweetly.

Han Zhixu nodded politely.

The woman glanced at Luo Yaqing. “You’ve really got it tough. With her throwing fits every day, when will your suffering end?”

Han Zhixu ignored her and went back inside.

His attitude made Luo Yaqing extremely pleased.

Openly stirring up trouble like that—how shameless.

The woman, embarrassed, pulled a few garlic shoots from her yard and walked off.

Luo Yaqing stuck close to Han Zhixu, not letting him out of her sight.

She wanted to help somehow, to start patching up their broken relationship.

After all, in this unstable era, even staying fed was difficult. As a newcomer, she needed to cling tightly to this sturdy tree of a man.

Han Zhixu re-lit the stove and went to pick up the lunchbox—but Luo Yaqing beat him to it.

“Luo Yaqing…”

“Here you go.”

She handed it over with both hands, still in the net bag.

Her sudden helpfulness startled Han Zhixu. Something wasn’t right.

She didn’t throw a fit. She even helped? Was this a new tactic?

He took the bag, placed the lunchbox on the stove to heat, and set the mantou (steamed buns) beside it to toast.

Then he looked up at her and said flatly, “If you want something, just say it.”

Luo Yaqing blinked, then pointed to the stove. “When’s the food ready? I’m starving…”

The original owner had always picked fights, trying to force divorce. No wonder he was always on alert.

Han Zhixu looked her over, then lifted the steaming kettle. “Wash up. Time to eat.”

“Okay!” Luo Yaqing nodded obediently.

She washed her face in a basin adorned with red flowers and the double happiness symbol. In the mirror above the sink, a stunning face stared back at her.

She hadn’t realized the original Luo Yaqing was so pretty—delicate skin, clear almond-shaped eyes, and a slender figure.

She couldn’t help but feel secretly delighted.

While she washed, Han Zhixu set the table and arranged the dishes.

Luo Yaqing sat down, noticed only chopsticks, and asked, “Huh? Where are the bowls?”

Han Zhixu paused, looked up at her. “You tell me.”

“…Ah.”

Memory kicked in—the original owner had broken all the bowls and even burned the food coupons.

Lunch was simple: braised pork with potatoes, shredded pickled vegetables, and mantou.

The toasted buns were golden and crisp. Luo Yaqing picked one up, blew off some ash, and took a big bite.

“Mmm! So good. Your toasted mantou is amazing!”

She looked blissfully satisfied. Modern buns might be soft and fluffy, but they lacked the hearty wheat flavor and chewiness of these.

With a bit of pickled veg in the bun—perfect!

Han Zhixu stared at her in disbelief.

She used to be so picky, always complaining that coarse grains scratched her throat, and that the mantou was dirty. She’d even peel off the outer layer before eating.

He had always gone out of his way to bring her refined grains from the army whenever he could.

Now, she was eating unpeeled buns with gusto.

Luo Yaqing devoured everything, unable to stop. Her body was just too hungry.

She picked up a piece of pork with her chopsticks, held it near her mouth—then paused and looked at the man quietly eating.

“Don’t just eat the veggies—have some meat too.”

She offered it to him.

Han Zhixu stared, stunned by her sudden warmth.

“You…”

Knock knock!

Just as he was about to say, “You eat it yourself,” a knock at the door interrupted.

“Is anyone home?”