Chapter 1

September 1979?

Su Mo stared at the wall calendar with the great leader’s portrait printed on it, her mind going blank from shock and excitement.

Just minutes ago, she had been surrounded by relatives and friends, listening to the bells ushering in 2009, before she drew her final breath, filled with endless regret.

As her eyes closed, she could hear people crying out her name—
especially the man she loved.
His wailing had been so heart-wrenching that she had wanted desperately to open her eyes one last time to see him.

And she did open them again—only to be faced with two shockingly young faces she almost failed to recognize.

Fortunately, her hatred for her ex-husband and third sister ran deep to the bone.
It only took her a few seconds to realize the people before her were them—thirty years younger.

In that instant, hatred surged in her chest. She pinched herself hard to stop from leaping forward to beat the shameless pair.

Then she turned her head and looked at the wall calendar.

The year and month printed there made her pinch herself again—so hard the pain was undeniable.

Just like the protagonists in those novels, she had been reborn after death—
back to thirty years earlier.
Back to September 1979.

At this point, she hadn’t yet registered her marriage with that scumbag Song Chunlin!

Suddenly, her third sister spoke up:

“Mo Li, why aren’t you eating? Is it because Chunlin told me I shouldn’t eat spicy food, so you cooked everything today to suit my stomach, and it doesn’t fit your taste? It’s all my fault. I’ll learn to eat spicy from now on so you won’t…”

Su Mo cut her off, suppressing the thrill and rage burning inside.

“What? Do you plan to freeload in my house forever, expecting me to cook for you for life?”

The dishes on the table were all so bland they killed her appetite, and in an instant she remembered exactly what day she had been reborn to.

Ruan Wenjun’s eyes immediately reddened at Su Mo’s words, as if she had suffered the world’s greatest grievance.

“I didn’t mean that, I just—”

Before she could finish, Song Chunlin’s face darkened.

“Su Mo! How can you talk like that? Wenjun was worried the food wouldn’t suit you, she was even willing to force herself to learn to eat spicy food. What else do you have to complain about?”

After scolding Su Mo, he gently placed a big chicken leg into Ruan Wenjun’s bowl, soothing her softly:

“Don’t mind her. She’s just foolish, doesn’t even know how to set aside a dish or two for her own taste.”

So the decades she spent accommodating them, sacrificing, caring for them—
in his eyes, she wasn’t kind or considerate, only stupid?

Fury surged. Su Mo slammed her chopsticks onto the table. Just as Song Chunlin frowned, ready to lecture her—she suddenly stood up and flipped the entire table over.

Even the so-called “King of Soldiers,” famed for his skills, hadn’t expected that from her. He had no time to stop it.

The dishes, bowls, and chopsticks rained down on him and Ruan Wenjun. The steaming chicken soup spilled over Ruan Wenjun, half of it soaking her body.

The crash was deafening—followed immediately by Ruan Wenjun’s piercing scream.

Song Chunlin snapped out of his shock and rushed to check her burns, completely ignoring Su Mo. He even lifted her skirt to check her legs, while Su Mo leaned against the doorway, watching coldly.

Outside in the courtyard, several neighbors had already gathered, bowls in hand, drawn by the commotion. A few even craned over the wall to watch.

For a moment, Song Chunlin wanted to set Ruan Wenjun down. But as she clung to his chest, sobbing about the pain, he couldn’t bring himself to let go.

Still, he barked at Su Mo:

“Su Mo! Have you gone mad? Flipping the table like that! Look what you’ve done to Wenjun!”

Immediately, voices rose outside:

“Mo Li, with her good temper, actually flipped the table? And burned that Ruan Wenjun?”

“Could it be she’s finally realized that Ruan Wenjun is trying to steal Chunlin away?”

“No, no. With Mo Li’s personality, even if she knew, she’d never embarrass Wenjun to her face. Unless Wenjun did something that truly crossed her bottom line.”

“Being carried in his arms—if that isn’t crossing the line, what is?”

“Auntie Li, this isn’t the first time Chunlin’s carried her. We’ve seen it several times already!”

“Good heavens! Even so, Mo Li still cooked for Wenjun and her daughter every day and even brought the food to the hospital?”

Song Chunlin hadn’t expected his scolding to spark such damning gossip against Wenjun. For the first time, he realized what the neighbors truly thought of her.

Trying to salvage her reputation, he snapped coldly:

“Her burns are serious, I need to take her to the hospital—that’s why I carried her! The other times were only because she was overcome with grief over Mingzhu’s illness and couldn’t walk. Wenjun and her husband had a deep bond. He only sacrificed his life a month ago. Please, I beg you, don’t smear her name and disgrace the memory of a hero!”

His words, invoking the fallen comrade, silenced the crowd.

But Su Mo’s cold voice rang out:

“If Comrade Song Hongbing knew that only a month after his death, you were already tending to his widow so ‘attentively’—sitting together at meals, feeding her food, gazing at her so tenderly—wouldn’t that chill his heart in the grave?”

“Su Mo! Don’t go too far! I only sit by her side so she won’t feel uncomfortable, and I was just being polite when I helped with the food. There was no ‘gazing tenderly’!”

Song Chunlin’s face flushed red, veins standing out on his forehead.

Still, with so many eyes on him, he forced a breath and said in exasperation:

“So what—you flipped the table just because I sat beside Wenjun and served her a dish? Couldn’t you have just said so directly? Did you have to go so far as to hurt her? Mingzhu just had surgery, how is Wenjun supposed to take care of her now?”

He sounded self-righteous, convinced the onlookers would take his side.