Why had they trusted Zhao Qingyun—a stranger for a decade—with their daughter? Weren’t they afraid of traffickers?  

And how had ten-year-old Zhao Chenyang been so bold, so sure, following Zhao Qingyun to the city without fear?  

No wonder! No wonder Zhao Chenyang always gave Zhao Xiangwan a sense of disharmony—like she was too mature for her age. She wasn’t particularly smart, yet she carried an air of superiority.  

Now it made sense.  

After realizing this, Zhao Xiangwan’s first reaction was excitement.  

Time was a one-way street, impossible to reverse.  

Socrates once said: Life is a choice that can never be repeated.  

And so, life was always full of regrets—things people wished they could undo.  

But what if someone could live their life again? What if they could predict the future?  

Zhao Chenyang was a reborn person. Whether she was foolish or wicked, she had more experience than anyone else. Even if her knowledge was limited, it was still more accurate than others’.  

What was the point of exposing her? Why not keep her around and extract useful information about the future? For example… unsolved cases or major crimes she might know about, which could provide leads for investigations?  

No matter how skilled a police officer was, there were always cold cases. But what if the timeline stretched ten or twenty years ahead? By then, investigative methods would be more advanced, and technology would have improved. Maybe those unsolved cases had been cracked, turned into movies or TV shows—things Zhao Chenyang might know about?  

Like the one right in front of them.  

Zhao Changgeng had happily announced that Yao Meizi sent a letter, but Zhao Chenyang knew it was a lie. She had muttered to herself that Yao Meizi had been trafficked to a northern village, locked in a cellar, and died weighing less than 50 kilograms.  

At that thought, Zhao Xiangwan stepped forward and grabbed Zhao Chenyang’s arm. “You’re not leaving.”  

Zhao Chenyang stared at her in confusion, eyes wide. “What do you want? I already apologized and paid you back. You don’t want to go to the city with Dad—you’d rather stay in Zhaojiagou. Fine. I’ll go instead. We both get what we want, so why are you stopping me?”  

Zhao Xiangwan studied her expression. “Uncle Changgeng just came running with a letter, saying it’s from Sister Yao. Why did you look so mocking? What’s going on?”  

Zhao Chenyang’s guilt flared up, and she tried to shake Zhao Xiangwan off. But Zhao Xiangwan’s grip was like iron, unmovable. “Are you crazy? Let go!” she shrieked.  

The thought of Zhao Qingyao’s tragic fate—and Zhao Chenyang doing nothing—made Zhao Xiangwan furious. She dragged Zhao Chenyang to a nearby locust tree and hissed, “Tell me the truth! What really happened to Zhao Qingyao?”  

The hundred-year-old locust tree loomed over them, its branches casting long shadows.  

Zhao Chenyang froze, rooted to the spot, her scalp prickling with fear.  

“You’re a reborn person.” Zhao Xiangwan’s voice was calm, but the words sent Zhao Chenyang’s heart racing. She knew. She actually knew! Zhao Chenyang had never told anyone—this was her greatest secret, her advantage in this life.  

“W-what are you talking about?” Zhao Chenyang’s voice trembled. She didn’t even realize her eyes were pleading, her fear stripping away any pretense of superiority.  

Zhao Xiangwan said nothing, just watched her reactions.  

– Dilated pupils—nervousness. When humans sense danger, their pupils widen to take in more light, gathering more information.  

– Head tilting—submission. Exposing the neck, the most vulnerable part, was a gesture of surrender.  

Zhao Chenyang’s mind raced. Remembering how her parents admired Zhao Xiangwan’s ability to read micro-expressions, she gave up lying. “Please… don’t tell anyone.”  

Zhao Xiangwan’s amber eyes gleamed in the sunset. “Then tell me—what happened to Sister Yao?”  

With no choice, Zhao Chenyang spilled everything she knew from her past life.  

Zhao Xiangwan stepped closer, eyes sharp. “How old were you when you were reborn? Six? Or—ah, six.”  

A pause. Then, coldly: “Why pretend to be me? Were you jealous of my life in your past?”  

“Pathetic. After being reborn, all you could think of was stealing my future.”  

Zhao Chenyang burst into tears. “I—I didn’t get much education in my past life. I suffered working odd jobs, then came back to the village, got married, and spent every day taking care of kids, chores, and farm work. How was I supposed to know what to do? I just knew you lived well after moving to the city at ten, so I… I wanted to follow your path.”  

Zhao Xiangwan felt no pity. “You stole my life and still messed it up. That’s stupidity. You knew my eldest brother, second brother, aunt, and cousin had hard lives, but you didn’t lift a finger to help. That’s cruelty. Zhao Chenyang, you’re stupid and wicked. Beyond saving.”  

Zhao Chenyang’s face flushed with shame, but she had no defense.  

Zhao Xiangwan watched her cry, unmoved.  

Rebirth. A chance to grasp the future, to change destinies—wasted on someone like Zhao Chenyang. She could’ve lifted her family out of poverty, guided them to better lives. But no. All she did was copy blindly, without a shred of originality.  

What a waste of heaven’s gift.  

Zhao Xiangwan’s eyes narrowed. “Rebirth is too unnatural. Maybe we should report it to the authorities. Let scientists study it—”  

Zhao Chenyang screamed. “No! I don’t want to be dissected!” Visions of white-coated figures, scalpels, and cold examination tables flooded her mind.  

Zhao Xiangwan remained stern. “Then behave. I’ll come to you when I need answers.”  

Zhao Chenyang’s forehead was beading with sweat.  

Honestly, Zhao Chenyang had no grand ambitions in her past life, and even after being reborn, she didn’t aim for anything extraordinary. She just wanted to leave the countryside, marry a wealthy man, and live a leisurely life—working and playing mahjong every day like Wei Meihua.  

She never expected Zhao Xiangwan to be so sharp. She had merely shown a look of disdain when seeing Zhao Changgeng, yet Zhao Xiangwan guessed she was reborn!  

Zhao Chenyang looked at Zhao Xiangwan with a mix of flattery and fear. “I—I’ll be honest. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”  

Zhao Qingyun, proud of his status, stood at a distance. Seeing time pass and Zhao Chenyang’s smile growing more forced, he frowned and raised his voice. “Are you done yet? Let’s go!”  

Zhao Chenyang jolted and forced a smile. “Dad, we’ll be there soon, really soon.”  

Lowering her voice, she pleaded with Zhao Xiangwan again. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything unnecessary. Please…”  

Zhao Xiangwan nodded.  

Relieved, Zhao Chenyang exhaled deeply. “Then… I’ll go now?”  

Zhao Xiangwan waved her off. Zhao Chenyang wiped her sweaty forehead and hurried away.  

Meanwhile, the villagers who had just dispersed regrouped, crowding around Zhao Changgeng with questions.  

“Where’s Miss Yao? Is she coming back for New Year’s? What did the letter say?”  

Yao Meizi’s full name was Zhao Qingyao, Zhao Changgeng’s youngest daughter. At 18, she was cheerful and lively. After finishing junior high, she went to work in the south with other village girls. With New Year approaching and no sign of her return, Zhao Changxing—Zhao Changgeng’s cousin and the village committee director—had been anxiously waiting for the postman at the village entrance.  

Hearing his niece finally sent a letter, Zhao Changxing relaxed. Smiling, he patted Zhao Changgeng’s shoulder. “As long as she’s safe, that’s what matters.”  

The curious villagers chimed in.  

“My third son said Yao girl found factory work too hard. Someone got her a better job—what is it?”  

“Yao’s the only one who left in September. With her junior high education, she must’ve landed something good!”  

“Bet she’s making big money—maybe even seeing the world in a big city!”  

Zhao Changgeng tore open the envelope and handed the letter to Zhao Changxing. “Read it for me. What’s Yao saying? When’s she coming back?”  

Zhao Changxing skimmed the letter.  

“Yao says she’s nannying for a university professor’s family in Mi’an City, Liaoning. The professor and his wife think she’s hardworking and sweet. They’re going abroad soon and want to take her along—she’ll be back in two years.”  

The villagers buzzed with excitement.  

“Wow, Yao’s moving up in the world! Going abroad!”  

“Ancestors must be proud! Which country? Like in the movies—those imperialist ones?”  

“Working for a professor means she’s with educated folks—must be rich!”  

“When Yao returns, she’ll bring back fancy foreign gifts for sure!”  

Amid the praise, Zhao Changxing stayed cautious. “Hmm… Strange. Yao mentions the professor but not the school or his name. Hope she’s not being tricked.”  

Zhao Changgeng scowled. “Our Yao’s clever—how could she be fooled? She’s going abroad with a professor! Who else in the village has that luck?”  

Zhao Changxing tried to argue, but Zhao Changgeng, thinking him jealous, snatched back the letter and tucked it into his coat pocket. “My Yao’s going places! Others slave in factories, but she’s with a professor—even going overseas. How’s that not impressive?”  

The villagers agreed. “So promising! When she’s back, we’ll taste her foreign drinks and smokes!”  

Someone turned to Zhao Xiangwan. “You study at a university in Xing City. How’s a professor’s home like? Fancy like in movies? White tiles, flowery walls, gold-trimmed furniture?”  

“Do professors wear suits? So stern?”  

“And those cocktail parties—where men and women dance hugging?”  

In the 1990s, Hong Kong and Taiwanese films shaped their view of the outside world, sparking curiosity.  

Hearing her name, Zhao Xiangwan replied, “The professors at Public Security University are kind in class.”