Staring at the cold, handsome man in front of her, Meilin didn't even have the strength to admire his beauty. Her hand clutched the bleeding wound in her stomach, her fingers trembling and sticky with blood. The pain was unbearable, but not as sharp as the disbelief in her eyes. She looked at him with confusion, betrayal, and heartbreak swirling in her gaze.
"Wh-why?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. It took all the strength she had left to force that single word out of her mouth. Her breathing grew shallower, her body going cold as the life slowly drained from her.
But the man—Lu Zhihao—stood tall and unflinching before her. His face held no trace of guilt, no flicker of remorse for the bullet he had just put through her.
"Lu Yuin is not someone you should have messed with," he said coldly, each word falling like a knife. "She's the only person I call my family. And you don't mess with the Lu family in Shanghai."
Those words, cold and cruel, echoed in Meilin's mind as her vision blurred. Hatred began to rise within her, burning hotter than the pain in her abdomen. Hatred for him—for the heartless man who ended her life without a second thought—and for that jealous, spoiled brat Lu Yuin, who twisted the truth and led her to this grave end.
She never expected that within just four months of starting her teaching practice, she would meet such a tragic fate. Shot dead by a psychotic mafia boss for something she never did. All she had ever wanted was a peaceful, quiet life. To teach, to live simply, and help others. But now, at just 29 years old, she lay dying in a pool of her own blood, betrayed and abandoned.
If she ever had the chance to live again—if the heavens were kind enough to give her a second life—she would never cross paths with these monsters again. She would run far from Shanghai, far from the Lu family, and far from the cold-blooded man who had just stolen her life.
The smell of herbal medicine and faint smoke lingered in the air.
Meilin stirred, her lashes trembling as she slowly opened her eyes. Her head throbbed, her body felt heavy, and her chest ached with a dull pressure. The straw ceiling above her spun slightly as she blinked. The dim lighting, the clay walls, the wooden bed... nothing was familiar.
She sucked in a sharp breath.
"Ah! Meilin! She's awake—she's awake!"
The sharp cry came from a middle-aged woman by her side, eyes rimmed with red from crying. Her voice trembled with emotion as she grabbed her hand tightly. "A'mei, can you hear me? Mama's here, you're okay now, you're safe—"
Mama?
Meilin's eyes widened slightly. The woman's face—wrinkled with worry and yet heartbreakingly familiar—was unmistakable. It was her mother. But not the one she knew in her twenties. This was her mother from old family photos—back when she was young, before time had turned her hair silver.
Another face leaned in—her aunt. And then a man with calloused hands and tired eyes—her father.
All of them... looked just like her family.
But younger. Dressed in thick, patched cotton clothes. Behind them, the faint sound of roosters crowing, the wind rustling through dried corn hung outside, and the undeniable rustic scent of countryside filled the room.
This wasn't her world.
Her lips parted, but her throat was dry. "What… what year is this…?"
The moment she spoke, memories—not hers—rushed into her mind like a tidal wave. A shy village girl named Meilin. Fifteen years old. Quiet, timid, always trying to help her parents and avoid her grandmother's scolding. The memory of climbing up the mountain path alone to gather wild fruit. A loose rock. A sudden fall. Then… darkness.
Meilin clutched her chest. A strange panic rose in her throat.
This wasn't a dream.
This wasn't a hallucination.
She remembered clearly—being shot. Cold steel. A burning pain in her stomach. Lu Zhihao's merciless eyes and his cruel words. "You don't mess with the Lu family in Shanghai."
That was how she died. And now… she was in someone else's body. No—not someone else. It was still her. Same name. Same soul.
But a new life.
A new chance.
Tears welled up in her eyes as her mother gently wiped her forehead. "You silly girl, what were you doing up there all alone? You scared us all to death…"
Meilin opened her mouth, but the words got stuck. The pain of her past, the strangeness of the present, the warmth of this second chance—everything crashed into her all at once.
She bit her lip and nodded slowly.
"I'm okay now, Mama. I… I'm really okay."
Just as Meilin leaned back into the pillow, trying to steady her breath, the sound of hurried footsteps approached the doorway.
"Still lying there like a useless chick, are you?" a sharp voice rang out, breaking through the momentary calm.
Her grandmother barged in, her expression dark with worry hidden behind a frown. "You little troublemaker! Do you know how scared everyone was when they found you unconscious on that mountain path? Always running wild—don't you have any sense?!"
She paused at the foot of the bed, her hands on her hips. But her eyes—wet and red-rimmed—betrayed her true feelings.
Meilin's mother stood up quickly, smoothing her apron. "Ma, please… she just woke up. She didn't do it on purpose."
Her grandmother clicked her tongue and sniffed loudly. "Did I say she did it on purpose? I'm just saying—if something really happened to her, how would your father and I live with that, huh?" Her voice cracked on the last word, and she suddenly turned her face to wipe her eyes with her sleeve.
Meilin looked at the woman she once knew in her old life—stern, always nagging, but never truly cruel. Just like now. She scolded with the voice of thunder, but her hands trembled, and she kept glancing to check if Meilin was really okay.
A soft smile touched Meilin's lips.
"I'm sorry, Grandma," she said gently, her voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to worry you. I'll be more careful from now on."
Her grandmother shot her a sideways glance. "You'd better. This family only has one girl. If you go hurting yourself again, who'll take care of your parents when they get old, huh?"
But she sat down beside her anyway, rubbing Meilin's hand with her calloused fingers.
And Meilin, looking at them all—her mother, her aunt, her father, her grandmother—felt something bloom quietly in her chest.