The Nineties: My Army Officer Husband Came Back After Faking His Death

I woke up to find myself a miserable woman in the 1990s, forced to marry a border defense officer. My husband was cold and hard-hearted. On our wedding night, he left me with a military pledge: “Don’t ask for a divorce for five years, and you can do as you please.” I gritted my teeth and agreed. Using my modern know-how, I opened a video rental shop and started selling milk tea. Business boomed on the army base. When he brought home a mysterious roll of film and ordered me to keep it safe, I sensed danger. “How long will this mission take?” “Not long.” He kissed my forehead for the last time, then disappeared into the snowstorm along the border. Three months later, the army sent a death notice. I used the key he’d left behind to open the hidden room in his study. In the middle of a wall covered in classified maps was my photo, beside a line of tiny writing: “Wait for me to come home, Weiwei.” After five years navigating the business world, I turned my milk tea shop into a chain. At the celebration banquet, a bodyguard stopped a travel-worn man. “Madam, he says he’s your husband.” My hand froze as I held my champagne, and I stared at the unforgettable face. “Comrade martyr, you should check the calendar before coming back from the dead.” His eyes were bloodshot as he rasped, “The film... is it still there?”