Li Dehou died in the hospital at the age of sixty-five.
There wasn't a single person by his side.
His son had injured his back at a construction site. His daughter had married a drunk. His wife, Yang Xiuqin, had been gone for seven years: lung cancer, brought on by a lifetime of exhaustion.
His last thought before he died was: If I could do it all again, I would never let her suffer so much.
Then he opened his eyes.
Red candles, red paper cutouts on the windows, red bedding. A young woman sat with her back to him on the edge of the bed, wearing a red padded jacket, her hair jet black.
It was the third day of his marriage. This was Yang Xiuqin at twenty-one.
Li Dehou looked at her back, and tears rolled down his cheeks.
"Xiuqin, in this life, I'll cook, farm, and earn the money. You just enjoy yourself."
Yang Xiuqin thought he was talking nonsense.
Then he started building chicken coops, buying chicks, and hatching eggs. Every step seemed guided by foresight: he vaccinated the chickens before an outbreak, stockpiled eggs before prices rose, and cashed out before the market slump.
Everyone in the village said he was crazy.
Only he knew he wasn't trying to become a rich man.
He was paying back a debt. Everything he owed her in his previous life, with interest, in this one.
It captivated me after just three chapters; it's realistic, concise, and quite good.
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