Shen Nianjun woke up in pain.
It's not the pain of dystocia, it's the pain of crushed bones and torn flesh when a child was aborted in the previous life.
In 1983, on the twenty-third of the twelfth lunar month, she had just given birth to her third child.
In the previous life, this child was taken away by her mother-in-law and given away. She chased him three miles away, empty-handed.
In his previous life, the eldest son became an apprentice at the age of thirteen and had his fingers amputated at the age of eighteen.
In his previous life, he was sold at the age of twenty-six and jumped into a pond.
In her previous life, she died in an eight-square-meter hut without closing her eyes.
In this life, she divorced, moved, and set up a stall.
A sewing machine, three kids, and starting all over again.
The scumbag ex-husband knelt at the door: "Nianjun, I will change."
She looked at him with eyes like river water in winter: "Why are you kneeling? Do you want to finish the beating and then kneel, and then kneel and then beat?"
Later, the man who beat her for eight years would just squat under the wall, smoke an unlit cigarette, and say, "I'll wait for you."
Many years later, the Tongzi Building will be demolished.
She stood in the sunset and looked at the man with half white hair.
"I have hated someone for eight years in my life."
"Later, I fell in love with someone and fell in love with him for a long, long time."
His eyes were red.
She paused and looked at him: "They have the same face."
I haven't forgiven you. But I love you. This life is worth it.
