One second before special forces Wang Lin Zhao died, he was still thinking that it was time to replace his worn-out combat boots.
The next second, he opened his eyes - he was three years old, suffering from a high fever, lying in a broken carriage. There was a little girl next to him who was as thin as a piece of paper. She wiped his sweat with her sleeve and cried "brother".
He recognized it. This is Lin Daiyu. His soul passed through and he took on the form of her younger brother who should have died at the age of three.
The fever is gone. People live. But the back of the piece of jade on his waist was engraved with: Born in the year of Jiazi, died in the year of Bingyin, at the age of three.
This year is the year of Bingyin. He deserves to die.
On the first day after entering Jia's house, Mrs. Wang touched the back of his neck for five seconds - a carotid artery test technique only known to special forces. This woman was making sure he was a normal person.
That night, a note was stuffed under his pillow: "Tonight, someone is waiting for you in the back garden at midnight. If you don't come, your sister will die."
There he went. He didn't wait for anyone, he waited for his own grave.
The tombstone is engraved with: Lin Zhao's Tomb.
An old voice came from behind: "I know you are not Lin Zhao. The real Lin Zhao died three years ago, and I buried him with my own hands."
The old man handed over an account book: "This is evidence of the Jia family's twenty-year crime. I won't live long, so I'll give it to you in exchange for one thing - take my daughter out to welcome the spring."
Opening the account book, there was a yellowed prescription inside. The date was the day after his "untimely death".
Cure heart disease.
To whom?
He clutched the account book tightly and looked back at Daiyu, who was sleeping soundly. Outside the window, a figure flashed past.
In this man-eating mansion, some people wanted her dead, some wanted her to marry, and some used her as a pawn. But in this life—her brother is here.
