Before she died, she clutched a hundred yuan in her hand.
Auntie Wang from next door had slipped it to her, telling her to buy something for the child to eat.
Her husband, Jiang Chen, would throw even the ten yuan she needed for groceries in her face.
On the phone, he laughed with another woman in his arms. “A free maid. Once I’ve squeezed her dry, I’ll kick her to the curb.”
At twenty-eight, she died on a broken bed beneath a leaking roof.
When she opened her eyes again, it was her wedding day.
Her mother-in-law brought her a bowl of cold water. Sugar water was for appearances; cold water was the rule: once you crossed the threshold, you were livestock.
In her last life, she drank it and endured three years, until she was no better than a dead dog.
But this time? One slap, and the bowl shattered, water splashing everywhere.
“I’m not marrying into this family!”
She turned around and bought five rundown apartments. Everyone laughed and called her crazy.
