There is no golden finger, no portable space, and no system blessing.
There is only a repentant heart, a broken memory, and all the sincerity for the rest of my life.
In the twelfth lunar month of 1978, when Lin Jinxiu woke up, she knew she was reborn.
Reborn on the third day after the last big quarrel with her husband Chen Jianguo, reborn on the night when her daughter Chen Yan had a high fever, and reborn in the shrinking eyes of her son Chen Lei when he timidly called "Mom".
In her previous life, she died alone in the hospital at the age of 45. She had no husband or children around her, only the nurses doing routine rounds.
At the last moment before her death, what was repeatedly replayed in her mind was not the dream of being rich and powerful, but the bowl of egg custard that Chen Jianguo steamed for her when he was young, the sound of Chen Lei's milk when he called "Mom" for the first time, and Chen Yan's little hand when she pulled the hem of her clothes and said "Mom, hug".
The warmth she once turned a blind eye to eventually became the only regret in her life.
"This time," Lin Jinxiu stood in the cold wind of 1978, clenching her fists and digging her nails into her palms, "I don't want those frivolous things, I just want this home."
