In his previous life, he was a drunkard who was despised by everyone. He ran away from his wife and daughter and died alone.
When I opened my eyes, I was transported back to that rainy night in 1983. The daughter huddled in the corner, and the wife protected the child with her life: "If you touch her again, I will bring her to death for you to see."
He knelt in the muddy water and slapped himself: "In this life, I will pay for it with my life."
He started working as a night shift security guard at the lowest level of the Red Star Factory. Repairing machines, learning techniques, and setting standards, he climbed up step by step from security guard to technical backbone. But what is more difficult to repair than technology is the home destroyed by his own hands.
He gave up drinking and learned to cook, wash clothes, and sew socks. He pushed the bankbook into her hand, but she didn't take it. He cooked for her for half a year, and it was the first time she took the initiative to pick up food for him. It took him six years to make her smile in front of him again.
Years later, someone asked him what he was most proud of in his life. He is not the provincial technical champion, he is not promoted from security guard to deputy factory director, and he is not involved in formulating industry standards.
That day, she leaned on his shoulder and said softly: "I will marry you again in my next life. But you have to change it soon."
