Tian Wenxiu died once.
When I opened my eyes again, on the 23rd of the twelfth lunar month in 1983, I was lying in the mud on the river beach, covered in blood.
There were three yuan and seventy cents in his pocket, and a melted White Rabbit toffee.
In her previous life, she was robbed of her store, lost her child, and left her home. Everyone was waiting to see her die.
But they didn't know - the thing in her hand could be turned into two parts.
Three days to set up a stall. Turn over in seven days. Open the store in three months. It took five years to build the largest private logistics group in central China.
She was knitting a scarf for her new husband when her ex-husband knelt down and begged her to come back.
In this life, no one can touch her shop.
