Rebirth: Splendid Marriage in the 80s Chapter 1 - 1 1 Back to Thirteen Years Old

Chiang Xiao was once again trapped in a nightmare. She dreamed of figures in white lab coats descending upon her like a pack of ravenous wolves hunting a helpless lamb, their expressions twisted with malice.

Overwhelmed by terror, she fought with every ounce of her strength, retreating until she could go no further.

Suddenly, a violent shove sent her plummeting from the ninth floor. Her life ended in a gruesome spray of blood and shattered bone—a twisted, broken mess on the pavement.

That was her end at thirty years old.

With that horrific death, she closed the chapter on a life defined by deception, manipulation, and betrayal—a foolish existence where she had been both the victim and the cause of her own ruin.

Chiang Xiao found herself sobbing uncontrollably.

She harbored a deep loathing for those who had wronged her, but she despised her own past stupidity even more.

Suddenly, the simple printed door curtain was yanked aside. Someone rushed into the room, their voice filled with urgency. “Little, what happened? What’s wrong? Was it another nightmare?”

Chiang Xiao felt her thrashing hands captured by another pair. They were rough with calluses, yet radiated an incredible warmth.

Blinking through a haze of tears, she looked up to see a familiar face etched with worry and grief.

The woman had slender eyebrows, elongated eyes, and ear-length hair secured by three black pins. There was always a lingering shadow of sadness in her gaze.

“Grandma?” Chiang Xiao whispered, her voice trembling.

Grandma sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes softening with affection. “Don’t be afraid. Grandma is right here. Close your eyes and go back to sleep, my dear girl.”

Chiang Xiao was bewildered.

How was this possible? Hadn’t her grandmother passed away from a heart attack at the end of that summer when she was thirteen?

Chiang Xiao looked down at her own hands.

They were thin and pale, the skin so translucent that the veins were visible. There were faint traces of dirt under her fingernails, making them look unkempt.

These were certainly not the hands that would later master the art of painting; these were the hands she remembered from her childhood.

She sat there in a daze.

Was she not dead?

She had fallen from nine stories up, her body destroyed beyond recognition. How could she possibly be breathing?

“Grandma,” she murmured, her throat feeling raw. “I never thought you’d be the first person I’d see after dying. Grandma, I died in such a hideous way. I’m just glad I didn’t appear before you looking like that; it would have terrified you.”

Ge Liutao was stunned by these words. A flash of fear crossed her face as she watched Chiang Xiao drift back into a heavy slumber, her heart racing with dread.

She lingered for a moment, carefully tucking Chiang Xiao’s hands beneath the covers before quietly exiting the room.

The Chiang residence consisted of three rooms and a central hall. Outside the hall lay a modest courtyard enclosed by yellow earth walls about 1.2 meters high.

The yard was square, with the main gate positioned directly across from the hall entrance. A wampee tree stood on the left, encircled by stone slabs, while a stack of neatly split logs occupied the corner. To the right stood a chicken coop. That side of the wall was shared with the elder branch of the Chiang family, where Grandpa Chiang’s eldest brother and his kin resided.

In the early afternoon heat, Chiang Xiao’s grandfather, Chiang Songhai, was squatting in the dirt, meticulously turning over medicinal herbs to dry in the sun.

It was early spring, and the sunlight was weak. These herbs only had a two-hour window at midday to dry properly; if they became damp and rotted, they would be worthless.

Ge Liutao stood beneath the eaves and called out to him in a hushed tone.

“Uncle Hai, come here for a moment.”

In their village, seniority followed the generational poem: “Yi Hua Shan Bo Guo Shu.” Chiang Songhai belonged to the prestigious 'Hua' generation, meaning even men older than him addressed him as uncle. Ge Liutao belonged to the 'Bo' generation, and she had called him Uncle Hai since before their wedding. The habit had simply never changed over the decades.

“What is it? Can’t you see I’m right in the middle of this?” Chiang Songhai replied without looking up, his hands still busy with the herbs.

“It’s Little…”

The moment her name was mentioned, Chiang Songhai bolted upright. He turned toward the house, his face clouded with concern. “What’s wrong with Little? Is the fever back? I’m going to see her.”

Ge Liutao caught his arm, throwing a cautious glance toward the neighbors' wall. She whispered, “The village elders say there’s a restless spirit down by the creek. Do you think it’s true?”

Chiang Songhai froze, then snapped back irritably, “Stop talking such nonsense!”