share time: 2026-01-18 00:31:27
Sixty-eight-year-old Lin Zhaodi’s last regret before dying in a rented room was “never living for herself”—she’d spent decades saving for her son’s tuition, babysitting her grandson, only to be kicked out for being “useless.” The moment she closed her eyes, she woke up in 1985, the day she married into the Gu family: her mother-in-law was yelling at her to cook with a broom, while her husband Gu Jianguo held her hand, his fingers still sticky from the fruit candy he’d hidden for her. This time, Lin Zhaodi threw down her apron: “I’m setting up a tailor stall at the alley—whoever wants to cook can do it!” She took out her floral cloth and made trendy dresses, earning more than Gu Jianguo’s salary; she dragged him to watch *Romance on Lushan Mountain*, blurting out all the “I want to grow old with you” she’d never said before; she even told her mother-in-law, who pressured her to have a son: “The child is mine—I’ll have it whenever I want!” When her former son cried and begged, “Mom, I’m sorry,” Lin Zhaodi smiled and handed him an osmanthus cake: “Auntie’s cake doesn’t sell to those who regret.” Reborn, she swapped “living for the family” for “living for herself—turns out, loving yourself is the most satisfying counterattack.
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