In Fengyuan Village, neighboring Nangou Village, the rice harvest was also in full swing. Every household was busy from dawn till dusk. Finally, the morning’s labor was over, and everyone could rest at noon—collapsing onto their beds to recover their strength for the afternoon.
In the Meng family yard, Huang Xiuying was chopping pig feed while occasionally glancing toward the gate. When the familiar figure finally appeared at the end of the path, she shot up and hurried over.
“Second son, where have you been? I didn’t see you all morning—were you slacking off somewhere?” Huang Xiuying’s suspicious eyes darted about.
Though she knew Meng Baoguo wasn’t like that, she couldn’t help blurting it out.
He shook his head and opened his mouth to defend himself—he’d finished his usual workload before leaving. How did his mother see that as slacking off? Besides, he’d only been gone two hours—not an entire morning.
But meeting her scrutinizing gaze, he felt an inexplicable guilt and swallowed his words. If she knew where he’d gone, there’d surely be a scene, and he was too exhausted to deal with it.
So he said nothing and headed to the kitchen. Huang Xiuying kept chattering behind him.
“You can’t disappear this afternoon. Your father and older brother are already doing more than their share—if they have to cover for you too, it’ll kill them.”
“Our family’s relying on this harvest for the second half of the year. Your nephew still needs milk—money’s needed everywhere.”
Her nagging followed him as he lifted the pot lid. Seeing only a single boiled sweet potato left, he paused, then took it and ate it without a word.
Huang Xiuying let out an awkward laugh. Perhaps feeling guilty, she explained lamely: “Oh, we don’t have much grain at home. Your brother worked hard all morning and was starving, so…”
“Mm.” He cut her off with a flat response.
“Want me to boil you another one?” She said this, but her feet never left the spot.
Meng Baoguo knew her well enough to not expect anything. He shook his head: “No need. I’m going to rest after this.”
She let out a visible sigh of relief and offered a casual compliment: “Then go get some sleep. You’ve always been the most sensible one—never giving me any trouble.”
With that, she turned and headed to the backyard, missing the flicker of sarcasm in his eyes.
Moments later, her voice shot up in a sudden shriek.
“Peng Juan! You useless woman—can’t even split firewood right! You’ve been freeloading in my house, and you still have the nerve to be lazy? If you don’t finish all this by tonight, don’t bother eating!”
“Mother! How can I finish this much by myself?”
Another round of chaos ensued before finally settling down as Peng Juan gave in.
Meng Baoguo paid it no mind. He finished his sweet potato with cold water from the vat and went to his room. When his older brother had married, the family had scraped together enough to build a new room—otherwise, he’d still be sharing quarters and have none of the quiet he had now.
It was summer heat. His wooden bed had only a few layers of straw and a ragged bedsheet—no quilt. Usually, he’d fall asleep easily, but today he tossed and turned.
Staring at the dark ceiling, he couldn’t stop the image from earlier that day from replaying in his mind. Aiyun had come back—that was why she’d looked at him like that. That was why she’d suddenly called off the marriage, left for Lanxi County, hidden from him.
All of it—so she wouldn’t have to be connected to him anymore.
Realizing this, he clenched his fists at his sides, the pain sharp. He didn’t want to admit it, but it was true.
And the man standing beside her—he’d seen him before, even if he looked younger now. He’d never forget that face.
It was Xiao Cheng!
Back when Xiao Cheng had accompanied Aiyun back to the village to visit family, he’d poured money into building roads and houses, helped develop the village’s livestock industry, built new school buildings and libraries…
The commotion was so great that even provincial leaders came to thank him in person. He’d won countless accolades.
Meng Baoguo had once stood among the crowd, watching from afar.
Xiao Cheng in his suit and tie—elegant and distinguished—while he was in rags, unkempt and filthy.
But Meng Baoguo knew that Xiao Cheng wasn’t a good man—at least not when it came to love. To win Aiyun, he’d stop at nothing. Ruthless to the core.
By then, his family had already given up any thought of entangling with Aiyun’s family. But Xiao Cheng had sent word to his mother, telling her how well Aiyun was living in the capital, and urged his family to go and demand favors. Knowing his mother, she’d cause a huge scene—even if she got no money, she’d make sure they couldn’t live in peace.
Xiao Cheng’s calculations had been flawless. Everything unfolded exactly as he’d planned. Then he’d conveniently swoop in as the hero and win Aiyun’s heart.
And to make sure Meng Baoguo never sought out Aiyun or the children again, he’d stationed people to loiter near his home, intimidating him every now and then.
It was all sickening, but there was nothing he could do—the man had money and power. Offending him wasn’t an option.
But truthfully, even without Xiao Cheng’s meddling, Meng Baoguo would never have disturbed their new life. After dragging Aiyun through half a lifetime of hardship and then ending things the way they did, how could he face her again? He didn’t even have the courage to ask for her forgiveness.
And so he drifted through the rest of his life, slaving away for the Meng family like a beast of burden. When he finally lay dying, tormented by illness in a cold, empty room, not a single soul was there to see him off.
It was only then that he saw clearly.
He understood that the people he’d treated with sincerity—his parents, his elder brother, his second wife, his son—had all seen him as nothing more than a free tool to be used. The moment he lost his value, they cast him aside. In his old age, they couldn’t even be bothered to spare him a glance.
In his final moments, tears of regret fell from his eyes.
But then he opened his eyes—and found himself back on the eve of his wedding to Aiyun, before any of it had begun.
This was when she loved him the most.
He couldn’t help but wonder: if he had a second chance, could he make her happy?
Yet while he hesitated at home, Aiyun had left Nangou Village without so much as a word—gone for months. That had never happened in his past life.
It was strange. Given her nature, she would have at least told him before leaving.
He began to suspect that Aiyun had also come back. But her parents said she’d left because of trouble at her aunt’s place.
Maybe it had been too urgent for her to say goodbye?
He’d ask when she returned.
But when she finally came back, she brought her boyfriend with her.
Unable to believe it, he’d made the trip to Nangou Village and seen it with his own eyes—Aiyun standing there, laughing and chatting with her husband from her past life. The two of them were a perfect match, more suited than anyone.
It was then that he was certain: Aiyun had been reborn too.
And that meant there could be no future for them in this life.
Meng Baoguo raised his arm to cover his eyes, hiding the redness. But he was so unwilling to accept it. Why had fate given him a second chance, only to dangle hope before his eyes and then snatch it away?
A bitter smile spread across his lips as conflicting thoughts churned in his mind. Then it struck him—wasn’t Xiao Cheng from the capital? Why was he here at this time, already with Aiyun?
Could he also be…
But he quickly dismissed the idea. Xiao Cheng’s eyes made it clear he didn’t recognize him.
Meng Baoguo let out a bitter laugh. How they’d gotten together no longer mattered.
For Aiyun, not being tied to him was the greatest blessing of this life.
—
In the backyard, Peng Juan gritted her teeth as she split firewood, sweat soaking her back and forehead. She wiped her brow in frustration and swung the axe down hard—as if each log were Huang Xiuying herself.
She’d never met a mother-in-law so cruel.
At midday, she was probably the only person in the entire village still splitting firewood. At least this spot was shaded, or she’d never survive.
Every day, besides caring for her one-year-old son, she had to wash and cook for the whole family, chop wood, carry water, feed the pigs and chickens—endless chores, big and small, all on her. She even had to soak her mother-in-law’s feet at night. Refuse, and she’d be labeled unfilial.
She dared not complain—her mother-in-law held the purse strings. Disobey, and she’d go hungry.
Peng Juan wiped away bitter tears. Her husband was useless—he only obeyed his mother, afraid to step out of line. Her own family had married her off happily for a few bags of grain and some betrothal money. Apart from coming to beg for handouts, they never cared whether she lived or died.
“Old hag, wait till you’re old—I’ll throw you in the pigsty and treat you the same way.” She muttered under her breath, not daring to speak too loudly.
By the time midday was nearly over and sounds began to stir from the house, she’d finally finished one pile and could lean against the woodpile to rest. Seeing Huang Xiuying hadn’t come to the backyard, she dared to sit down—but the moment her backside touched the ground, someone called her name.
“Baoguo’s sister-in-law.”
She nearly knocked over the neatly stacked firewood. Recognizing the voice wasn’t Huang Xiuying’s, she relaxed and looked over.
It was Niu Yongfang from next door, married two years ago, who’d had a son last year and was now pregnant again. The family doted on her, and life was good for her.
Peng Juan muttered about unfair fates, then forced a smile and shuffled over.
“Oh, it’s Sister Fang. Up from your nap?” Peng Juan’s eyes were glued to the half-boiled egg in Niu Yongfang’s palm—she was practically drooling with envy.
“Being pregnant makes you fragile. If I don’t rest every day, I feel awful.” Niu Yongfang smiled and popped the half-egg into her mouth, not even leaving a crumb.
Peng Juan rolled her eyes inwardly. As if she hadn’t had a child too. But she kept smiling: “Same here—when I was pregnant with my son, I was just like you.”
“Of course, of course.” Niu Yongfang’s mind was elsewhere. After a few pleasantries, she couldn’t help steering the conversation: “Hey, wasn’t your brother-in-law engaged before—about to get married?”
“Who? I don’t know anything about that.” Peng Juan blinked, genuinely confused.
“That girl from the neighboring village—Lin Aiyun. Your brother-in-law saved her, and they got together after that, right?” Niu Yongfang pressed, growing impatient.
Peng Juan didn’t remember Lin Aiyun’s name, but the word “saved” jogged her memory—the sacks of white flour and gifts. Huang Xiuying had sold most of the good stuff, but she’d still made a batch of dumplings for the family. It had been the best thing Peng Juan had ever tasted.
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