Chapter One: Reborn in the Sixties

“Oh, my precious, eat up, eat more. Soon your heartless sister-in-law will be back, and there’ll be nothing left for you!”
“Hmph! Let’s see if she dares. The only reason she was allowed into the Song family was because she got recruited for work and earns a wage. Otherwise, what qualifications does she have? Mother, you’re the mother-in-law, you don’t need to be afraid of her.”
“Fine, fine, hurry and eat. Today your eldest sister-in-law gets paid, your big brother’s remittance has arrived too. I’ve made special dishes for you—tender cabbage, green onion eggs, and I’ve even added brown sugar to the millet porridge. You’re struggling to raise three children, you need to nourish yourself.”
As Chang Yongqin spoke, she busied herself serving dishes to her grandchildren.
Just as she turned away, she caught sight of Wei Yao standing ghostlike at the doorway, smiling as she watched them.
“Oh heavens! You’re back and didn’t say a word—trying to scare someone to death? Come, eat.”
Everyone at the table glanced toward the door, cast her a look of disdain, and continued shoveling food into their mouths as if she didn’t exist.
One seated, three standing, faces nearly pressed to their plates, ravenous like reincarnated hungry ghosts, wishing they could grab the food with their hands.
Song Liping’s hand was poked by Chang Yongqin. She pursed her lips, unwillingly called out toward the door, “Sister-in-law.”
Wei Yao looked over the family, let out a cold laugh.
In her previous life, she was used to such scenes. After Song Liping’s husband died, she’d often drag her three children back to her family home, shamelessly sponging off them.
In 1965, everyone’s food supplies were scarce.
Wei Yao herself hadn’t even finished her confinement before rushing back to the workshop to do heavy labor.
All for that thirty-five yuan monthly wage, sometimes volunteering for overtime to earn an extra two yuan and a couple of meat coupons—enough to quietly buy something nice for her children.
Chang Yongqin didn’t work, living off Song Dagui’s forty-five yuan monthly wage and assorted benefits.
Together, the couple’s wages topped seventy yuan.
A household income of over a hundred yuan in those days meant living comfortably, yet every month was a struggle.
No need to guess—the excess always went to support her widowed daughter.
Wei Yao cast a cold glance at the people in the main hall. Unlike her past life, she didn’t lash out hysterically. She said nothing and simply returned to her room.
“Trouble,” Song Liping muttered at her retreating back, Chang Yongqin nudged her.

“Stop complaining, little ancestor. Eat your meal, then take the children home. I’ll fry the cabbage stalks—who knows, maybe trouble will flare up again soon.”
Song Liping’s eldest son shot a resentful look toward Wei Yao’s door, then hissed, “Grandma, if she dares bully you, I’ll kill her.”
“Hehe, give grandma a kiss. You’re such a good child. No need for you to worry, she won’t cause trouble. Grandma cooked eggs for you—take them when you leave, eat them if you get hungry tonight.”
Wei Yao pretended not to hear. She looked at her two thin, hungry children lying on the bed, her nose stinging. She rushed over, hugged her children, and sobbed.
After coming back to life, her first instinct was to hurry home, terrified she was dreaming and might never see her two children again.
In her previous life, Song Liping used her three children to leech off the Song family.
Whenever she was upset, the whole family blamed Wei Yao.
Song Mingrui, her husband, was a freight driver, constantly crisscrossing the country, sometimes gone for a year or two. Initially, his wages were split—one portion for Chang Yongqin, one for Wei Yao. When she was pregnant with their first child, Chang Yongqin attended her during her confinement, constantly lamenting about the family’s hardship.
Since Song Mingrui was never favored in the Song family, always treated like a stray, even Song Liping’s husband could boss him around with no respect.
Wei Yao wanted to ease relations between her husband and his family, to earn their approval. In a moment of foolishness, she handed over all the money.
They had promised much, but after she gave them the remittance stamp, their attitude didn’t improve—in fact, it got worse. She wanted to write to Song Mingrui, but there was no fixed address.
She had to work at the factory, and the children needed Chang Yongqin’s help. She didn’t dare refuse, nor dare stir trouble.
With Song Mingrui gone most of the year, she didn’t even dare imagine raising two children on her own.
So every month, she lived off the two yuan earned from overtime and three yuan from assembling matchboxes—her only pocket money to buy things for the children.
Her poor kids grew so thin they were like skeletons, often beaten by Song Liping’s three children. Whenever trouble broke out, it was always blamed on her and her kids.
Song Liping bore a grudge against her, planning to secretly introduce a new woman to her brother, coaxing Song Mingrui to divorce Wei Yao. But before she could act, Song Mingrui died in a car accident.
The Song parents, after Song Liping climbed up the social ladder, immediately drove Wei Yao and her children out. The two children she worked herself to the bone raising—one died young, dragged down by Song Liping’s daughter; the other, frail and sickly, didn’t survive to adulthood.
Decades of lonely hardship, fueled only by hatred, yet no matter how hard she tried, disaster always found her. Just when she was about to drag Song Liping’s family down with her, she was struck by a truck. Only then did she realize she was merely the evil sister-in-law in a period novel, and Song Mingrui was just a stepping stone whose only role was to send money.
The real protagonist was Song Liping, whose resilience and independence were highlighted by Wei Yao’s villainy.
She never expected to open her eyes and find herself back in 1965, at twenty-three years old.
Wei Yao gently stroked her child’s face. “Does it hurt?”

“Mom, you’re finally back. Grandma wouldn’t let me out. I’m hungry!”
After speaking, Song Yang lowered his head. There was a bruise still visible on his forehead—Wei Yao remembered it was inflicted by Song Liping’s eldest son, Li Ying.
She wanted nothing more than to rush out and tear apart those fiends!
But right now, both she and her children were so hungry they felt dizzy, lacking the strength for confrontation.
Steeling herself, she rummaged through the wardrobe, pulled out a jade pendant she had found by chance, then bent down to lift her daughter from the bed.
This little girl had never been favored since birth. Wei Yao’s health was poor during pregnancy, unable to breastfeed—since birth, the child had never tasted milk.
“Son, come. Mama will take you out for a meal.”
Song Yang’s head shot up, his eyes wide, as if he couldn’t believe his ears.
Wei Yao carried her daughter in one arm, took her son’s hand with the other, and walked out the door without so much as glancing at the people in the main hall.
“Mother, look at that! She still dares to make a scene. After all your hard work cooking for her and babysitting her children, she still acts up. Heartless creature, just like Song Mingrui, that ingrate—not worth anything.”
Chang Yongqin clicked her tongue and gently patted Song Liping.
“Lower your voice. Didn’t I tell you? Today is payday. Once a couple days pass, if she doesn’t eat, that’s her loss. We’ll eat our own, and count our blessings.”
Song Liping pursed her lips but didn’t argue.
Wei Yao, holding her daughter, with Song Yang grasping her hem, led her children to the supply cooperative.
Today, her wages and ration coupons had just been issued—her own earnings, which from now on she would spend entirely on her two children. Song Hui was only two months old, curled in her arms like a kitten. She had to make sure her daughter got milk powder right away, or else she’d surely grow up sickly and weak, just as in her previous life.
Not far from the cooperative was the state-owned restaurant. She brought Song Yang inside, asked the server for warm water, mixed in milk powder, and carefully fed Song Hui. Then she ordered two bowls of wonton noodles and a plate of braised beef. The mother and son ate until their mouths were greasy.
After the meal, Wei Yao made up her mind. The Song family was a den of cannibals. She had to leave with her children—the sooner, the better.