Morning bell rang.
Workers gathered for farm work.
Mei Lin cooked rice porridge, cleaned the house, washed quickly, and went to find her father-in-law.
He was working with her brother-in-law, giving points to farmers.
She approached respectfully.
"Father, I need to go to the county for two days. Please give me a pass."
Her father-in-law frowned.
"Are you leaving my son again?"
"No. I'm going to work. My teacher recommended me."
He studied her face…
and saw determination, not escape.
He sighed.
"You're beautiful like my son and smart like him too… but lazy. Don't prove me right."
But he gave her the pass.
When she returned home, she saw Ming Li leaving for school on his bicycle.
She stopped him.
"Ming Li… I'm going to the county."
He nodded.
"I left 100 yuan on the bed. Take it."
Her heart warmed.
He still cared.
She knew he thought she was leaving for good.
So she grabbed his face with both hands…
and kissed him.
Deep.
Sure.
Full of the love she never showed him in her first life.
His eyes widened.
"I will return in two days," she whispered.
"We will get our marriage certificate.
We will grow old together.
You and our daughter… you are my life."
His ears turned red.
He was stunned speechless.
She laughed softly, picked up her bag, and left.
Her first step toward saving their future.
The county bus rattled as it rolled forward, dust rising behind it like a pale ribbon. Mei Lin sat by the window, her hands resting calmly on her knees, but her heart was anything but calm.
This was the first time she had stepped into the county alone since her rebirth.
In her previous life, this road had carried her away—from her husband, from her daughter, from everything that truly mattered. This time, she was walking it in the opposite direction.
She reached the county just before noon.
The streets were livelier than the brigade—bicycles ringing, vendors calling, the smell of steamed buns drifting through the air. Mei Lin didn't linger. She followed the memory carved deep into her bones and stopped in front of a modest bookstore tucked between a grain shop and a repair stall.
The wooden sign creaked slightly in the wind.
She stepped inside.
The owner, a middle-aged man with wire-rim glasses, was sorting papers behind the counter. He glanced up, already preparing to wave her away.
"We're not hiring—"
"I can translate English to Chinese," Mei Lin said calmly.
The owner paused.
He looked at her again—plain cotton clothes, dust on her shoes, clearly from the countryside.
"You?" he asked, skepticism thick in his voice. "Do you know how rare translators are?"
Mei Lin nodded. "I know."
In her past life, she had translated diplomatic documents, delivered lectures in multiple languages, and debated academics across continents. Compared to that, this small bookstore was only the beginning.
The owner hesitated, then pulled out a stack of papers.
"If you're lying, don't waste my time. Translate this."
It was an English academic article—dense, technical, nearly fifty pages long.
Mei Lin took it, scanned the first paragraph, then looked up.
"May I sit?"
The owner waved dismissively. "Ten minutes."
She sat down.
Her pen moved.
Not hesitantly.
Not carefully.
But smoothly—like water flowing downhill.
Ten minutes passed.
The owner frowned. He glanced at the clock, then back at her. Her pen never paused. Her brow was relaxed, eyes sharp but calm, as if she were copying rather than translating.
Twenty minutes.
He walked closer.
By the time he reached her side, she had already flipped to the last page.
She placed the papers on the counter.
"Finished."
The owner stared.
He grabbed the pages, scanning line after line. His expression changed—shock, disbelief, then excitement.
"This… this isn't just translation," he muttered. "This is better than our current staff."
Mei Lin smiled faintly. "I told you I could translate."
Without another word, the owner pulled out several thin booklets.
"Translate these. Five short books. I'll pay you. Can you finish by three?"
Mei Lin calculated the time.
"Yes."
She worked without stopping.
Her past life's skills flowed naturally—terminology, tone, cultural nuance. This was a piece of cake compared to translating political speeches under pressure.
The owner watched her like he'd discovered a treasure.
By the afternoon, she handed over the completed translations.
He swallowed hard.
"You can stay here tonight," he said quickly. "There's a room in the back. Translate more."
That night, Mei Lin worked until dawn.
Seven books.
Seven.
Her fingers ached, but her spirit soared. This wasn't just money—this was proof. Proof she could stand on her own without abandoning her family.
Morning light crept through the window.
The owner returned, eyes bright.
"You passed," he said hoarsely. "Lower-grade translator ID—for now. I'm submitting these immediately."
Mei Lin nodded calmly, though her heart surged.
Later that day, he returned again, almost running.
"Second-grade approved," he said, laughing in disbelief. "You can translate higher-level works now. Political materials. Academic texts."
He placed a thick envelope on the table.
1,500 yuan.
Mei Lin's fingers trembled as she accepted it.
In the brigade, people struggled for months to save ten yuan.
She earned this in two days.
"This is just the beginning," the owner said seriously. "You don't need to come here anymore. We'll courier materials to you."
Mei Lin stood, bowing slightly.
"Thank you."
She stepped outside into the sunlight, clutching the envelope.
For the first time since rebirth, she allowed herself a smile.
This road would lead her back—not away.
Back to her husband.
Back to her daughter.
Back to the life she refused to lose again.