"Get off me! Don't touch me!"

"Did you hear me, you bastard?!"

In the shabby little hut, the woman’s angry voice slowly twisted into something else.

The wooden bed creaked over and over, echoing across the kang until, after more than half an hour, it finally quieted down with a ragged breath.

A sharp slap cracked through the room.

Jonathan Drake jolted, his whole body shivering as the haze in his eyes slowly cleared.

Instinctively, he looked down.

A woman lay beneath him, her skin pale and smooth like polished jade, her lips small and soft, her delicate face streaked with tears.

And she wasn’t wearing a single thing.

A few faint bruises marked her skin where he’d gripped too hard.

The moment she saw Jonathan’s eyes focus, she startled like a frightened doe. She yanked the quilt over herself and curled into the corner, but even that couldn’t hide the faint curve of her chest.

"Where… where am I?"

Jonathan froze. His mind hadn’t caught up yet. The last thing he remembered was smashing head‑on into a big truck.

What kind of unbelievable twist was this…

"Go on! Keep messing around! Every damn day it’s the same! You don’t care about this house, you don’t farm the land, you’d drag me and the kid right into the grave with you!"

Sylvia Blake was shaking with anger as she grabbed her clothes from the kang and pulled them on haphazardly.

Her eyes were red, burning with hatred as she shot Jonathan a glare sharp enough to cut. Then she jumped off the bed, shoved the door open, and stormed out.

"Sylvia… isn’t that my wife?"

Jonathan stared at her retreating figure, stunned. His thoughts were a tangled mess. "But didn’t she die thirty years ago?"

Pieces of his past slammed back into him—

Back then he was a useless brat, gambling day and night, mixing with all sorts of shady people, drowning in debt.

He’d forced his wife to sell off her dowry, and even made her bow her head and beg her parents for money just to fill the holes he’d dug.

Yet even all that still couldn’t sate the cravings of the gambler he’d become.

In the end, he even signed some ridiculous deal with an old man living deep in the mountains, planning to sell Sylvia Blake off to that remote valley—to be used, to bear children for strangers.

“Is this… the time right before she tried to end her life?”

Jonathan Drake remembered all too clearly. It was the day before he had forced himself on his wife.

He had snatched away the three feet of cloth coupons and the ten-some yuan she’d saved for their child, turning it straight into gambling money—lost every last bit.

He’d been nothing but rough and selfish, not caring the slightest about his wife or their kid.

And on top of that, the neighbors kept dropping rumors into Sylvia’s ears—Jonathan messing around at brothels, Jonathan gambling away everything, all kinds of dirty stories.

Sylvia eventually just couldn’t take the shame anymore.

She bought two jin of dough sheets, used up the meat coupons, made dumplings, and hid inside them the rat poison she’d stashed away long ago. She meant for the three of them to go together.

But in the end, it was the wife and daughter who died. Jonathan, somehow, survived.

After that, he straightened himself out, learned to hunt, collected mountain goods.

Decades later, he’d even become a billionaire-level businessman.

But his wife and child were gone.

Thinking of this, Jonathan shuddered from head to toe, finally realizing something. His voice trembled as he whispered, “Don’t tell me… I’ve been reborn?”

He remembered how, in his previous life, as Sylvia lay dying, her biggest regret was that she couldn’t drag him down with her.

That thought stabbed at him like needles—how could a man fall so low, become someone like that?

If he hadn’t tricked and forced her into marriage back then… with her middle-school education and that beauty known across the whole region, Sylvia Blake could’ve married into a good family.

And his little girl—only four or five—had only eaten one proper meal in her short life, right before she died.

His eyes reddened at the memory. Jonathan hurriedly grabbed his coat sleeve and wiped the tears away.

“No more,” he muttered to himself. “None of that is ever happening again.”

Now that he was back in the 60s, he was going to make sure his wife and daughter lived a good life.

Jonathan Drake stepped out of the house and spotted Sylvia Blake sitting on a small wooden stool, staring blankly at the washbasin in front of her. She was rubbing clothes with stiff, mechanical motions, looking like someone who’d already given up on life.

Right now, all Sylvia had left for Jonathan was hatred so deep it chilled the bones.

Meeting those eyes full of blame and resentment made Jonathan’s whole body tense. Guilt washed over him, and he instinctively lowered his head before clearing his throat. “Harvest season’s about to start,” he said quietly. “I’m thinking of walking down to the fields later, see if anyone missed a few potatoes. If I find any, I’ll bring a sack home.”

He hesitated, then stepped forward and reached out, trying to take the washboard from her hands. “You just went through… all that. Go wash up a bit. I’ll clean the clothes for you.”

Sylvia lifted her head, looking at him with guarded suspicion, as if trying to figure out what trick he was playing this time.

But the longer she stared, the more that suspicion twisted into deeper resentment. With a sharp snort, she yanked the washboard back.

“I don’t need your fake kindness! When have you ever cared what state I’m in?”

Jonathan let out a sigh in his heart.

No matter what he said, Sylvia still kept her guard up like he was the enemy. They didn’t look like a married couple at all—more like sworn foes.

That kind of bitterness couldn’t melt overnight. He’d have to take it slow, keep at it, and prove himself before she’d ever believe he meant well.

Thinking that, Jonathan didn’t push any further.

He cleared his throat again. “I get it. You probably think I’m pretending, or trying to sweet-talk you just to squeeze some money out of you.”

“But this time… I really know I was wrong. From now on, we’ll hold this house up together. I won’t ever sell off anything from home again—not that kind of beastly stuff.”

“Sylvia… can you give me one more chance?”

Sylvia shot him a glance and let out a broken laugh.

“Please, just spare me. There’s nothing left in this house for you to squander.”

“That money and those cloth coupons—I saved them for two whole years. Just wanted to make a new outfit for the kid. And you? You lost every bit of it! Tell me, do you even count as a human being anymore?”

Her voice trembled as she spoke.

She’d always thought that no matter how useless or heartless Jonathan got, he’d at least keep a line he wouldn’t cross. He wouldn’t touch the child’s things.

But what he did yesterday tore that fantasy to shreds.

She finally saw him clearly—he wasn’t just irresponsible. He was a real brute in human skin, with not a trace of conscience left.

Jonathan Drake drew in a steady breath, his voice carrying a rare softness. “Sylvia, I won’t go on and on.”

“Starting today, I swear I’ll make sure you and the kid live better. Those fabric coupons you need to sew clothes for the little one—I’ll find a way to get them back for you.”

With that, Jonathan headed to the storage room, grabbed a basket and a burlap sack, and walked toward the fields.

Sylvia Blake watched his back as he left, momentarily stunned. Jonathan Drake taking the initiative to do real work? That was something she could hardly imagine in eight lifetimes.

She was still frozen in place, lost in her thoughts, when a knock suddenly sounded from the gate, followed by a crisp female voice. “Hey, Mrs. Drake, you home? I bought that rat poison you asked me to pick up in town. Didn’t you say your place’s got a mouse problem? Do you still want it?”

The moment those words hit her ears, Sylvia’s heart lurched.

Her hand, resting by her side, clenched tight before she forced herself to take a deep breath and reply, “Yes! Hold on, I’ll get the money right now!”