Celeste Ashford died when she was thirty.

A woman born in the 2000s, she had clawed her way through life all on her own since childhood. She had never dated, never married, and as for kids, she had never even come close.

She had finally started to get somewhere. Her career was just beginning to look up, and before she could enjoy any of it, the hospital handed her a death sentence—terminal illness.

She had been an orphan to begin with, came alone and left alone. She donated every bit of savings she had and went out with nothing left behind.

Maybe heaven thought her first life had been too miserable. Or maybe giving away that much money really did earn her some blessing. Either way, she was given another shot.

Now, sitting in front of her, there was one piece of good news and one piece of rotten news.

The good news was that she really had become young again, only eighteen, right in the best years of life.

The bad news was that she had already been married, and she came with two children.

Worse than that, the man had died less than a month ago, and the two children were not even hers.

To make sense of it, it had to start with the original girl.

The original owner had never been liked since she was little. Her parents never treated her like she mattered.

Before dawn she had to get up and work. At night she could not sleep until past midnight. She ate leftovers fit for pigs, but the labor she did was the kind that would break an ox.

The moment she turned sixteen, her family sold her off to a widower.

That man had two sons. The older one, Darren Harlow, was three. The younger one was still nursing. When she was married into that house, she was basically taken in to serve as a wet nurse.

That dead husband of hers had been deeply attached to his first wife. Still, he could see the original girl was honest, simple, and soft-hearted, so he kept her in the household.

At first, he really treated her more like a younger sister than a wife.

For two whole years after the marriage, he never touched her. But he helped with the chores around the house, and he looked after the children too.

When her birth family came around asking for money and goods, pushing her around, the man stood up for her. He told her, "Be tougher. Don’t just let people bully you." He even taught her to read and, through connections, helped her get a primary school certificate.

The man’s eldest son, Darren Harlow, did not like her at first, but little by little, he accepted her too.

As the days went by, feelings slowly grew between the original girl and the man.

The man had said it himself: once she turned eighteen, he’d make up for everything and give her a proper wedding.

But then—

before that day ever came, the hard years hit.

Their village had it better than most, tucked up against the hills with water nearby. In that first year, at least, nobody starved to death.

By the second year, though, folks were digging up earthworms, drying them, grinding them into powder, anything just to quiet the hunger in their bellies.

When the grain was gone for good, her late husband went with the production team and followed an old hunter from the village into the mountains to look for game.

Whenever they spotted the tracks or droppings of some big beast, everybody gave it a wide berth.

But her husband, trying to save someone else, lost his life instead.

What he left behind were two sons, and the original Celeste Ashford.

The team had approved a relief payment for her, but her elder brother-in-law, who’d long since split from the family, snatched it away the moment it came.

Back then, she had wanted to fight him for it. She truly had. But she’d been hungry too long and had no strength left. He was a grown man with brute force on his side, and she still had to keep the two boys from getting hurt. In the struggle, she wasn’t careful, slammed her head against the cabinet, and blacked out on the spot.

When she opened her eyes again, the house was even barer than before.

The original owner of this body ran to the team and made a scene. Then she ran to the commune and made another scene. She did raise a fuss, yes—but her body gave out. By the time she stumbled home, she was so starved she nearly rolled her eyes and collapsed.

Justice never came.

That very night, the fire broke out. Smoke rushed everywhere. The original Celeste died in that blaze, and that was when Celeste Ashford arrived.

Things were bad when she came to. The smoke had scorched her throat so badly she couldn’t even cry out. Someone broad-shouldered and strong carried her out on his back.

That man was powerful. One hand held her up by the thighs, while his other arm hooked around two-year-old Spencer Harlow.

As for Darren Harlow?

He hadn’t slept too deeply that night. He knew he couldn’t carry his little brother, and there was no way he could drag his stepmother out either. So he was the first to bolt out of the yard and run to the production team to call for help. That was how the whole thing was stirred up and people came rushing over.

...

When she woke again, she was in the village head’s house.

The talk that a widow had gotten involved with a man spread through the whole production team in no time.

She didn’t even need to guess who let it out. It had to be her sister-in-law.

Why?

Simple. The minute she remarried, that woman could lay hands on the dead husband’s money fair and square.

The man who had pulled her out of danger was Victor Harlow. He was in the army. As for what rank he held, she really couldn’t tell.

Maybe he came because he felt responsible. Maybe there was some other reason. Either way, he truly did come to speak with her about marriage.

From what he said, she gathered one thing clearly: he had three martyr’s children on his side that needed raising too.

“I won’t have children of my own, so you must take proper care of those three. That’s my only condition.”

Back then, she really couldn’t make sense of it. How could a man like him not have children of his own?

Could it be something was wrong with his health?

And with her already dragging along two boys, that made five mouths waiting to be fed.

Worried that if his heart went soft he might bring more children home later, she asked him straight out, “Are you planning to take in any other comrades’ children in the future?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“With my wages and subsidy, five is the absolute limit.”

“...”

He looked handsome and upright, the sort she had assumed might be restless and hard to pin down. But once he opened his mouth, it was all plain truth, one was one and two was two.

Most men in these times liked to put on airs. They cared about appearances in every direction, especially in front of women, always acting like they were something special.

To put it bluntly, they liked showing off.

A man like Victor Harlow was honestly rare. You could call him an odd one out.

She didn’t have a thing in her hands.

Her late husband’s compensation money still hadn’t been recovered. The house had been burned clean to the ground, and the arsonist still hadn’t been caught. So what was she supposed to use to feed two children?

That was the truth.

The woman who had owned this body had never let go of her dead husband.

He was the one who helped her lift her head again. He was the one who pulled her out of the muck and dragged her forward, step by step, through hard days.

So even after he died, she still gritted her teeth and held on, dead set on raising those two boys.

No matter how much she had to suffer.

Right before she died, the only ones she couldn’t stop worrying about were Darren and Spencer.

Since Celeste had taken over this body, then naturally, she had to finish what the other woman had left undone.

Living freely did feel good, sure, but there were still some lines a person ought to keep.

If even she washed her hands of those two boys, wouldn’t that be the same as shoving them straight into a pit of fire?

Besides, the man in front of her looked decent enough. Maybe, just maybe, he could help back her up a little.

And even if that didn’t work, she could still borrow his name and put on some pressure, enough to get her late husband’s money back.

However she counted it, that was better than trying to fight through all this alone.

So that was how she and Victor Harlow came to an agreement so quickly.

Victor Harlow really did seem like a solid man.

His features were sharp and clean, his eyes steady and deep. He stood straight as a ramrod, carrying that upright air all over him. Even the crease down his army-green trousers ran neat and straight from the waist all the way to the edge of his Liberation shoes. Everything about him looked crisp and disciplined.

After only a few short exchanges, she could already tell this man placed duty above everything else.

A man like that gave a woman a sense of security. She understood that very well.

She had always seen things clearly. Feelings between a man and a woman were the least reliable thing in the world. Only a man who knew how to keep his place and carry responsibility on his shoulders could truly keep a life steady for the long haul.

Besides, the years ahead were not likely to be peaceful. A military marriage was the safest choice.

If one day in the future he met someone he truly loved, by then she ought to have found her footing herself. She could simply take the two children and leave, treating it as having borrowed this man’s protection for a stretch of road.

She had thought it all through quite neatly.

What she hadn’t expected was that the very next day after agreeing to marry him, that strange space came with it too.