Married for thirty years, sharing the same bed, yet her husband had always loved his “white moonlight”—the woman he could never forget. On his deathbed, he gripped her hand tightly and said, “Ji Zhixiao, I married you out of obligation, not joy. Not once in this life have I felt happiness. If there’s a next life, I just want to follow my heart.”
He left all his inheritance to the son of his white moonlight. It was only then that Ji Zhixiao learned her husband had been secretly supporting that child all along—through his marriage, through fatherhood, the support never stopped. In his will, he wrote: “This is what you owe them.”
Reborn on the day of their wedding, she watched as her husband abruptly called off the ceremony. She knew then—he had been reborn too.
So, Jiang Chen, this time, your paralyzed mother, your parasitic relatives, your bottomless pit of a household, and your lofty pride—leave it all to your white moonlight.
At least this time, she won’t jump into that fire pit again.
