In the cowshed at Heihe Village, the sky hung so low with dark clouds it felt like it might crash right down, and heavy snow kept whipping through the air.

Stella Stanton crouched by the stove, using her stiff, frostbitten fingers to fuss with it bit by bit, struggling hard before she finally got the fire going.

The moment she stretched both hands toward it for a little warmth, a dark figure suddenly slipped inside. Before she could react, he lunged forward, grabbed her tight, and slammed her to the ground.

Startled out of her wits, Stella looked up in panic and met a rough, filthy face that made her stomach turn.

It was the village chief’s son.

Ever since she’d been sent down to Heihe Village for labor reform, that man had watched her like a snake lying in wait. Whenever she was out working, he was always sneaking close, taking little liberties when no one was looking.

This time he’d gone even further. He had actually barged straight into the cowshed where she lived.

The shed leaked wind from every side. If someone really meant to force their way in, there was no stopping it.

And after Stella came here, she’d been half-starved more days than not. She used to be soft and full-bodied, but in just a few short months she’d been worn down until she was thin as a stick. There was no way she could match a strong, full-grown man.

No matter how she twisted, how she shoved at him with all her strength, the man on top of her would not budge an inch.

His stench, mixed with the reek of cow dung, rushed over her so hard she nearly gagged.

Disgusting. Sickening.

"Let me go! Let me go! Help! Somebody help! There’s a hooligan here!"

Stella was truly desperate now. Her tears mixed with her hoarse, cracking cries, but out in the wild wind and snow, the sound was quickly blown apart and swallowed up.

"Go on, scream all you want. Even if you tear your throat out, nobody’s coming to save you!"

"And so what if someone hears? In all of Heihe Village, who’s got the nerve to meddle in my business?"

"A city girl really is something else. Skin this fair—damn."

The man’s voice grew nastier by the second, and his hands got bolder too, shameless to the core.

Stella trembled all over with fear.

"Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me! I’m married. I have a husband! If he—if he finds out, he won’t let you off!"

Stella Stanton’s voice shook and snagged on itself. Her whole body was trembling, hard to tell whether from fear or from the cold.

"Women sent down like you?" the man sneered. "Forget a husband. Even your own parents, your own brothers and sisters, would rather pretend they don’t know you. Everybody’s scared you’ll ruin their name, their future. If your husband really gave a damn about you, then where’s he been all this time? Why hasn’t he shown up?"

He leaned in closer, his words filthy and smug. "Stop fighting for nothing. Be good. Let me have my fun, and if I’m pleased, your days in Heihe Village might get easier. Maybe you’ll even get enough to eat."

Then he added, cold and mean, "Of course, you’d better not get pregnant. My child isn’t coming out of the belly of some stinking reform convict like you—ugh! You bitch! You hit me?!"

He howled the next second. "You dared smash my head with a rock? You filthy whore, you got a death wish! Still hitting me? Let go!"

The man on top of her suddenly turned even rougher. His fingers clamped around Stella’s throat with savage force.

In an instant, she couldn’t breathe.

Her chest locked up.

No air. No sound.

If this was it… then so be it.

Living like this had no meaning anyway.

In Stella’s hand was a slick, wet stone, sticky with blood.

His blood.

It kept streaming down from the man’s head, warm and thick, smearing across Stella’s face until everything smelled like rust.

But she didn’t stop.

She gritted her teeth and kept slamming the stone at him with every ounce of strength she had left.

The man’s face twisted in pain, ugly and vicious, and in his rage his hand only tightened harder around her neck.

Stella stared at that warped, hateful face as it slowly blurred before her eyes.

Her thoughts drifted farther and farther away.

Then, through that fading darkness, she heard a voice, low and shaking with pain.

"I’m sorry. I came too late. I’m taking you home now."

Her consciousness never fully broke apart. At the very end, she actually saw the husband she had not seen for so long—Lincoln Stanton.

Lincoln Stanton.

The one in his arms was actually her—skin and bones, worn-out, ugly.

"Xiaoxiao, I'm sorry. This is on me. I shouldn't have left you to go on assignment. I shouldn't have let them take you away. I shouldn't have let you go back to your family. It's all my fault..."

"I'm sorry... it's all my fault..."

Stella Stanton had never, not once, seen such a gentle look on Lincoln Stanton's usually cold, stern face.

"No, Lincoln Stanton, no. This isn't your fault."

She desperately wanted to rush over and tell him that.

She was the one who chased money and comfort.

The moment she heard her birth parents had been wealthy people, big businessmen, capitalists, she stopped wanting to follow Lincoln Stanton to the frontier as part of the army family. She wanted to go to the city. She wanted an easy, comfortable life.

So she ran.

She left her husband, left her mother-in-law's home, and secretly went back with Gerald Harmon.

But not even in her wildest dreams had Stella Stanton expected this—

Gerald Harmon's family had only tricked her into coming back to take the blame.

Her parents had already been dead for years.

What was waiting for her was not a rich life, but exile and labor reform.

She had been greedy for wealth and looked down on hardship. If she died for it, she had brought it on herself.

But even so, Stella Stanton never could have imagined that Lincoln Stanton would still come looking for her.

He knew she was descended from capitalists. He knew she'd been sent down for reform. And still, he came all the way here.

This would ruin his prospects.

He was supposed to be stationed at the frontier, earning merit. His future should have been bright.

Why would he still come back for her, still claim a wife who had already run off?

All this time, Stella Stanton had believed Lincoln Stanton married her for one simple reason: back in the countryside, she had looked after his sick old mother a little more than others did. He had been grateful, that was all, so he agreed to marry her.

But now, looking back, maybe she had been wrong.

Maybe... he really had liked her, at least a little.

Hadn't he?

If only... if only time could start over.

She would never complain about hardship again. She would go with Lincoln Stanton to the frontier without a word.

She would stop chasing that so-called life of wealth and comfort. She would stop dreaming about going back to her birth family.

She just wanted to live a proper life with Lincoln Stanton, steady and honest, and have a whole bunch of children.

Grow old together, hair white with age, surrounded by sons, daughters, and grandchildren.

...

"This damned girl can really sleep. She's been out cold the whole way! And Lord, the way she eats! One meal, and she had the nerve to finish a whole pork knuckle, two portions of braised beef, and one serving of red-cooked pork! Five big meat buns too, plus three tea eggs!"

"Good thing I slipped some sleeping pills into her tea. Otherwise who knows how much more she'd have stuffed into herself!"

"No wonder she's so fat! She's been stuck in the countryside all these years, probably never even had proper meat before! If we didn't need her for something, I wouldn't bother serving her at all!"

"Oh, Ma, enough already. You've been nagging the whole trip. If we hadn't brought her back to draw those people's attention away, how would we have gotten out ourselves? Come on, help me get her onto the bed. This deadweight's heavy as hell!"

The harsh panting, the cursing, the messy shuffle of footsteps slowly faded.

Bit by bit, the noise drifted farther away.

Until at last, there was nothing.

Only then did Stella Stanton slowly open her eyes.

A bright, spacious room.

Western-style furnishings.

She had been reborn.

She was back to that very day—before the house was raided, before she was sent away for reform, the day Gerald Harmon and Florence Harmon had just brought her home.

In her last life, Gerald Harmon and Florence Harmon had gone all the way to the countryside, to the shabby place where she and Lincoln Stanton lived, and told her her real parents had been wealthy capitalists. They said they were taking her back so she could live like a proper young lady and enjoy a good life at last. Stella Stanton, who had swallowed hardship for more than half her life, was so happy she could hardly stand still. Without a second thought, she followed them back, heart full of hope.

Only she had no idea that what was waiting for her was not the warmth, comfort, and rich life she had imagined.

It was—

a trap, one layer after another, tight as a noose.