Já que renasci, quem ainda tem cabeça de apaixonado?

So cold.

Xu Qingling was awakened by the chill, feeling as though she were trapped in an ice cellar. Sharp pain radiated from her wrists and ankles. Her mind was clouded, images flickering past like scenes in a carousel. She didn’t know how much time had passed before her frozen body finally regained some mobility. She struggled to pry open her eyelids.

Darkness surrounded her. Xu Qingling shook her numb head, dazed for a moment before she remembered—before waking up, she’d been drunk, lying on the floor of her rented apartment.

It had been half a year since she was able to sleep in a bed; only curled up on the floor could she barely drift off.

She tried to sit up and realized something was wrong: she was outside. Her entire body was soaked, her lower half submerged in water, her upper body sprawled on rough, dry grass.

Only the sound of cold wind rustling the wild grass along the embankment filled her ears. Icy rain struck her head and neck, the chill seeping outward from her chest.

Though it was night, by the distant pinpricks of light, Xu Qingling quickly oriented herself. This was the Falling Star River on the outskirts of Xun City. When she was in elementary school, she often came here to dig for wild vegetables.

Later, Xu Demao rebuilt the old house in the city village into a five-story building and started a supermarket and a small hotel. Whenever school was out, she had to stay home to help run the shop, trapped behind the counter from dawn to dusk, without a hint of freedom. Only after dinner would she finally have time