The hospital room smelled of bleach and death. Lin Xia lay on the thin mattress, her breath coming in ragged gasps. At thirty-four, she looked sixty. Her husband, Zhang Wei, stood by the window, checking his gold watch.
"The papers are signed, Xia," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "The company is mine. You can die in peace now."
Lin Xia tried to speak, but her throat was filled with the metallic taste of blood. She had spent fifteen years building 'Lin Textiles' from a basement shop to a national brand. She had worked until her fingers bled, while Zhang Wei spent her money on mistresses and gambling. In the end, he had poisoned her slowly, day by day.
"Why?" she whispered.
"Because you were always too smart," Zhang Wei sneered. "No man wants a wife who makes him feel small. Don't worry, I'll take good care of your inheritance."
He walked out. The heart monitor began to wail. Darkness rushed in like a cold tide.
If there is a heaven, Lin Xia thought, her heart giving one final, painful thump, let me burn it down. Give me one more chance.
The smell of jasmine.
Lin Xia snapped her eyes open. She wasn't in the hospital. She was sitting on a hard wooden stool. The air was thick with the scent of blooming jasmine and the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of a manual sewing machine.
She looked down at her hands. They weren't thin and yellowed. They were smooth, calloused at the fingertips, and full of life. She was wearing a faded blue cotton shirt.
"Xia? Are you daydreaming again?"
Lin Xia froze. That voice. She turned slowly. Her mother, Su Chen, was standing there, holding a tray of steamed buns. Her mother looked young. Her hair was black, not the shock of white Lin Xia remembered from the funeral.
"Mom?" Lin Xia's voice trembled.
"Who else? If you don't finish these ten shirts by tonight, the village head won't pay us. We need that money for your brother's school fees."
Lin Xia looked at the calendar on the wall. June 14, 1988.
She was eighteen. This was the year it all started. This was the week Zhang Wei would come to their village, pretending to be a wealthy investor, to "help" her father with a loan. In her past life, she had fallen for his charms. She had convinced her father to sign the papers. That signature had been the beginning of their ruin.
A cold, hard fire ignited in Lin Xia's chest.
"Mom," Lin Xia said, standing up. She felt a surge of strength she hadn't felt in decades. "Where is Dad? Is he at the tea house with the man from the city?"
Su Chen blinked, surprised. "Yes. Mr. Zhang arrived an hour ago. He seems very kind. He's offering a lot of money to expand the workshop. Why?"
Lin Xia didn't answer. She grabbed her heavy wooden ruler and ran out the door.
The village of Willow Creek was dusty and poor. In 1988, China was on the edge of a massive change, but here, people still lived hand-to-mouth. Lin Xia ran past the communal well, her heart drumming against her ribs.
She reached the tea house. Through the open window, she saw him.
Zhang Wei. He looked younger, his suit a bit too large, his smile bright and predatory. He was pushing a red folder toward her father, Lin Feng.
"It's a simple contract, Mr. Lin," Zhang Wei said smoothly. "Just a small guarantee. If the workshop fails, I take the equipment. But with my help, it won't fail."
Lin Feng picked up a pen. He was a simple man who trusted everyone. "You're a good man, Xiao Zhang. Our family really needs this."
"Stop!"
Lin Xia slammed the door open. The room went silent.
Zhang Wei looked up, his eyes widening as he saw the beautiful girl in the doorway. In the old life, this was the moment he decided he wanted her—not as a wife, but as a tool.
"Xia? What are you doing here?" her father asked, embarrassed.
Lin Xia walked straight to the table. She didn't look at her father. She stared directly into Zhang Wei's eyes. She saw the flicker of greed behind his mask of kindness.
"Don't sign it, Dad," she said, her voice like ice.
"Xia, don't be rude," Lin Feng scolded. "Mr. Zhang is a guest."
Lin Xia picked up the contract. She scanned the lines quickly. Her years as a CEO had made her an expert in spotting traps. There, in the fine print: 'In the event of default, the creditor gains 100% ownership of all land titles held by the Lin family.'
In 1988, land in this province was worth little. By 1995, this specific plot would be worth millions. Zhang Wei knew the government was planning a highway nearby.
"This isn't a loan," Lin Xia said, throwing the folder back at Zhang Wei. "It's a theft. You want our land because you know about the South-Link Highway project."
Zhang Wei's face went pale. His smile vanished. "I... I don't know what you're talking about. That's just a rumor."
"It's not a rumor," Lin Xia lied confidently. "The surveys were completed last month. You're trying to buy for a hundred yuan what will be worth ten thousand by next year."
Her father gasped. "Is this true, Zhang?"
Zhang Wei stood up, his politeness gone. "You're crazy. You're just a village girl. What do you know about business?"
Lin Xia stepped closer. She was shorter than him, but her presence was suffocating. "I know enough to know you have no money in your briefcase. I know your 'company' is just a shell registered in a basement in Shanghai. And I know that if you don't leave this village in five minutes, I'll tell the village head you're a con artist."
Zhang Wei scrambled to grab his briefcase. He looked at Lin Xia with a mixture of fear and confusion. This wasn't the shy girl he had heard about. This was a tiger.
"You'll regret this," Zhang Wei hissed. "This village is dying. Without my capital, you'll starve."
"We will do just fine," Lin Xia replied. "In fact, by the time I'm done, I'll own the building your 'company' is in."
Zhang Wei fled the tea house.
Lin Feng sat back, stunned. "Xia... how did you know all that? What highway?"
Lin Xia looked out the window at the dusty road. She knew exactly what was coming. She knew which stocks would soar, which factories would fail, and which politicians would rise.
"The world is changing, Dad," she said softly. "The old ways are over. From now on, the Lin family doesn't take orders. We give them."
She looked at her hands again. They were clean. But she knew that to survive the coming years, she would have to get them dirty. She would build an empire, and she would make sure that in this life, she was the one holding the pen.
The revenge had just begun.