Reborn in 1977, I will no longer be my brother's blood bag.

The night breeze carried a chill.

Lin Xiuhe stood at the entrance of the abandoned warehouse, surveying her surroundings in the dim moonlight.

The warehouse wasn't large; it used to be where the supply and marketing cooperative stored coal. Later, the coal yard moved away, and the place was abandoned. The wooden door was half-open, weeds grew in the corners, and a pane of glass was missing from the window—it looked dilapidated.

But for some reason, Lin Xiuhe found it pleasing to the eye.

It's even more pleasing to the eye than the Lin family's courtyard.

Because it's quiet here. No one scolds her, no one forces her to give up her things, and no one covets the money in her pocket.

With that thought in mind, she pushed open the door.

squeak-

The wooden door made a grating sound.

A dusty smell wafted from the warehouse. Lin Xiuhe coughed twice and, by the moonlight, could see what was inside: a pile of scrap wood in the corner, a thick layer of dust on the ground, and several rats that had been startled and darted into the darkness.

If it were her previous life, she would definitely feel timid if she were alone in such a remote place.

But at this moment, she actually curved the corners of her mouth into a smile.

Compared to the scheming and manipulative nature of human beings, a few mice are far more innocent and pure.

She put down the package, rolled up her sleeves, and began to unpack.

First, sweep the floor, then move the wooden planks, cover the windows with old paper, and then find a few bricks to build a makeshift bed in the corner.

By the time I finished, my forehead was covered in sweat, and the moon had risen higher.

The warehouse was still dilapidated, but it finally looked somewhat habitable.

Lin Xiuhe sat on the wooden board and let out a long breath.

After tidying up, I was exhausted, but I felt more at ease than ever before.

This small, dilapidated space was the first piece of land in her life that completely belonged to her.

She took her salary out of her bag.

Twenty-four yuan lay quietly in my palm under the moonlight.

In her past life, she had never seriously looked at her salary—because as soon as she received it, she had to hand it over.

But things are different now.

She unfolded the bills one by one and counted them carefully. Twenty-four yuan, plus the forty-eight yuan she had saved before—a total of seventy-two yuan.

Seventy-two.

The number made her pause for a moment.

When I was dying in my previous life, I only had seven dollars and thirty cents left in my savings account.

Now, she is seventy-two, ten times more than she was at the end of her previous life.

Thinking of this, she suddenly laughed out loud.

As I laughed, my eyes started to well up with tears.

It wasn't sadness, it was joy—the joy of finally having my life back in my own hands.

Just then, footsteps suddenly came from outside the door.

It's very light, yet clear.

Lin Xiuhe's nerves tensed instantly, and she subconsciously put the money away.

Who?

She suddenly stood up and looked towards the door.

Under the moonlight, a figure stood there, tall and thin, backlit, so his face was not visible.

"Who?" Lin Xiuhe's voice turned cold.

There was a two-second silence outside the door, then a familiar voice came from outside: "It's me."

Lin Xiuhe was stunned.

Zhou Zhiyuan?

How did he end up here?

The next second, the man emerged from the shadows, carrying a burlap sack.

"Director Zhao sent me," he said. "He said that since you moved out, the warehouse is drafty and cold at night."

As he spoke, he placed the sack at the doorway.

Lin Xiuhe subconsciously looked down—inside were an old cotton quilt and two honeycomb briquettes.

The air suddenly became quiet.

Lin Xiuhe stood there, stunned.

In her past life, she rarely received kindness from others, so when faced with this situation, she didn't know what to say.

"Why are you helping me?" she couldn't help but ask.

Zhou Zhiyuan was silent for a moment: "It's not that I'm helping you, it's that I'm afraid you'll freeze to death."

His tone was calm, even somewhat indifferent.

But for some reason, Lin Xiuhe suddenly wanted to laugh.

This person always talks like this—even when they're doing something good, they never admit it.

"Please thank Director Zhao for me," she said softly.

Zhou Zhiyuan nodded, but did not leave immediately.

He glanced at the warehouse: "Living alone?"

"Um."

"Where's the lock?"

"What lock?"

Zhou Zhiyuan frowned: "Door lock."

Lin Xiuhe was stunned; she really hadn't thought of that.

In her past life, living in the Lin family's house, she had no concept of locking doors. But now, as a young woman living alone in an abandoned warehouse without a lock, it was indeed unsafe.

"I'll buy it tomorrow," she said.

Zhou Zhiyuan nodded: "Tie it up with a rope before tomorrow. Don't open the door to strangers tonight."

After saying that, he turned and left. His words were still decisive, without uttering a single unnecessary word.

Lin Xiuhe stood at the door, watching his figure disappear into the night, and a strange feeling suddenly arose in her heart.

This person always seems to be able to think of many things in advance—one step ahead of her.

She shook her head, closed the door, and then, as Zhou Zhiyuan had instructed, found a rope and tied the door shut from the inside.

After doing all this, she crawled into the old quilt.

The warehouse is still drafty, but it's much warmer than before.

Moonlight streamed in through the cracks in the window, all was quiet. There were no arguments, no insults, and no one knocked on the door demanding their wages.

At that moment, Lin Xiuhe suddenly felt that this was probably the most peaceful night she had ever slept in both her lives.

In the darkness, she slowly closed her eyes, a slight smile on her lips.

Tomorrow will be better.

But she didn't know.

Not far from the warehouse, Zhou Zhiyuan did not leave immediately.

He stood there for a while in the darkness, making sure the lights in the warehouse were off, before turning and leaving.

The wind rustled through the treetops, and no one heard him mutter a soft murmur:

"Not this time."