The beloved but ungrateful girl is reborn: This time she has truly changed.

Ding Weijun put down the jar, placed his hands on his knees, and looked at her with a confident expression.

After a long pause, he finally spoke:

"Sweetie, I really like you."

Tang Tiantian's brows furrowed immediately.

She wasn't moved, nor did she pretend to be.

After being detained in the detention center for several days, she had lost all interest in acting.

All she wants to figure out right now is one thing—what exactly does this household registration booklet mean?

"What exactly are you trying to say?!"

Ding Weijun leaned back in his chair and slowly sighed.

That sigh carried a hint of self-mockery, a touch of weariness, and an undeniable, accountant-like calm:

"Sweetie, because of you, I've ruined my reputation."

Tang Tiantian immediately retorted, "Isn't this the fault of the person you asked to make the connection? He messed things up! Wasn't that Officer Lü? I've had my eye on him for a while now—" "Tiantian," Ding Weijun interrupted her, his tone gentle, but his eyes held an undeniable restraint, "Let's not drag others into this."

He paused for a moment, then tapped his fingers lightly on the edge of the table, each tap sounding like an abacus bead falling to the ground.

"What's done is done. Now, let's talk about how to fix it."

Tang Tiantian looked at him warily: "Make amends?"

Ding Weijun waved the household registration booklet in his hand.

The purplish-red cover gleamed with a dull luster under the dim light, like a piece of congealed blood.

"This document may or may not be yours. Do you want it?"

Tang Tiantian clenched her fists.

She had lost patience with him going in circles.

From the moment he opened the door, the way he looked at her changed. It was no longer the infatuation that had blinded him with her beauty, but a calculating scrutiny.

She felt the chill rise from her feet all the way up her spine.

"What exactly do you mean, Weijun? I don't understand." Ding Weijun spoke slowly, as if reading the terms of an official document.

"You are currently out on bail pending trial, not released."

In other words, he could be arrested and imprisoned at any time.

Your case is egregious—you forged an identity, attempted bigamy, and the victim was…me.

Moreover, you are a repeat offender.

Last time it was because of adultery, this time it's because of forgery.

He'll definitely be sentenced severely. Guess how many years he'll get?

Tang Tiantian's face turned even paler, and suddenly, it dawned on her:

"Wait... this courtyard, could it be the same shabby little courtyard you gave me before?!"

Ding Weijun clapped his hands, a smile of approval spreading across his face, like a teacher seeing a slow learner finally solve the problem correctly:

"Smart, quick to understand."

He pulled a piece of paper from under the old newspapers on the table and placed it next to the household registration book. It was a property deed.

The name at the end of the signature is also "Lü Xinhua".

The main room was so quiet that you could hear the ticking of the old-fashioned clock on the wall.

Tang Tiantian stared at the two things on the table and suddenly understood everything.

Bail pending trial, picking her up from prison, bringing her to this dilapidated courtyard—every step was meticulously planned.

He held her lifeline in his hands, and now he was going to negotiate with her.

She looked up at Ding Weijun's gentle smiling face, and the disguise in her eyes peeled away layer by layer, revealing the coldness beneath.

"Speak your terms."

Ding Weijun smiled, put away the property deed and household registration book, leaned back in his chair, and placed his hands folded on his lower abdomen.

"Great. I've reached an agreement with 'the higher-ups,' and I'll apply for medical retirement. As for you, you can live under the identity of Lü Xinhua from now on."

Tang Tiantian was still confused: "Then, what is my current identity?"

Ding Weijun spread his hands as if demonstrating something perfectly obvious: "Tang Tiantian escaped from prison and her whereabouts are unknown."

Tang Tiantian was stunned for a long time.

Looking into Ding Weijun's cloudy yet shrewd eyes and his calm, old face, she suddenly felt a chill run from the soles of her feet all the way to the top of her head.

This man, in the interrogation room of the disciplinary committee, during the investigation, in the desperate situation of being betrayed by his daughter, betrayed by his confidant, and disgraced, was still able to pull himself out of the mire step by step, and was still able to calmly arrange his false identity.

This kind of scheming, this kind of calmness, this kind of ruthless decisiveness, is the most terrifying thing she has ever seen in her past and present lives.

She nodded.

The movements were slow and gentle, like a deflated balloon slowly collapsing.

"Weijun, you haven't stated your conditions yet."

Ding Weijun's smile deepened.

He leaned forward, his voice as gentle as the warm afternoon sun in late autumn:

Tang Tiantian's pupils suddenly contracted. Giving birth to children.

These four words were like four icicles, piercing into her skull.

He never mentioned those four words.

She looked at Ding Weijun's wrinkled face, his gray hair and loose skin, and the sense of entitlement in his cloudy eyes.

She suddenly understood many things—Ding Weijun had no son.

He only had two daughters; his younger daughter died long ago, and his elder daughter sent him to the Discipline Inspection Commission.

He needs a son to carry on the family line, a young body to continue his lineage, and someone to care for him in his old age and see him off in his final days.

She finally understood—her value in this man's eyes was never love.

It is the uterus.

It is a young, healthy uterus capable of bearing sons.

A bone-chilling fear, like a cold snake, coiled around her from her ankles, along her calves, thighs, and waist, tightening its grip until she could hardly breathe.

Ding Weijun seemed oblivious to the fear in her eyes, or perhaps he did notice it but didn't care. He continued, his tone relaxed, even slightly nonchalant:

"Don't worry, even though I retired due to illness, my monthly salary is still a hundred yuan, which is enough for my family to live comfortably."

Tang Tiantian lowered her eyelashes, casting a shadow that concealed the fleeting contempt in her eyes.

A salary of 100 yuan.

In 1977, one hundred dollars could indeed support a family.

But she is someone who has returned from her past life.

She knew that in a few years, with the wave of reform and opening up, prices would skyrocket, and a hundred-yuan salary would become worthless.

In the late 1980s, one hundred yuan was not enough to treat someone to a decent meal.

By the 1990s, they couldn't even afford a decent dress.

But what she said was something else entirely:

"Weijun, how could I possibly refuse?"

Her voice softened, as gentle as spring water in March. She raised her eyes, her eyelashes glistening, her eyes brimming with tears that were about to fall.

"I originally intended to live a good life with you."

All I want in this life is to marry someone who cares for me and live a good life together.

I'm just a simple woman; all I ask for is three meals a day and my husband's love.