There is no God in this world. No one can truly change another. Those who try to manipulate human nature with words will inevitably face backlash—and An Baili is Lu Li’s. To this day, Lu Li remains blind: the fault lies not with An Baili, but with himself. He molded her, forcing her into a life never meant for her, draining them both until despair finally shattered her.
And now, he does the same to Chu Jingyi—controlling her joys and sorrows, her every smile, her slightest frown. This world runs on mutual manipulation. Even Chu Xiaodong pulls Lu Li’s strings. It’s an inescapable web. Few ever wake up enough to crawl free.
*
An Baili’s backpack dangled a frog plushie—dull-furred, oddly shaped, utterly hideous. She set the bag by her feet, fished a key from her pocket, and moved to unlock the door. For most, “going home” meant warmth. Not for her. She hated it. No matter how many times she reincarnated, she never wanted to return to her “parents’ house.”
A child’s happiest home has both parents. If destiny demanded greatness, being orphaned like Lu Li might even be tolerable. But the cruelest homes were single-parent households. Hers was exactly that.
She crossed the relatively tidy living room. Her father, An Gula, lay slumped drunk on the sofa. The TV flickered with dull health supplement ads—unpaid bills had cut the signal. As An Baili stepped forward to switch it off, a rustle behind made her instinctively shrink back.
“Don’t turn it off! I’m not asleep!” The roar boomed like a megaphone.
Despite lifetimes of experience, that impatient, nightmare-voiced shout still froze her. The very sound that shattered her first life. She touched her glasses—confirmed they sat straight, her bangs still in place—then turned shakily.
“I thought you were asleep.”
An Gula bellowed, “What eyes do you have? Can’t see I’m awake? Go cook! Now!”
Head bowed, An Baili shuffled to the kitchen. Disgust burned behind her eyes. Yesterday’s clean kitchen was trashed again—beer spilled everywhere, a massive footprint stamped on the stove. What drunken rampage had he gone on this time? As she gathered broken glass, she fantasized driving a shard into his throat, watching him choke in despair.
She hastily fried rice, carried the bowl toward the living room. Before reaching the door, sobs echoed inside. Utterly normal. An Gula swung between hysterical rages and self-pitying tears. Neither had anything to do with his daughter. If she dared ask, fists and kicks would follow—leaving bruises she couldn’t hide under short sleeves for weeks.
She set the bowl silently by the door, moving like a hunter evading a beast.
Through the crack, she saw him clutching his late wife’s photo, weeping. How many tears for someone dead sixteen years? Year after year—could crying really bring her back? An Baili shot him a disdainful glance, climbed upstairs, and locked her door carefully.
Two years until graduation. Two more years of this. In moments like these, she missed Lu Li fiercely. At her desk, three dried pen refills lay—she’d written the entire proposal with them. Too afraid to turn on the light, she’d cracked the window and written by moonlight.
A door creaked downstairs. An Gula heading out again. “Drinking” was generous—he was just a penniless man shamelessly mooching beer off construction workers. Everyone knew he milked sympathy with tales of his dead wife. At first, someone might buy him a six-yuan iced beer. Now? Only disgusted stares followed him.
Peeking from the window, An Baili watched him leave wrapped in that outdated black leather jacket—the “birthday gift from Mother,” his most prized possession. He valued it more than his daughter. Ironic: in her last life, he’d been murdered wearing it.
She cursed him to die sooner. Hoped the robber would come early this time.
Only after he left did she slip into the bathroom. She removed the ugly glasses, pushed up her thick bangs, and revealed her face. Tacked beside the mirror was her mother’s photo—a radiant, graceful young woman, ninety percent her mirror image. Her mother. Though An Baili never met her, her shadow filled the house… thanks to her “devoted” father.
Ugliness was never her choice. What girl doesn’t want to be pretty? Her sharpest memory: age twelve. As her face grew closer to her mother’s, An Gula’s rages worsened. That day, returning home, she saw his gloomy face twist into a monster’s snarl. *You killed her. You should never have been born!* He beat the twelve-year-old mercilessly. Only a passerby’s call to police saved her.
A terrible memory. Had she looked different… would he have been kinder?
Now, admiring her reflection, recalling sweet moments with Lu Li, she hummed softly. She loved music. The darker life grew, the louder she sang—to keep madness at bay, unlike An Gula.
She narrowed her eyes, mimicking Lu Li’s voice: “Baili… I’m sorry. It was my fault. Forgive me. Let me be with you again.”
A smile bloomed, widening as if he’d truly spoken. She knew it was a lie—yet clung to it like an addict. Then—Zou Yameng. Chu Jingyi. Her smile faded. Chu Jingyi was just a kid who hadn’t even grown up yet (?). But Zou Yameng? A notorious man-stealer. And Lu Li remained utterly defenseless against her.
What if he never returned? Simple. Remove the women circling him. Like the last man and woman on earth—they’d have no choice but to be together. A dark thought curled in her mind.
No more waiting. Wen Amber would transfer soon. She wouldn’t let Lu Li’s love sway toward her again—not like the first life. No matter how many times she reincarnated, Lu Li was hers. Only hers.
In the mirror, An Baili was young, beautiful—but her expression dark, seductive. A witch rising from the abyss.
(Episode 1: Rebirth Chronicles – Concluded)
