Previous Life Memories

The sky was dark and heavy, like it might burst any second. Thunder rumbled somewhere far off, but the rain was already here—pouring hard in the stone courtyard. In the middle of it all, Han Chen knelt in the mud. His clothes were stuck to him, and the ground under his knees felt like cold glue.

His face was pale, and even though he usually looked calm, right now you could see everything he was feeling. It wasn't just sadness or anger. It was something worse, something that made his chest hurt so bad he almost couldn't breathe. Like that time he'd watched his dad being shouted at by his own relatives and forced to leave his ancestral home when he was a kid, and there was nothing he could do.

He rubbed his chest, still sore from the kick earlier. His mind was a mess, replaying the scene over and over. A few minutes later, two people—a man and a woman—stepped outside to meet him. They appear dressed in a hurry.

"Pathetic." He heard the sneer.

The word stung. Han Chen didn't look up. He knew that voice—Zhao Lin. Of course it was him.

Zhao Lin stood under the roof, his fancy jacket he just put on, untouched by rain. He looked down at Han Chen like he was trash stuck to his shoe. "You really thought Xu Qing would come back? Apologize? To you? She is mine now."

Han Chen's hands sank deeper into the mud. It felt like cold. He bit his cheek hard. Don't cry. Don't let him win.

"You're not worth anything," Zhao Lin said, pulling Xu Qing closer. She didn't push him away. Just stared at Han Chen like he was a stranger.

Xu Qing sighed. "Stop being naive. Forget me. You'll move on and it's the best for you."

That made me look up to her to see any trace of hesitation on her. Holding onto the naive idea that Zhao is forcing her. But what followed made myself feel worthless.

As if declaring something, she kissed Zhao Lin. Not a quick peck—a real kiss. The kind Han Chen used to dream about. His throat tightened. Seeing her pleasant expressions, something broke inside him. His eyes watered. He didn't know if it was rain or tears. She was his childhood friend. They made promises. He helped her with whatever he had, time, effort, money and selfless love only to be where he is now.

Zhao Lin cracked his knuckles. "Let's make sure you understand it better. Next time knock on the door before you enter as you really interrupted the little fun time we had back in room."

The first punch knocked Han Chen sideways. He didn't fight back. Why bother? More hits came. Feet kicked his ribs. By the end, he lay in the mud, tasting blood. " That's enough, Lin. Look at him, any more he will be unconscious. It's not worth it, let's go over to your house." May be due to a trace of affection she had on him; she pulled Zhao back when he was about to seriously injure him. "...Hmm coward." Zhao acquiesced reluctantly.

Their laughter faded as they walked away. Xu Qing's giggle stuck in his head.

It took forever to stand. His legs shook. Thanks to some people who came to his support, he managed to get back, though not to the hospital but to his safe place. His "apartment" was just one room with a lumpy mattress. Crawling over, he fell onto the floor, rain mixed with died blood dripping off his clothes. 

He stared at the ceiling. His chest hurt. But he wasn't crying. Not really. Just… tired. So tired.

...

Months later, disaster struck, and it didn't come quietly. Han Chen's parents and grandfather—his entire world—were gone. Just like that. A car crash, they said. Suspicious, Han Chen thought. Returning from picking up his grandfather, the car collided with a truck in one of those, surveillance-free zones where bad things happen. The vehicle skidded, twisted, and flew off the road. No survivors. Not his parents. Not his grandfather. Not even the bodyguard.

Grief hit him. It didn't just linger—it burrowed deep, clawing at him from the inside out. Alone in the collapsing shell of his house, Han Chen couldn't escape it. Anger simmered just beneath the surface, hot and restless. Angry at the crash. Angry at the universe. Angry at himself for being so damn powerless.

What he didn't know—what he couldn't have guessed—was that his grandfather had left him something. A will. A lifeline, maybe. But that lifeline? Gone. Stolen. The main family had swooped in, bribing the notary before Han Chen even got wind of it. The inheritance wasn't the whole family fortune, sure. But it was enough to matter. Enough to make Han Chen independent. Dangerous, even. And the main family wasn't about to let that happen.

They acted fast. Publicly, they played the part of the grieving relatives. "Reconciliation," they called it. A warm welcome back into the fold. Privately, it was about control. If Han Chen walked into their embrace, he'd be walking into a cage. His inheritance would vanish, just like everything else in his life.

But Han Chen? He was a mess. A desperate, lost, grieving mess. Easy prey.

The emissary came wrapped in a cloak of false kindness. Smooth words, practiced smiles.

"You've suffered enough, Han Chen," they said, their voice low and warm, like they actually cared. "Your grandfather believed in you. The family wants to honor his wishes. We want to give you the chance he dreamed of for you."

It was like throwing gasoline on dying embers. The words lit something in him—a spark of hope, or maybe desperation masquerading as hope. He latched on, hard. Maybe this was his way out. Maybe this was how he'd prove himself. He naively thought that affection in blood of same root, run deep. And Xu Qing? Oh, she'd regret it. Regret every damn thing.

Not long after Han Chen came back, the family showed their cards. They wanted him to marry some big-shot's daughter—a girl who'd been stuck in bed ever since a bad accident. Turns out she was supposed to marry the main family's golden boy first, but nobody wants a bride who can't walk or talk anymore. So guess who got stuck with the job?

"Do this," they told him, all solemn-like, "and you'll make your grandfather's spirit proud. Pay back the family's kindness."

Han Chen almost said no. Almost. But then he thought about the money he needed, the revenge he craved. Fine, he decided. Marry a stranger. Use their resources. What's the worst that could happen? Anyway it's in name only, right?

Trick was, the family never planned to let him win. Lawyers drew up papers so tight, Han Chen couldn't buy a cup of coffee without their say-so. The marriage? Just another leash. Meanwhile, the family shook hands with their new allies, smirking behind his back.

He wasn't an orphan before. He was cared and treated with love and care from his parents and he grew dependent on it. Now loosing that, suddenly pushed on adult responsibilities, he wasn't careful enough.

Han Chen didn't see it. He moved into a small house on the edge of the estate with Yue Lan—his new wife. He'd barely heard her name before the wedding. They said she'd been something once: top job at a fancy company, sharp as a tack, always traveling. Then the accident. Now she just… lay there. Breathing.

Sometimes, when he changed her IV bag, he'd notice old photos on the dresser among her documents. Yue Lan climbing mountains. Yue Lan accepting awards. Yue Lan alive.

He'd stare at those pictures too long, until his chest ached.

Yue Lan had once been successful and lively, working a CTO job that made her family proud. An accident took away her career and happiness, leaving her completely dependent on others. She now lay motionless, communicating only through faint sounds while her watchful eyes tracked Han Chen's movements around their home.

Their marriage had started as a practical arrangement. Han Chen initially tried to build a decent life together, using family funds and occasional relative support to care for her. But his attempts at stock trading failed due to inexperience, and odd jobs barely paid the bills.

As years passed, help from Yue Lan's family dried up. Han Chen found himself alone in a draining routine of constant caregiving. The woman he tended daily remained an enigma - her silent presence a mirror reflecting dreams neither could reach anymore.

Nineteen Years Later

Nearly two decades of quiet endurance came to an unceremonious end. Yue Lan passed away, blood clots in her legs finally catching up to her after years of immobility. It wasn't dramatic—no gasping farewells or hospital chaos. Just quiet, sudden, and unnervingly final. Only he was by her side, just reached her to see her taking a final look at him and taking a deep breath.

Han Chen hadn't loved her, not in the way people write poems about. But her presence had become a fixture in his life, as essential and unnoticed as breathing. And now, with her gone, the hollowness swallowed him whole. He had poured out what little happiness he got, what tragedies he had to her, now that silent listener also gone. 

Meanwhile, life went on for everyone else.

His ex-girlfriend—remember her? The one who shattered him all those years ago? She was a household name now, the nation's sweetheart, praised for her warmth and charm. Irony, anyone? She had gone from a businesswoman to an actress, a seamless transition that only someone like her could pull off. Married four times, currently with her fourth husband, she now had two kids and a smile that graced every screen in the country.

And Zhao Lin? The man who'd made his teenage years a living hell? Thriving, of course. Married, successful, sitting atop a ridiculously profitable company. Life had handed him the golden ticket, while Han Chen had been left with crumbs. Ofcourse only comfort is Xu Qing dumped him way earlier, going so far as to remove any traces of their contact from social medias and internet.

The years had dulled Han Chen's pain, but they hadn't healed it. If anything, they'd left him numb.

With Yue Lan gone, so too went the last of his ties. No family. No friends. Nothing to anchor him. He drifted back into the shadows of his old life, picking up odd jobs to keep the lights on. The boy who had once dreamed of rising above his station—of proving himself—was gone. In his place stood a man who had forgotten how to dream.

Five Years Later

Han Chen's story ended as quietly as it had continued. A small, rented room, the kind you pass by without noticing, was where they found him. The cause of death? "Natural causes," the paperwork claimed. But those few who still knew his name whispered otherwise. "A broken heart," they said. "His spirit died long before his body gave up."

And that could have been the end. Should have been the end.

But it wasn't.

Because sometimes, stories don't really start until after the curtain falls.