"You say Stuart is such a good man, how did he end up with a woman like Annette?""No kidding. I heard this Annette has a lover in the City, and she still hasn't slept with Stuart.""Really? Poor Captain Stuart, married but not allowed to touch his wife—so precious she is.""I think Stuart's just too kind. Women like that need a good beating to behave.""Right, right! A wife who's been beaten is like kneaded dough—should be beaten hard!"
Annette stood expressionless behind the door, listening to the ruthless gossip of several women outside. Who would have thought, just two hours ago, this body had a different soul inside?
She had just returned from an international medical academic conference. On the way to the airport, she met with a car accident, and when she woke up, her soul had transmigrated into the body of a young wife also named Annette.
It took her two hours to barely accept the fact that she had traveled back to 1977—a time when there was almost nothing, and even food was scarce.
On top of that, she had to face the reality of being married.
The original Annette was twenty years old, a city girl who had married Stuart three months ago. Stuart worked in a top-secret nuclear security unit and lived over 200 kilometers away from the City in the mountains. Their marriage was cold and distant.
Recalling the original Annette's memories, Annette felt "cold" wasn't strong enough to describe their relationship; it was more like daily skirmishes.
Stuart came from a rural background. The original Annette looked down on him, always sensing he reeked of country dirt. Her disdain showed on her face, and her words were sharp and sarcastic.
She forbade him from sleeping in the same bed and even refused to eat at the same table.
When in a bad mood, she threw tantrums, smashed things, cursed, while Stuart silently left without ever confronting her.
The original Annette's relationship with neighbors was even more complicated!
Their small housing compound was mostly inhabited by Stuart's coworkers, many of whom had rural wives. Naturally, the original Annette looked down on these "country bumpkins," sneering whenever she met them.
Annette felt a headache thinking about the original's arrogant behavior. And Stuart never lost his temper once—it was as if he was a ninja turtle-level patient man.
No wonder the women outside were gossiping so loudly about her.
Another question bugged Annette: with all this trouble, why hadn't the original woman divorced him?
Annette glanced around the simple house—a two-room cottage. Inside, the bedroom belonged to the original Annette. Aside from a double bed, a nightstand, and a small three-drawer table, there was no other furniture.
The outer room, near the mountain-facing wall, had a single bed with a neatly folded army green quilt—it was Stuart's.
Next to it was a cupboard for dishes, a stove, and a small dining table.
The floor was hard-packed dirt, swept clean but bare and humble.
Annette sighed deeply. In this era, where going out required permission, meals required tickets, and sugar and oil were rationed, she had no clue how to survive.
Outside, the women resumed discussing what to eat for lunch. Annette's stomach growled; apparently, the original Annette had thrown a fit last night, skipped dinner, and gone straight to bed without breakfast this morning.
Then suddenly, she woke up as Annette.
Rubbing her belly, Annette figured the original's constant poor eating and bad temper had caused myocardial ischemia and a temporary shock. Seizing that gap, her soul traveled here.
As an excellent surgeon, Annette never abused her body. Since she might temporarily inhabit this body, she resolved to take care of it, eat well, and then plan how to live.
Shivering at the thought, she realized late March in the Northwest was still bitterly cold. Outside the snow was melting, but inside without fire, the room was like an icebox.
She touched the cold stove. Raised in a wealthy family, Annette had no idea how to light a fire here.
Thinking it over, she decided to ask for help.
Opening the door, bright sunlight stabbed her eyes; she blinked and looked out.
Several women sunbathing nearby stood up, some carrying children and hurried away.
Two stayed behind, watching her warily.
Annette had a headache. Though she didn't know their names, the original Annette had quarreled with them before.
One, wearing a blue floral cotton jacket, was a neighbor. The original Annette had once splashed water on her window and cursed her for causing smoke while cooking dry chili.
The other, with short bobbed hair and a round face, seemed honest. She was carrying a child who cried loudly at noon, disturbing the original's nap.
The original had shouted unreasonable insults in the yard—telling the woman she didn't know how to raise kids, should just throw the child away, or strangle it if it cried again.
Because Stuart held a high position, these wives dared not confront the original directly but hated her fiercely behind her back.
Annette felt troubled by the original's misdeeds and didn't know how to respond.
When Annette opened the door and didn't curse them back, the two women exchanged glances, gathered their things, and hurried home, slamming their doors as if Annette was some kind of monster.
Standing in the yard, Annette squinted at the row of houses—eight units per row, each with two rooms and a small front yard.
Neighbors had already cleared snow and prepared to plant vegetables and raise chickens once the weather warmed.
But the original Annette's yard was messy, piled with sticks and branches, with coal lumps stored in the corner by the window.
Annette took a deep breath. With no one to turn to, she would have to rely on herself.
Though she had never made a fire, she had seen many survival shows. As long as she could light the sticks and then add coal, the stove would warm the room.
She rolled up her sleeves, started gathering the sticks and branches, and carried them inside to prepare the fire.
But the wood was too damp, and with no experience, even newspaper wouldn't light.
Finally, she had an idea—she poured the last bit of cooking oil from an enamel basin onto the sticks.
This time the fire caught—but thick smoke billowed instantly, filling the entire room.
Annette had never suffered like this—coughing and tearing up, she kept throwing coal into the stove.
"Boss, your house is on fire!"
Stuart was returning from work with colleagues when he saw black smoke rising from the direction of his home.
Frowning, he grabbed his lunchbox and rushed back.
Though Annette didn't want a real relationship with him, his promise still bound him to care for her.
He couldn't let anything happen to her here.
He kicked open the door. Thick smoke hit his face. Inside, he saw Annette crouched on the floor, eyes red and watering like a stray cat, looking up at him.