Part 1
Summer vacation was approaching. After the high school entrance exams, my sister-in-law went viral because of her instagram video about picking wild mushrooms.
The video gained a lot of attention. She suggested that the whole family take a trip out of the province to go mushroom picking.
I tried to warn them. “There are many kinds of wild mushrooms, even locals can’t always tell which ones are poisonous. For outsiders like us, it’s easy to make a deadly mistake.”
My in-laws twisted my warning into something cruel, accusing me of cursing her out of jealousy and the trip went ahead anyway
On the day of the trip, someone slipped poisonous mushrooms into our meal. I remembered the taste, the burning in my throat and the foam at my mouth. By the time the ambulance arrived, it was too late. They all blamed me. My husband even testified, claiming they had warned me, saying it was my own stubbornness that caused it.
I died from the poisoning—angry, confused, knowing someone had set me up. As everything faded to black, I saw a light. Reaching for it, I opened my eyes... back on the day my sister-in-law first mentioned the mushroom-picking trip. This time, I smiled and agreed.
“Wild mushrooms are full of nutrients. It’ll be a perfect brain boost for her after those exams.”
My head was still spinning. The memory of my stomach churning and throat tightening from the poisonous mushrooms hadn’t completely faded. My sister-in-law, lounging on the couch, snapped me back to the present by tossing a slipper at me.
“Are you even listening? You’re slow to respond—typical for someone without much education.”
I glanced at the slipper in my hand and realized I wasn’t in hiking gear but in an apron and plastic gloves. My body didn’t ache and there were no needle-like pains from the toxins. Yet the memory of that awful smell made me dry heave. That physical reaction, combined with everything else, made it clear: I got my second chance as I had been reborn.
***
My dry heaving alarmed everyone. My mother-in-law rushed forward. “Sarah, are you pregnant?”
My husband chimed in. “Should we go to the hospital? If you are pregnant, climbing up mountains for mushrooms isn’t a good idea.”
My mother-in-law nodded. “Exactly. This is your first child—you should be careful. You can’t go climbing if you're expecting.”
My sister-in-law’s face turned red with anger. Before I could explain, she jumped up, smashed a glass on the floor and yelled, “Married for three years and no baby, but now, as soon as I suggest a trip, you suddenly get pregnant? You’re just trying to spoil my fun because you’re jealous I got into college! You don’t want me to become a video star because then I’d overshadow you huh?”
In my previous life, I’d tried to stop her from going on that trip too.
Growing up in the mountains, I had seen too many locals fall victim to poisonous mushrooms, sometimes with fatal consequences.
But in my past live, my mother-in-law had accused me of cursing her daughter
“You’re worse than the deadliest mushroom! My daughter just finished her exams and you have the nerve to curse her like that because you’re jealous she’s going to college.”
My father-in-law slapped me so hard my eardrum ruptured, while my husband stayed silent. Instead of taking me to the hospital, they hurriedly packed the next day and dragged me along up the mountain.
But now in this lifetime, I smiled at them all and said gently, “It’s fine, we’ve already booked the flights. We’ll handle the baby stuff when we get back. We can’t make my sister-in-law miss out just because of me. She’s at her peak right now—she’s the princess of this family. Plus, wild mushrooms are incredibly nutritious and after all those exams, she could use a brain boost. The baby will rely on their aunt to be strong.”
My sister-in-law beamed with satisfaction at my support, immediately pulling everyone to pack for the trip. I smiled the entire time, giving my husband a look that assured him I was on board.
Chapter 2Part 2
I knew I wasn't pregnant. My husband had been diagnosed with amblyopia before we married, something he kept hidden from his family.
It was likely because of this condition that he agreed to marry me, someone with less education. Meanwhile, I only had my period regularly like everyone else.
In this lifetime, I would try to take advantage of the situation by faking pregnant and would get all of them to suffer what I endured.
Back to the present, I experienced dry heaving. I guessed this was simply a physical reaction to the memory of the poisonous mushrooms from my previous life.
However, pretending to be pregnant could work in my favor. It gave me an extra layer of protection.
After a long journey—planes, high-speed trains and buses—everyone collapsed exhausted at the bed-and-breakfast. While my sister-in-law complained about everything, I stood quietly by the window, gazing at the familiar mountain scenery. The fresh air brought a small sense of peace to my otherwise troubled heart.
"Mom, there are too many mosquitoes in this room. I want to switch with you!" my sister-in-law whined.
"And this place is filthy! It’ll ruin my clothes for tomorrow’s livestream. Here, wash them by hand," she continued to nag at me.
I took the clothes she threw at me and asked casually, "Since we're picking mushrooms tomorrow, do you want to go over the plan tonight?"
She snorted, "What's there to plan? It's just mushrooms. My fans love it when I'm clueless—it gets me traffic. You're just my lackey tomorrow, fetching props. Stay out of the way."
I smiled and replied, "Of course. I’ll leave it all to you."
Using my “pregnancy” as an excuse, I tossed my dirty clothes to my husband, who reluctantly braved the cold night to hand-wash his sister’s things. He returned frozen and shivering.
Growing up in the mountains with my grandparents, I learned to recognize mushrooms well, even if I wasn’t an expert. By high school, I had dropped out and started working in the city, slowly building my way up to becoming a factory owner. Though I couldn't identify every mushroom, I knew enough to distinguish between the more dangerous ones and those that were safe to eat.
Yet, my husband had never been interested in stories from my childhood in the village. His most common remark was, "Stop talking about the village. It's embarrassing if people hear."
He always said he didn’t mind that I was from the countryside, but he feared what others might think.
Despite his attitude, I knew my worth. My factory had helped his family prosper. But in this life, I would do things differently. I’d listen to my sister-in-law. If she wanted me to stay out of the way, I would—far away. Let them deal with their own mess.
Part 3
The next morning, we got up one after another. I prepared our suitcase earlier and have breathable warm clothes to put on.
This time, my sister-in-law didn't have a jacket or warm clothes to put on because she had let me wash her clothes and I ensured they didn't dry, using the cold mountain air as an excuse.
"After throwing a tantrum and receiving considerable persuasion from her family, my sister-in-law reluctantly put on the worn-out scarf handed to her by the lodging owner.
In my previous life, they had packed their luggage in a hurry and failed to prepare adequate clothing for me. The mountain was cold and wet and I ended up wearing that same worn-out scarf from the lodging owner while having a meager breakfast. It felt unjust, especially considering all I had done for this family."
In my previous life, I had worn a worn-out scarf borrowed from the lodging owner, which was extremely ill-fitting. The mountain's humidity, combined with the early morning rain, made me shiver uncontrollably. I soon caught a cold and my fever quickly spiked to nearly 40 degrees. I begged them to take me to the village health center to get some medicine, but I was refused.
This time, I let my sister-in-law suffer in my place while I silently relished the small bit of justice in my heart
In my past life, she used harsh words when I caught a fever. “How long will it take us to get there with your slow pace? Can you move faster? You’re wasting my time”.
The worst one is: “We’ve all been through this. You’re not a princess”.
With my head burning, I had to be dragged up the mountain to continue the live broadcast.
Because my ears were perforated on one side and I was already deaf, I didn't hear my sister-in-law drumming up poisonous mushrooms behind my back and mixing them into my meal.
Not caring whether it was cooked or not, they forcefully poured the soup containing poisonous fungus into my mouth, which was already close to unconsciousness with high fever and I was powerless to resist, so I could only let them do whatever they wanted.
But this time, I was well-prepared. On the contrary, my sister-in-law was only concerned about choosing bright and sexy poor quality hiking clothes. Compared to my previous life, her warmth was greatly reduced.
When we reached the entrance to the mountain, I was already familiar with the terrain from my previous experiences and we had locals serving as our tour guides. These guides typically taught travelers to identify common poisonous and edible mushrooms, which was a scientific approach highly recommended by the local Culture and Tourism Bureau and praised in five-star reviews.
This was a great value-for-money service for regular travelers. However, my mother-in-law's family was not so easygoing. When it came to covering their daily expenses, they all conveniently ignored the issue, leaving me to pay the bill.
For this week-long vacation, they were aware that the village guide charged $300 for a seven-day guided tour but pretended to be too busy to handle it. I deliberately rummaged through my small pack and other bags, feigning guilt.
“I left my cell phone and wallet at the lodging, I guess it's true what they say about pregnancy making you forgetful.”
Hearing that I didn't have any money with me, they were not in a good position to reprimand me in front of outsiders and the live camera of my sister-in-law.
Instead, they pointed the finger at the village guide as an illegal tour guide and angrily slandered the village guide as a scammer organization that preys on foreign tourists.
My sister-in-law picked up her livestreaming and pointed at the village guide's face, aggressively said, “Everyone see, the local Cultural and Tourism Bureau are doing nothing. Is this the way to rip off tourists?”
“Scammer tour guide, scammer charges,” she continued.
Things got so heated that only after the village leader condescendingly apologized and offered to waive our first night's lodging fee and my sister-in-law went silent.
Seeing this, other village guides in the village would no longer be willing to be our tour guide at a later stage, no matter how much we offered.
Before the village leader left, I, who was silent beside him, apparently heard him say coldly after compensating for his smile.
“They are going to die. We can not stop.”
Part 4
As we climbed the mountain, I saw that the path had long since disappeared and my heart knew that we wouldn't find any good experience at this point. My aunt complained about the rugged terrain, unaware that this was actually the best-developed path on the mountain.
I could have led them to an undeveloped area to pick mushrooms, but I knew that the more familiar I seemed, the more they would rely on me. Acting as if this was though, I tried to look like I was struggling. I took my husband's hand and pretended to move slowly and with difficulty.
When we reached a flat area where someone had camped, my husband quickly set up the camping gear, lit a fire and created the illusion of a luxurious wilderness camp. In reality, we were only one kilometer from the base of the mountain.
With mushroom-picking season in full swing, the area near the village had long been picked clean. Our group hiked up and down the rugged trails, finding nothing but dog poops and centipedes. After searching under damp bark and rotting wood, I finally spotted a dazzling red fungus—the prize I had been hoping for.
I carefully turned my back to them and picked the fungus, one by one. When I handed them the fungi, they marveled at how beautiful they were. The vibrant red color was striking. My sister-in-law, dressed in a white undershirt after shedding the worn-out scarf provided by the lodging, eagerly showed off the fungus on her livestream. She eagerly showed off the fungus on her livestream. The viewer counted surged.
“My family, look at this beautiful mushroom I found!” she exclaimed. “Do you think it should be fried or stewed?”
Just then, the live broadcast signal faltered, causing my sister-in-law to angrily throw bottles and cans and berate us. “This terrible mountain signal—my viewership was in the thousands and now it’s dropped!”
With the signal unreliable and the day dragging on, my mother-in-law, ignoring my sister-in-law’s tantrums, eagerly dumped the red mushrooms into the pot, cooking them until the hot, bubbling aroma filled the air and chased away the chill of the mountains.
Part 5
Soon, the pot was overflowing with the rich, fresh aroma of the mushrooms, drawing my father-in-law and my husband toward it. My mother-in-law quickly realized that the small amount of mushrooms I had picked wasn’t enough to feed everyone. With a clever glint in her eye, she addressed me while serving the meal.
“Sarah, don’t eat these wild mushrooms with your pregnant belly,” she said, handing me a steamed bun from her bag. “Just have these with some water.”
The mushroom soup was divided into four bowls and my mother-in-law made sure that the bowl with the most mushrooms went to my sister-in-law, who was busy fiddling with her Smartphone. I stood quietly, clutching my dry steamed buns, waiting for them to dig in.
As they posed for a few quick photos and prepared to eat, I calmly anticipated the moment. Suddenly, my sister-in-law stood up and knocked over her bowl, spilling the soup and mushrooms onto the ground where the vegetation quickly absorbed it.
“Don’t drink it!” she shouted. The group fell silent, staring at her in confusion.
“This soup is poisonous!”