My Ex-Wife Went Straight To The Crematorium [Rebirth] - Chapter 1
1: Death
The sunlight in early May was dazzling and warm, but in the VIP ward of a renowned neurosurgery hospital abroad, a family was gathered, their hearts heavy with despair.
Feng Yue lay on the hospital bed, an oxygen mask covering her face. The thick, dark hair she once had was long gone, lost to countless rounds of chemotherapy.
Her gaze was growing hazy, yet she stared unblinkingly at the tree outside the window, where new green buds were just beginning to sprout, as if she were waiting for something.
The ward was quiet. She knew her family was outside, listening to the doctor deliver her final death sentence.
Feng Yue never imagined her life would be so short. She was only 25 years old.
And the time she had wasted on Yan Lin accounted for nearly half of her life.
Suddenly, she realized there were so many things she hadn’t done. She hadn’t traveled with her parents, hadn’t attended a single gathering with friends, hadn’t even raised a kitten, her favorite animal.
In her life, all that remained was Yan Lin—the person she had loved for twelve years.
Today was her last day in this world, and she hadn’t expected that Yan Lin wouldn’t care whether she lived or died, not even bothering to see her one last time.
The thought of Yan Lin brought tears to Feng Yue’s eyes.
She didn’t want it to be like this. She wanted to leave her family with a beautiful memory on her final day.
Feng Yue took a deep breath and reached out to pull the IV tube from the back of her hand. Without the cold liquid flowing into her veins, she vaguely felt her hand grow slightly warmer.
When Father and Mother Feng pushed open the door, they were met with the sight of Feng Yue removing her IV. Mother Feng, already struggling to control her emotions, collapsed beside her daughter’s bed.
“My baby, don’t do this, don’t!” Mother Feng’s emotions were on the verge of breaking. “We’ll find another hospital! There has to be one that can cure you!”
Feng Yue reached out to touch her mother’s cheek, wiping away her tears. With a faint smile, she said, “Mom, I’m okay. Let me be comfortable.” Let me leave comfortably.
Father Feng’s eyes reddened as well. A man who had commanded the business world for a lifetime was now speechless in the face of his dying daughter.
He stepped forward to support his wife, holding back tears as he comforted his daughter. “Don’t be afraid, my baby. Everything will be okay. It’s going to be fine.”
But everyone knew the truth. They had come into the room to accompany Feng Yue through the final moments of her life.
Besides the Feng family of three, another couple stood in the room—Yan Lin’s parents. After Feng Yue and Yan Lin’s marriage, they had naturally become her parents as well.
At this moment, they too were overcome with grief, but there was an additional emotion weighing on them.
Guilt.
Their daughter, Yan Lin, Feng Yue’s legal spouse, was not here in the ward. This fact filled them with shame.
Seeing Feng Yue’s eyes occasionally flicker toward the door, Mother Yan’s heart ached.
She steadied her emotions, forced a smile, and approached Feng Yue’s bedside.
“Xiao Yue, we’ve contacted Lin. She’s on her way and will be here soon. Don’t worry.”
Feng Yue loved Mother Yan dearly, so she couldn’t possibly vent her disappointment and grievances toward her.
Speaking was exhausting, so Feng Yue only struggled to reach under her pillow and pulled out an envelope, handing it to Mother Yan.
“Mom, please give this to her. I might not have the chance.”
Mother Yan looked at the plain envelope in her hand. On it, in Feng Yue’s handwriting, were the two characters: “Twelve.”
Holding the envelope tightly, Mother Yan felt a pang of sorrow. In that moment, she couldn’t stop blaming her daughter.
The two mothers sat on either side of Feng Yue’s bed. Feng Yue placed her slightly warm hand on her mother’s cheek.
But the effort was too much. Her hand began to tremble uncontrollably, and a sharp, piercing pain shot through her head.
The machines sustaining Feng Yue’s life let out a shrill alarm. Doctors and nurses waiting outside rushed in.
They pushed her family aside and began their final attempts to save her.
Heart-wrenching wails, the roar of machines, and the calm commands of the medical staff filled the room, a chaotic symphony in Feng Yue’s ears.
She was so tired. She just wanted to sleep…
But then, as if in a hallucination, she caught the sound of hurried footsteps echoing from the corridor outside.
That sound was familiar. It was a sound she had known for twelve years.
Feng Yue desperately wanted to open her eyes for one last look at Yan Lin, but fate seemed unkind, denying her even this small wish.
She couldn’t wait for Yan Lin any longer…
A sharp, continuous beep rang out as the electrocardiogram flatlined.
The doctor’s calm, cold voice cut through the noisy ward: “Patient Feng Yue, terminal brain cancer, resuscitation failed. Time of death: May 4, 9:47.”
Yan Lin had just stepped into the ward when she heard those words and saw the pale, lifeless figure lying on the bed.
She hadn’t made it in time to see her one last time.
Feng Yue was gone forever.
Darkness swiftly enveloped Feng Yue. She didn’t know how much time had passed when her consciousness began to return. In a pitch-black space, a blue light suddenly appeared, and she felt herself being pulled toward it uncontrollably.
Soon, the blue light surrounded her, its intensity making it hard to keep her eyes open.
She didn’t know why she was here. She was certain she had died.
Was this heaven or hell?
Tentatively, Feng Yue opened her eyes. The blue light had dimmed, revealing a pale blue space. Not far in front of her floated a thin book.
Feng Yue looked at her hands—rosy and fair, nothing like the frail hands she had during her illness.
And…
She reached up to touch a strand of hair falling over her chest. It was glossy and smooth. It had been so long since she’d seen herself with hair.
Gathering her emotions, Feng Yue walked toward the book.
She cautiously touched it, and the light around it faded. The title on the cover came into view.
The Past of An and Lin
That “Lin”…
A sense of foreboding stirred in Feng Yue’s heart. With trepidation, she opened the book.
“The meeting between Yan Lin and Chu An’an happened four years after Yan Lin became a widow…”
Feng Yue flipped through the pages as if reading a novel.
It turned out she, Feng Yue, was merely a character in a novel—a supporting character who died at the very beginning.
The protagonist, Yan Lin, was her wife, Yan Lin.
As for the other protagonist, Chu An’an, Feng Yue didn’t know her.
With mixed emotions, Feng Yue closed the book. Before she could process it, a searing pain tore through her head, worse than anything she had felt during her illness.
It seemed this time, she was truly going to die.
When Feng Yue woke again, she found herself lying on a hard floor, a faint pain throbbing at her temples.
Struggling to open her eyes, she saw familiar light fixtures and room decor.
This was their room.
After she and Yan Lin married, they had moved out together, buying a house near the Yan Corporation’s office building for Yan Lin’s convenience. Every detail of the house’s decoration had been overseen by Feng Yue, who had once believed she and Yan Lin would live there together forever.
Yet, she had lived in this house for less than two years.
Looking around, she confirmed it was indeed her and Yan Lin’s room. So why was she back here?
Hadn’t she died?
Feng Yue sat up from the floor, then collapsed onto the bed, exhausted.
She had been through too much today.
First, her death. Then, inexplicably reading a strange novel. And now, somehow, she was back home.
Lying on her back, Feng Yue took a moment to steady herself before sitting up to look for anything useful.
Her gaze fell on the phone on the nightstand. She picked it up, and the lock screen lit up, showing the date.
July 4, 12:50 a.m.—the day after their first wedding anniversary.
How had she suddenly returned to a year ago?
Her mind was a mess, but long-sealed memories began to resurface.
She remembered this was the day she and Yan Lin had their first big fight, on their first wedding anniversary.
That day, she had spent the morning preparing—her outfit, makeup, accessories, and even their dinner. Every detail had been carefully thought out.
But what she got in return was a bouquet of roses she didn’t like and Yan Lin’s cold, indifferent question.
Feng Yue gripped the phone, calming herself. She thought she had forgotten this experience, but it had only been buried deep in her memory.
If she recalled correctly, after this fight, they fell into a cold war. Yan Lin went on a month-long business trip, during which they had no contact.
In her memory, that night, Yan Lin hadn’t said a word to her, hadn’t tried to comfort her. Yan Lin had been preparing for a 6 a.m. flight the next morning and had slept in the guest room.
Feng Yue glanced at the time, deciding to test whether her memory was correct. She wanted to know if she had truly returned to the past.
At this hour, Yan Lin would already be asleep. Feng Yue had the key to the guest room.
A few minutes later, Feng Yue stood in front of the guest room door on the first floor, holding a set of keys, one of which was for the guest room.
She looked down at her feet, hesitating. In truth, she didn’t need to check.
The scene in the dining room nearby told her everything.
Scattered rose petals on the floor, a table of cold, untouched food—it all confirmed what had just happened here.
She had truly returned to a year ago.