Song Jinhua had been sitting at her desk for a long time—so long that her legs had gone numb.
She needed to sort her thoughts, to make sense of how much she actually remembered.
Memories from her previous life surged back like a rising tide—the pain, the regret, the years of struggle—all of it now her most precious wealth.
She remembered everything that had happened between 2024 and 2034:
She remembered how in 2025, the fast-fashion brand ZARA launched its eco-friendly line that revolutionized the industry and led the wave of green transformation;
How in 2026, social e-commerce erupted, and platforms like Xiaohongshu and Douyin became the main traffic sources for clothing brands;
How the wave of "New Chinese Style" swept across the market in 2027;
How post-pandemic revenge spending created huge opportunities in 2028;
How virtual fashion and digital clothing dominated the market by 2030...
And she remembered the business logic, supply chain management experience, consumer insight, and brand operation strategies she had painstakingly figured out—all paid for with ten years of blood, sweat, and tears.
But Song Jinhua was clear-sighted—rebirth was not omnipotent.
She couldn't get rich off the stock market (she hadn't traded stocks at all in her previous life), nor could she win the lottery (she didn't even remember the numbers).
All she could rely on was her professional knowledge and grasp of trends.
More importantly, she had to avoid repeating her past mistakes.
A knock came at the door.
"Huahua? Are you in there?" It was her mother's gentle voice.
Her nose stung. In her previous life, after the factory went bankrupt, her mother had worked herself sick—her black hair turned gray before her fifties, and she was constantly worried about money. But now, the woman outside was still that warm, soft-spoken mother she remembered.
"I'm here, Mom." She took a deep breath, steadied her emotions, and opened the door.
Outside stood Shen Meiyu—forty-five years old, still well-kept despite the years of hard work managing the factory. Her face showed some tiredness, but her eyes still had life.
"Have you had lunch yet? I made your favorite sweet-and-sour ribs," Shen Meiyu said, scanning her daughter. "I heard some noise in your room earlier—were you talking to Yixuan again? He's gone to Beijing, hasn't he?"
At the mention of "Yixuan," Song Jinhua's expression stiffened.
"Mom, we broke up," she said calmly.
"What? Broke up? Why? You two were doing fine!"
"We're not right for each other," Jinhua replied, taking her mother's hand as they walked to the living room. "I'm going to study in London. He's staying in Beijing. Long distance never works—better to end it early."
Shen Meiyu hesitated, then sighed. "It's your life. Just don't let a boy get in the way of your future."
Jinhua's throat tightened.
It was this exact sentence in her past life that made her give up London. The factory was collapsing then, and she couldn't bear to leave or spend more money abroad.
But she hadn't realized that giving up London meant missing the best opportunity to learn and the chance to save her parents later on.
"Mom, I've decided to go." Her eyes were firm. "It's a full scholarship—no tuition, and I'll get a monthly stipend. I won't need a cent from home."
"But…" Shen Meiyu began, frowning. "Your father's factory recently—"
"I know," Jinhua interrupted gently. "Mom, I can help with the factory, but not by staying here. I need to learn advanced business models in London—then I can come back and really help."
Shen Meiyu looked at her daughter's determined face and finally nodded. "Alright. Mom believes in you."
When they sat down for lunch, her father, Song Jianguo, had also returned.
A man in his fifties, broad-shouldered but slightly hunched, with calloused hands and deep crow's feet—signs of years of toil.
"Huahua, I heard you and Xiao Lin broke up?" he asked as he sat, tone neutral. "I don't really understand young people's affairs, but a girl should always have her own skills. Love will work itself out."
A warm current surged in her chest. Even in the hardest days of bankruptcy, her father had respected her dreams, never asking her to give them up.
"Dad, how's the factory doing lately?" she asked cautiously.
His face darkened. "Still surviving. A few old clients have moved their orders to factories in Vietnam—labor's cheaper there."
Her heart sank.
She remembered—it was those lost clients that had caused the cash flow crisis. Then a large payment was delayed, and the capital chain broke completely.
Now, it was July. If she recalled right, the payment problem would come in September.
She had two months.
"Dad, can I look at the factory's financial statements and order sheets?" she asked. "I studied design, but I also took business management courses. Maybe I can help."
"You? Look at the ledgers?" Jianguo asked in surprise.
"Let me try."
After a moment's hesitation, he nodded. "Alright. Come with me to the factory this afternoon."
At 3 p.m., she followed him to the factory on the outskirts of town.
It was a 3,000-square-meter facility filled with sewing machines and production lines. Workers were busy fulfilling a T-shirt order.
She walked through the workshop with instinctive familiarity—she had been in countless factories like this before. She knew every detail by heart.
In her father's office, she leafed through the ledgers and contracts carefully.
The deeper she read, the heavier her heart became.
Just as she remembered, the factory's problems boiled down to three major issues:
Client loss—several major customers had shifted orders to Southeast Asia due to lower costs, while no new clients replaced them.
Excess receivables—many clients delayed payments, tying up desperately needed cash.
Outdated production model—still large-batch manufacturing, slow turnover, and high inventory pressure.
And there it was—the client that had brought disaster before: Dexin Trading Company.
Order value: 1.2 million yuan. Delivery date: September 15. Payment due 30 days after delivery.
In her previous life, the payment was dragged out until December, then the company filed for bankruptcy and disappeared.
"Dad, is this Dexin client reliable?" she asked, pointing to the contract.
"They've been working with us three years," he said, frowning. "Sure, they're always a bit late, but they always pay. This order's big and the margin looks decent."
"I suggest we don't take it," Jinhua said firmly. "Or at least switch to a prepayment model—get 50% up front."
"That's impossible," Jianguo shook his head. "No one in the industry pays first. You make the goods, then you get paid."
She bit her lip.
She couldn't tell him, "I was reborn and already know they'll go bankrupt." That'd sound insane.
But she had to stop the disaster somehow.
"Dad, let's check Dexin's recent operations," she said. "I have a bad feeling about them."
He studied her serious expression, then slowly nodded. "Alright."
That night, Jinhua didn't sleep.
Sitting at the computer, she began outlining the factory's problems and drafting solutions.
The supply chain strategies she had taken three years to master in her previous life—now she could apply immediately.
The traps she had once fallen into—this time, she could avoid.
The chances she had missed—this time, she would seize.
The keyboard clacked sharply in the still night.
On the screen, a comprehensive transformation plan for the factory began to take shape.
Outside, the stars shimmered in the summer sky.
Jinhua looked up, and a determined smile curved her lips.
This time, she would not disappoint her parents.
This time, she would use ten years of experience to rewrite everyone's destiny.