Reborn as a Father Again
Having lost his child in old age, he was consumed by grief—the white-haired sending off the black-haired, a tragedy beyond words. With no one left to call his own, Lin Lang resolved to devote the rest of his life wholly to the pursuit of education. The most handsome teacher, the strongest coach—countless unrivaled titles adorned him. In his later years, Lin Lang nurtured countless outstanding talents, who went on to excel in every field; each one regarded him as their own father. Yet, fate had another twist: Lin Lang was reborn. This time, as he once again became a father, he gazed up at the starry sky and vowed: he would ensure his son enjoyed the happiest, brightest childhood, walked a path of comfort and unforgettable growth, and became the most brilliant star beneath this night sky.
Reborn as a Father Again
Sitting in the driver’s seat of a white Santara 87, Lin Lang still felt as if he hadn’t quite recovered from the shock. The familiar streets and the dim yellow of the streetlights—it was all too much to believe. He had actually been reborn!
It wasn’t until a rapid tapping came at his window that he snapped out of his daze.
“Hey, buddy, what kind of driving is that? I was stopped perfectly at the red light, and you just rammed into me like that?”
Following the voice, Lin Lang looked out and saw a man around thirty, dressed in a black leather jacket, glaring at him with annoyance.
Only then did Lin Lang realize he’d rear-ended someone. And right at a red light, no less! Two Santaras, one black and one white, now sat bumper to bumper across the crosswalk. Passersby gawked in disbelief; a rear-end accident at a red light was a first for everyone.
Lin Lang gave a self-deprecating laugh. After three or four decades of driving, his first rear-end collision would happen like this.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of hundred-yuan bills, maybe a dozen or so in all. Opening the car door, he stepped out, clasped the young man’s hands, and pressed the money into them. “Brother, I’m in a hurry. The accident’s entirely my fault. Why don’t we just settle it privately?”
The young man in the leather jacket stared, dumbfounded, at the stack of bills—at least fifteen hundred. His own Santara had barely been scratched; five hundred would have been more than enough. Had he run into a rich man or a fool? Either way, he happily agreed to
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