Back to the 80s: You Choose Your First Love—Why Are You Crying When I Marry Someone Else? - Reviews

I have to talk about the dialogue in this section because it's genuinely excellent, especially from the supporting characters who usually get short shrift in these kinds of stories. Liang Fengjiao — Lin Sui's mother — is a masterpiece of comic relief with actual depth. The line "if you mess this up, don't you dare come back home again!" is delivered with such maternal love disguised as a threat. And then Lin Sui's response: "Look at that — such loving words from my own mother!" She knows her mom. She knows the code. And she plays along, teasing about the tractor, running away before she gets spanked. This is a relationship built on decades of shorthand, and the author captures it perfectly in just a few exchanges. But what really impressed me was the dialogue between Gu Shaonan and Chen Qinghe. It's not romantic in the traditional sense — there are no declarations, no lingering glances. It's practical, almost transactional, and yet there's something oddly tender about it. Watch this: "Am I supposed to stay here every day? It costs so much money… Maybe I should just go back to my aunt's place instead." She's testing him. Not with words, but with the question. And his response: "Don't worry about it. I can afford a few nights here." He's saying: I've thought about this. I've calculated this. You're worth it. And she believes him, or wants to believe him, and leans in for that quick kiss on the cheek. It's a whole relationship built on financial pragmatism and mutual ambition, and somehow it's more believable than any grand romance I've read this year. The author's narrative voice is also doing a lot of work here. It's close third person, shifting between Gu Shaonan and Lin Sui, and each perspective has a distinct texture. Gu Shaonan's sections feel warm but slightly naive — the narration indulges his confidence. Lin Sui's sections are sharper, more analytical, with a undercurrent of grief she never names. The contrast between the two voices is what makes this dual narrative work so well.

Okay so here's the thing that absolutely wrecked me—both Lin Sui AND Gu Shaonan got reborn. Not just one of them, BOTH. And the author doesn't even spell it out dramatically. It's this quiet, devastating little moment where Lin Sui sees him at the stock exchange, debating Qianke vs Jintiantian, and she just KNOWS. Because in their past life, he was always the long-term thinker, the one who weighed everything. She doesn't run to him and say "we're both reborn!" She just watches him from across the crowd and feels this strange wonder. That restraint? That's such a specific kind of intimacy—you don't need to announce your secret to someone who already understands you. And then there's Gu Shaonan's backstory, which the author weaves in so naturally. His mother raising seven kids alone after his father died. His sister-in-law literally taking the pot lid during the property split, leaving him with just the pot. That detail—"leaving Gu Shaonan with nothing but the pot itself"—hit me so hard. It explains everything about why he's so devoted to his mother, why he's patient, why he builds slowly and steadily rather than gambling. He knows what it means to start with nothing. Zhang Dongliang is fascinating too. He's not just a cartoon villain. In Lin Sui's past life, when Gu Shaonan's mother had a burst appendix, it was Zhang Dongliang who rushed her to the hospital in his truck. She remembers this. She acknowledges it. She even says "you're a good man" to his face. But she also knows that gratitude isn't love, and you can't build a lifetime on someone else's kindness. That's such a mature take on a character who could've easily been one-dimensional. The Chen Qinghe thread is also so interesting. In their future life, Gu Shaonan was secretly sending her money for years. Not out of romantic obsession, apparently, but because her husband died and she was struggling. But Lin Sui still doesn't like her. Still says so directly: "I just never liked her." And Gu Shaonan just agrees. No drama, no defensiveness. Just... fine. That tells you everything about how secure their relationship was, and how different this Lin Sui is from the naive girl in the past life who probably would've cried and demanded explanations.

There's a symbol in this text that I can't stop thinking about. Not an obvious one — no recurring flowers or cryptic objects — but an action. Lin Sui grabbing a steel pipe to protect Gu Shaonan in her past life. Three ribs broken. That's not just backstory, that's thematic DNA. The steel pipe represents everything Lin Sui is: fierce, physical, willing to get her hands dirty for the people she loves. And Gu Shaonan forgetting that detail? That's the central tragedy of his rebirth. He came back with memories of romantic moments, of social dynamics, of career moves — but he forgot the violence she committed on his behalf. He forgot that she is dangerous when provoked. And now he's asking that same dangerous woman to be gentle. The job interview itself is another symbol. It's about who gets to belong, who gets to take up space. Chen Bin believes the position is his by right of connection — his brother-in-law's favor. Luo Feifei earns it through preparation and genuine ability. The factory managers represent institutional judgment, and they choose merit over nepotism. But the real question the scene asks is: who does Lin Sui choose to protect now? In her past life, she bled for Gu Shaonan. In this life, she's standing between her friend and the man who expects her compliance. And then there's Guo Weiqiang — the married man preying on a shampoo girl. He represents the same kind of entitlement that Chen Bin displays, just dressed in different clothes. Both men believe they can use women and face no consequences. Lin Sui's plan to expose him isn't just revenge; it's thematic symmetry. The woman who once wielded a steel pipe is now wielding information, and the result will be just as destructive. The book keeps asking: what do we owe the people who hurt us? And Lin Sui's answer, across both lifetimes, seems to be: nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Can we just take a moment to appreciate how each character sounds completely different when they speak? This is something a lot of authors struggle with, but this one nails it. Lin Sui's dialogue is sharp and practical: "Prepare to witness your daughter's superpower." She's got this confident, almost playful energy even when she's dealing with serious stuff. And then with her mom: "Remember what you promised me: less drinking from now on." That's not a daughter begging—that's someone who's lived this life before and is speaking with the authority of experience. Gu Shaonan's voice is all restraint and calculation. Even his emotional moments are clipped: "Take it. Save your father first." He doesn't pour his heart out—he acts. Which is honestly more revealing than any monologue could be. But the real standout is the banter between Lin Sui and County Magistrate Yu. This exchange: "I'm not that young anymore — I'm twenty!" "Twenty-three? Impossible! You're only eighteen!" And then Zhou Chiye walking in with just "Oh, it's you." That's it. That's his entire line. But it says so much—he remembers her, he's noticed her, and he's not going to waste words on pleasantries. Liang Fengjiao's voice is pure fire: "Our Lin family may be poor, but we will never sink so low!" You can hear the spit flying. And her quick pivot from rage to concern when she thinks her daughter might be in danger—"Oh, my poor girl… I'll never doubt you like that again!"—that's such a realistic parent reaction. The gossip from the villagers is also great worldbuilding through dialogue: "Hey, Lin Sui! Ran out of money, so now you're bringing poultry instead?" That one line tells us everything about the social dynamics of this village. And the humor! The running joke about Secretary Zhou being so handsome that "bicycle collisions became common" and elderly women leaving cow dung as offerings—this is the kind of witty narrative voice that makes reading feel like a conversation with a really funny friend.

Let me just lay out the stakes because they're NOT what you'd expect from a typical rebirth novel. On the surface, it's a love triangle. Gu Shaonan is choosing Chen Qinghe over Lin Sui. But that's the THIN surface layer. The real conflict is about POWER and AGENCY. Lin Sui's uncle offered her the ticket seller job — a position she could have used as a stepping stone. In the past life, she gave it up to focus on her family and Gu Shaonan, and ended up with nothing. This time, she's accepting it. But she's also secretly pulling strings to prevent Chen Bin from getting the order coordinator job — the same job that, in the past life, came through her uncle's connection. Every decision she makes is a deliberate reversal of her past life choices. Gu Shaonan's conflict is more internal. He suspects Lin Sui might be reborn too, but he's terrified of admitting it. If she IS reborn, then everything he thought he knew about her — about their relationship — is a lie. His confidence is already cracking, and we see it in how he forces smiles and deflects with dry laughter. The Chen Bin subplot raises the stakes even higher. If Lin Sui successfully blocks his job application, she's not just protecting her own future — she's actively dismantling the network of favors and connections that Gu Shaonan built. This is war, just not the kind with weapons. And the suspense? The author keeps it tight by never confirming whether either character is actually reborn. We get their internal thoughts, but we never get confirmation. Are they both reborn? Is one of them just paranoid? The ambiguity is what makes every interaction feel electric.

Okay so let me just say this out loud — the moment Lin Sui saw Ma Qiurong standing there with a baby strapped to her back, I literally gasped. This is the woman who, in Lin Sui's previous life, became her mother-in-law, and now she's just... there. A ghost from another timeline, casually existing in the same space. The author did something really clever here by not having Lin Sui react dramatically. She just takes it in, catalogs the scene, and keeps walking. That restraint is so much more powerful than if she'd had some big emotional breakdown. And then there's Gu Shaonan. I keep going back and forth on him. On one hand, he's being a good brother by refusing to kick Gu Yan out, even though his situation is a mess. On the other hand, he's making all these decisions for everyone around him — telling his mother what to cook, deciding his brother's career path, declaring he'll "handle" Gu Yan's relationship problems. The line where he says "She needs to break up with him — right away" felt so confident, so sure of himself, and I immediately thought: you don't know anything, buddy. You think you've got the script, but you're reading from the wrong book. Chen Qinghe is fascinating though. She's not naive at all. When she asks about Gu Yan's husband and then immediately follows up with "What married daughter stays permanently at her parents' home?" — that's a woman who sees the whole picture. She's already calculating who will get squeezed when the family dynamics shift. And her advice about the brother starting a business instead of taking a factory job? That shows she's thinking several moves ahead. I love that she's not just along for the ride — she's actively steering.

Okay so this section is absolutely RICH with plot mechanics. Let me just say — the rebirth trope is handled so much better here than in most novels I've read. Both Lin Sui and Gu Shaonan are clearly reborn, but NEITHER is admitting it. The tension comes from their internal monologues where they're both trying to figure out if the OTHER person is also reborn. Gu Shaonan keeps telling himself she's NOT reborn because if she were, she'd have already confronted him. Meanwhile Lin Sui is thinking the exact same thing about him. It's like watching two people playing chess while pretending they're just sitting in a park. The subplot with Chen Bin is also brilliant — in the past life, Lin Sui's uncle helped get Chen Bin the order coordinator job, which meant Lin Sui lost her own opportunity. This time, she's deliberately pulling that string away. That's not just revenge, that's strategic plotting. And the Luo Feifei thread? In the past life, Feifei was destroyed by a lying boyfriend, tried to drown herself, and Lin Sui only helped her later when she was already successful. This time, Lin Sui is actively training Feifei for the interview, trying to prevent that tragedy before it happens. The butterfly effect is REAL here — small changes rippling outward. What I love most is how the author doesn't just dump exposition. We learn about the past life through Lin Sui's reactions — the thirty yuan hotel bill hits her like a physical blow because she remembers how Gu Shaonan treated HER during their relationship. That's showing, not telling. And the ending where she decides to stay silent about her rebirth and just grow stronger? Chef's kiss.

I need to talk about this scene where the baby wets Chen Qinghe and then Gu Shaonan and she's just standing there in pee-soaked clothes and neither of them knows what to do. It's supposed to be funny but it's also kind of heartbreaking when you think about it. Here's this woman who just met the family, trying to be polite, trying to help, and she ends up completely out of her depth. And Gu Shaonan — who apparently can't cook either — just stands there sweating alongside her. "Auntie, let me watch the baby for you," Chen Qinghe offered instead. She tried to be helpful, tried to find her place, and it just... didn't work. The baby cried, wet himself, and then Ma Qiurong had to rescue everyone. It's such a small moment but it tells you everything about how out of place Chen Qinghe feels in this family. She's a college graduate, she's used to being competent, and here she is defeated by an eight-month-old. Meanwhile Lin Sui is watching all of this from the other side of the restaurant, and I can just imagine the cocktail of emotions hitting her. That baby is her nephew — she cared for him in her past life. Gu Shaonan is with someone else now. And she's standing there, remembering everything, feeling nothing on her face. The contrast between the two women in this scene is killing me. One is trying so hard to fit in and failing. The other has already been kicked out of this life and is building something entirely new. And yet — I found myself rooting for Chen Qinghe more than I expected to. There's something endearing about her earnestness, even when it's misguided.

I need to just sit with this scene for a moment. The hotel scene. Thirty yuan a night. Gu Shaonan is spending that on Chen Qinghe — a guy he's known for what, a few days? — and Lin Sui is standing there watching it happen, remembering that in their entire relationship, he NEVER once offered to put HER up in a hotel. He always went back to his uncle's house to share a bed with his cousin. The line that absolutely destroyed me: "All those decades together, all those years walking side by side — what had they ever meant to Gu Shaonan?" Decades. She gave him DECADES and he can't even spring thirty yuan for a hotel room for some random guy he just reconnected with. And Ma Qiurong's reaction — her eyes popping out at the price, yanking her son toward the exit like he's been personally offended — that's the mother who raised him, and it's almost funny how consistent the toxicity is. But then there's Lin Sui's friendship with Luo Feifei, and that's where the warmth is. Watching Lin Sui train Feifei late into the night, feeling that "quiet pride one feels watching a young girl blossom into maturity" — that's the emotional core of this whole thing. In the past life, Lin Sui neglected Feifei because she was too busy with Gu Shaonan. This time, she's making it right. That's not just plot, that's HEART. And Chen Qinghe's line about the beds reeking of children's urine? That's the moment his confidence shatters. He thought he was being treated like royalty, and instead he's been humiliated in front of everyone. I actually laughed out loud at that one.

I need to talk about this one moment. Just one moment. Gu Shaonan looks at Lin Sui and expects her to compromise, to let it go, to be the woman he remembers from his past life. And she just... stares at him. Her eyes turn red but grow colder with every second. He feels something sharp prick his heart. The author doesn't even need to describe much here. That's it. That's the whole emotional earthquake. Because Lin Sui's entire character in this scene is defined by what she REMEMBERS that he has forgotten. She recalls every time she stood by him — calling the police when he was bullied, grabbing a steel pipe and breaking three ribs to protect him when rivals came after their factory. She protected him fiercely, repeatedly, without hesitation. And he forgot. He just... forgot. And now he's asking her to be forgiving when his own brother's friend slandered her best friend. "Haven't you learned your lesson yet?" Gu Shaonan says to Chen Bin, and then immediately tries to smooth things over with Lin Sui. The audacity is almost impressive. And his internal thought right after — that he doesn't want things turning openly hostile between them even though she'll never be his wife in this life — that's him trying to have it both ways. He wants her loyalty without earning it. Meanwhile, Chen Qinghe is sitting there watching this exchange and feeling increasingly uneasy. She can sense something she can't name — that Gu Shaonan treats Lin Sui differently, that there's history between them he's not explaining. And honestly? Her instinct is right. The competitive spark that makes her want to marry him faster is also making her miss the bigger picture. The Lin Sui and Luo Feifei friendship at the end — them walking out together, light skirts swaying — that's the emotional payoff. Lin Sui didn't just win the argument. She chose her friend over the complicated man with the rebirth memories. And that's worth more than any interview.

"My mother may have said something, but do you have any proof?" This line. This is Lin Sui at her absolute best. Cold, sharp, and completely unimpressed. Zhang Dongliang saunters in with his crumpled paper and his thumbprint and his three-thousand-yuan penalty, and she doesn't even rise to the occasion. She just dismantles him with a question. The dialogue in this novel is surprisingly sharp for a rebirth story. Zhang Dongliang's mother is a highlight—she goes from triumphant to silent in one beat when Lin Sui mentions Secretary Zhou. "Her mouth snapped shut as if someone had grabbed her throat." That's not dialogue, that's narration, but it's doing the same work. You can hear the silence. And Lin Sui's exchange with her own mother is brutal in the best way: "Now you realize it? Did drinking feel good?" No softening. No "Mom, please be more careful." Just a glare and a direct hit. This is a woman who has lived a full life and comes back to this moment with zero patience for the mistakes that created it. The narrative voice is also worth talking about. It's clean, unpretentious, and has this dry humor that sneaks up on you. Like when the author describes the stock market surge: "With so many investors flooding into the market, Lin Sui had no trouble selling her shares." No dramatic tension, no moralizing about speculation. Just: she bought low, she sold high, next. Or this gem: "Her uncle happened to be the factory director's driver. In her previous life, she had gone to see her uncle for help and happened to meet Gu Shaonan outside the factory." The word "happened" used twice in one sentence, and it's doing so much work. Fate? Coincidence? Or just the way life actually works? The author's voice never tries to be literary. It's functional, precise, and occasionally wry. And that's exactly what makes it work. This isn't a novel that wants you to admire its prose—it wants you to keep turning pages.

Let me just say this out loud: the stakes in this novel are INSANE and I am not breathing right now. Lin Sui is fighting on three fronts simultaneously. First, there's the external conflict with her family's poverty and the Zhang Dongliang situation—3,000 yuan that could make or break them. Then there's the internal conflict of trying to protect her mother from the drinking that destroyed her in the past life. And underneath it all, there's this quiet, aching conflict about Gu Shaonan, where she's trying to reconcile the man she knew with the stranger who didn't come home last night. The text hits us with: "Her emotions were completely tangled." And that's the thing—every conflict in this story is tangled. It's not clean good vs. evil. Gu Shaonan isn't a villain, he's a man who made a choice he thinks is right. Chen Qinghe isn't a gold digger, she's a woman who was driven to desperation by poverty and illness. But the stakes keep escalating. Lin Sui goes from surviving to thriving—she's got 3,000+ yuan, she's building relationships with powerful people, she's protecting her family. Meanwhile, Gu Shaonan is making a decision that will affect three lives: his own, Chen Qinghe's, and Lin Sui's. And the tragedy is that he thinks he can have it all—Chen Qinghe's gratitude, Lin Sui's friendship, his mother's approval—without paying the full price. Then there's Zhou Chiye and the disguised magistrate, both of whom represent a different kind of stakes: political intrigue, hidden identities, the question of whether helping someone now will matter later. The text ends with Yu smiling at Lin Sui and saying "Ah, so it's you, young lady"—and I am convinced this man remembers more than he's letting on. Every scene is a ticking clock. Every conversation is a potential turning point. I can't stop reading and I don't know how to cope.