share time: 2025-10-18 06:02:33
In 1995, Lin Zhaodi, freshly divorced, was labeled a "husband-ruining jinx" by her ex-in-laws and a "disgrace" by her family. She huddled in a shabby rental with her 5-year-old daughter and paralyzed father, desperate. When she saw an aunt selling breakfast at the alley making 20 yuan a day, she borrowed 300 yuan to buy a coal stove, waking up at 3 AM to cook porridge—only to have her stall smashed by rivals and chased by urban management. But her daughter secretly sold tea eggs in the corner, her father used his wheelchair to reserve the spot, and even her ex-husband's brother sneaked her rice—turns out the warmest light was always beside her. On the day her "Zhaodi Breakfast Shop" hung its red sign, those who once mocked her lined up. Holding her daughter's hand, she smiled: "We don't need men; we can be our own little sun."
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