One spring in Taiwan, back in ’59,
A man named Wu biked through sunshine.
A civil engineer, strong and spry,
But this day his speed was do-or-die.
His wife had fallen dreadfully ill,
He raced the road, heart iron-willed.
Yet strangely heavy his cycle became,
As though unseen weight had joined his frame.
Neighbors he passed with polite little waves,
But scowls they returned, with looks that dismayed.
“What wrong have I done?” Wu wondered in pain,
But sped to his house, through sweat and strain.
Inside lay Lin, pale and weak,
A frail young wife with fevered cheeks.
For days she drifted, her strength all gone,
Until Wu cried, “She won’t last long.”
A cart was found, pulled by a mule,
To reach the hospital’s crowded halls.
But fate was cruel—Lin slipped away,
And Wu brought her home for the seven-day stay.
Her coffin was set in the living room,
As mourners gathered in quiet gloom.
Wu wept and wailed, his heart undone,
Life without Lin had only begun.
But on the third day, gasps filled the air,
Wu looked to the casket—his wife sat there!
Alive once more, she sipped cool water,
Stronger by hours, like fate had rewrote her.
Yet something was different—her voice, her tone,
She read and spoke what she’d never known.
Fluent in Mandarin, skilled in accounts,
Shunning all meat, her changes pronounced.
She urged her husband to quit his trade,
Open a shop—and fortune was made.
The tale spread wide, through village and state,
Till the government called to investigate.
At the army hospital, before the chief’s eyes,
Lin bowed her head with shocked surprise.
“Uncle,” she said, “do you not recall?
I’m your niece Zu—I lived through it all.”
The doctor froze, then fetched his wife,
And Lin cried “Auntie!”—as if past life.
For Zu had vanished a year before,
Killed by fishermen near the war-torn shore.
Her spirit had wandered, restless, unseen,
Till Lin’s death gave her vessel to glean.
And neighbors recalled, with faces of shame,
That Wu rode home with “another dame.”
Yet none had been there—except the unseen,
Zu’s ghostly weight on his cycle’s beam.
The case of Zu was reopened, revealed,
Confessed by a man whom time hadn’t sealed.
Her killers were named, the record set right,
All on the word of a spirit’s sight.
For the rest of her life, as Zu reborn,
Lin led her people with wisdom adorned.
Till 2018, at ninety-seven, she passed,
Two names on her banner, one soul at last.
So if reincarnation’s more than a dream,
This story stands as strongest seen.