Chapter 1

“You bitch, stop playing dead and get up! Hurry up and hand over the money!”

A harsh slap landed on Ye Muhan’s face, the burning pain instantly waking her from her sleep.

A splitting headache throbbed at her forehead, as if an invisible hand was stirring inside her brain. Coupled with the sting from the slap, Ye Muhan couldn’t focus her thoughts.

But ten years of surviving the apocalypse had taught her: you must strike back immediately, or your enemies will only get worse.

Steadying herself, Ye Muhan retaliated swiftly and viciously, slapping the other person so hard she spun in place before falling to the ground with a thud.

“You damn well dare hit me?!” the girl shrieked, her voice sharp and grating enough to pierce eardrums. “Tired of living, are you?”

Ye Muhan’s head throbbed unbearably, and she had no time to argue. Before the girl could get up, she slapped her again—hard.

“Get lost.”

What a mess. Even during her ten years in the post-apocalyptic world, she’d never slapped the same person twice in one go.

Most people couldn’t even take the first slap—they’d pass out on the spot.

Ye Muhan felt puzzled. What was wrong with her today? Why couldn’t she even take down this skinny girl in front of her?

Seeing the girl still not leaving, Ye Muhan raised her hand, ready to slap her a third time.

But before her hand could land, the girl jumped to her feet and quickly backed away three meters, clutching her face.

Only then did Ye Muhan get a good look at her. The girl had two braided pigtails, wore a dark blue padded jacket and black trousers—an outfit straight out of the last century.

Clutching her red, swollen cheek, the girl wailed, “Ye Muhan, just you wait! I’m telling my mother!” Then she yanked open the curtain and ran out crying.

At that moment, another wave of searing pain surged through Ye Muhan’s head. Unable to endure it, she closed her eyes as a flood of memories crashed into her mind.

She had transmigrated—into the 1970s!

The original owner of this body was also named Ye Muhan, nicknamed “Da Ya” (Big Girl).

She was eighteen, an orphan. Her parents had gone hunting in the mountains a couple of years back, but were fatally injured by a wild boar.

That left Da Ya all alone in the world, forced to deal with greedy, freeloading relatives constantly coming by to beg or steal.

Thankfully, her parents had worked hard while they were alive, earning labor points and even helping build the reservoir by the big river nearby during the off-season.

With the money and supplies they’d saved, they furnished the house with solid wood furniture made by the village’s old carpenter—wardrobes, tables, and beds—as well as pots, pans, and bowls bought from the supply and marketing cooperative in town.

But after they died, Da Ya couldn’t hold onto a single item.

Relatives, envious of their belongings, came to “borrow” a basin here or “take” a bowl there. Before long, the house was stripped bare.

When Da Ya went to ask for her things back, they drove her away.

The worst of them all was Second Uncle Ye Yong and his family. They had borrowed over ten pounds of grain from her. In the barren winter, they ate their fill while poor Da Ya starved, her stomach rumbling—until she eventually died of hunger.

And that wasn’t even the worst of it.

After hearing that her parents had left her a large sum of money, Second Uncle and Second Aunt started showing up regularly, demanding she hand it over. They claimed she was too young to manage it.

Eventually, they just insulted and bullied her openly. Her cousin Ye Chunxia frequently came by, beating and scolding her, trying to force her to give up the money.

But Da Ya never told them anything, enduring their abuse in silence.

The girl who had just run off crying to tell her mother was none other than Ye Chunxia.

Ye Muhan sighed silently, feeling sorrow for Da Ya’s background and tragic fate. Since she had taken over the girl’s body, she was determined to seek justice for her and live this life well.

Only now did she have time to look around the room. As expected, it matched the memories—bare walls and empty space. Even the wooden bed she lay on was made from broken door panels, topped with a layer of straw and a threadbare quilt.

In the middle of winter, the original owner was wearing only a thin, faded shirt with four or five patches on it.

Ye Muhan immediately felt a chill spreading through her limbs. She quickly searched the house and found a cotton-padded jacket that had belonged to Da Ya’s mother, and put it on.

The only reason this jacket remained was because the relatives thought it was unlucky—no one wanted to wear clothing from the dead.

Da Ya had kept it for sentimental reasons and couldn’t bear to wear it. She just stored it away, taking it out whenever she missed her mother.

But Ye Muhan knew that staying warm was the priority now. If she froze to death, who would avenge Da Ya?

Just as she was thinking this, she felt something unusual—a familiar presence…

She paused in surprise, then was overjoyed: the dimensional space she had awakened before the apocalypse had actually come with her!

She wasn’t sure yet if the supplies and the spiritual spring inside were still intact.

She was about to check the space when a slow, deliberate knock came from the door outside.

Ye Muhan snorted coldly. Most likely it was Ye Chunxia and her mother Liu Yan. She was mildly surprised they were polite enough to knock this time.

She got out of bed and went to open the door, ready to face off with the troublesome pair.

The small courtyard was buried under thick snow, crunching underfoot with every step.

Even with the cotton jacket on, Ye Muhan was still freezing and shivering as she opened the door.

But instead of Liu Yan and her daughter, a man stood before her.

He wore a deep green padded jacket, with a matching military overcoat draped over it. He looked to be in his early twenties—cold and handsome. His short black hair was neatly trimmed, and his sharp eagle-like eyes reflected her image. His facial features were refined, his thin lips pressed together, and his physique—broad shoulders, slim waist, long legs—gave off an aloof and ascetic aura.

So it wasn’t Liu Yan and her daughter after all. She had given them too much credit.

Staring up at the man who was a full head taller than her, Ye Muhan blinked. “And you are?”

The man spoke with a calm, detached tone. “Jiang Wang.”

Ye Muhan rubbed her hands together and stomped her feet, breathing warm air into her palms. “Whatever it is, come inside and talk. It’s freezing out here.” Without waiting for his reply, she jogged back into the house.

Though it was customary in this era for men and women to maintain a distance—especially strangers—standing outside chatting in such cold weather was just plain foolish.

Jiang Wang frowned slightly, but remembering he had important business today, he followed her into the main room.

All the furniture in the house had been taken by relatives, so Ye Muhan had no way to properly host him. The two could only stand facing each other.

“Well? What is it?” Ye Muhan took a step back. If this guy tried anything funny, she swore she’d kick him out of the village in seconds.

No matter how good-looking he was, Ye Muhan would never be seduced by a pretty face in a dangerous situation!

“Are you Ye Jun’s daughter, Ye Muhan?”

Ye Jun was the original Da Ya’s father. Since Ye Muhan had inherited her memories, she naturally remembered that.

“I am,” she nodded.

Jiang Wang took a big step forward, stopping in front of her. He pulled out a letter and handed it to her.

“Allow me to formally introduce myself. I’m your fiancé—Jiang Wang.”