Chapter 1: Transmigration into a Novel

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“Wake up, Shen Zhiyi, time to get to work.”

A coarse female voice sounded by her ear. Shen Zhiyi’s eyes flew open, and what she saw was a mottled cement ceiling, the air thick with mildew.

She froze for a few seconds before abruptly sitting up.

It was a cramped dormitory, furnished with four bunk beds. On the wall hung a poster with the slogan: “Labor is the most glorious thing.”

“What are you dazing out for?” A woman in a gray uniform shoved her. “Hurry up. We’re digging a water channel today. If you’re late, you’ll get criticized again.”

Shen Zhiyi lowered her head to look at her clothes—coarse, worn-out work clothes, the cuffs frayed white. She touched her face: rough, dry, with a few faint scars.

This wasn’t her body.

A flood of foreign memories surged in. She remembered now—she was still Shen Zhiyi, but no longer the modern food livestreamer. She was now Shen Zhiyi from the novel A Life in the 70s.

She had transmigrated into a book.

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Three days later, at Nancheng Prison.

“Shen Zhiyi, once you’re out, live a good life.”

Clang! The iron gate slammed shut behind her. The harsh sunlight made Shen Zhiyi squint.

Three years.

At last, she was free—

She sneered, just as a police three-wheeled motorcycle screeched to a stop in front of her.

A man swung down from the vehicle, taking off his peaked cap to reveal a sharply defined face. A scar ran across his brow bone, his gaze cold and blade-like.

Zhou Muxuan?

—The very officer who had put handcuffs on the original Shen Zhiyi three years ago.

“Get on,” he said in a deep, commanding voice that brooked no refusal.

Shen Zhiyi didn’t move, a half-smile on her lips. “What’s wrong, Officer Zhou? Afraid I’ll stir up trouble?”

His jaw tightened. He pulled a yellowed letter paper from his pocket and handed it to her.

It was a handwritten divorce agreement.

Penned by Lu Yusheng himself.

Back then, when the matchmaker introduced them, the original Shen Zhiyi had first fallen for Lu Yusheng’s elegant handwriting before even noticing the man.

“Lu Yusheng has already signed.” Zhou Muxuan’s tone was flat. “He’s waiting at the Civil Affairs Bureau. If you go now, you’ll regain your freedom today.”

Shen Zhiyi arched a brow, taking the paper. She read a few lines, then suddenly laughed.

The first clause: she was to leave the marriage with nothing, not allowed to take a single item that belonged to the Lu family.

The Lu family’s belongings?

What about the dowry she had brought with her?

Did those count as the Lu family’s too?

Had Zhou Muxuan even read this agreement?

And if he had, how could he still shamelessly act as Lu Yusheng’s errand boy?

“Officer Zhou, do you really think I spent three years in prison for nothing—just to come out and sign such an unfair divorce agreement, then slink away from the Lu family like a beaten dog?”

Raising her hand, Shen Zhiyi calmly tore the divorce agreement in half, then quarters, then shredded it into tiny pieces before flinging them into the air—

The fragments fluttered down around Zhou Muxuan’s boots.

“Tell Lu Yusheng, if he wants a divorce, he can come and beg me himself.”

With that, she turned and walked away.

Zhou Muxuan’s gaze darkened as he called out—

“Shen Zhiyi.”

She turned her head.

His voice was low, each word deliberate: “Back then, arresting you was my duty. But now—”

“You still won’t admit you pushed Tongtong into the water?”

Tongtong—Jiang Ruochu’s daughter with her ex-husband.

At the time, the little girl wasn’t even two years old, barely steady on her feet.

The original Shen Zhiyi had been a village teacher. No matter how cruel, she couldn’t possibly harm such an innocent child.

But rumors spread—one by ten, ten by a hundred—until the entire Lu family village branded her a monster.

Just as Shen Zhiyi was about to declare her innocence, that not only had she not pushed Tongtong, but she hadn’t even been at the reservoir that day—

Riiiing! A sharp bicycle bell cut her off.

Lu Yusheng came pedaling up on a Phoenix-brand “28-bar” bicycle, with Jiang Ruochu sitting on the back in a brand-new Terylene dress. Her slender arms were wrapped tightly around his waist.

The sight made Shen Zhiyi’s blood freeze, her body reacting with a surge of anger and dizziness—not her own will, but the instinctive reaction of the body she now inhabited.

“Shen Zhiyi, you actually tore up the divorce agreement?” Lu Yusheng propped up his bike, carefully helped Jiang Ruochu down, then turned to her in disbelief, his gaze falling on the scraps of paper littering the ground.

“Lu Yusheng, you still remember me?” Shen Zhiyi’s voice was cold as ice, her eyes boring into him like blades.

During the three years of her prison labor, her so-called husband had never once visited. She had thought he had completely forgotten he even had a wife named Shen Zhiyi.

Her gaze then shifted to Jiang Ruochu—the woman who once played the pitiful act before the original. Now, she stood softly at Lu Yusheng’s side, not a trace of guilt on her face.

Jiang Ruochu lowered her head slightly, though the corners of her eyes lifted in the faintest mocking smile, as if laughing at Shen Zhiyi’s current disgrace.

Just look at what she was wearing.

Three years ago, Shen Zhiyi hadn’t been her match—much less now.

“It was just a useless piece of paper. Why shouldn’t I tear it?” Shen Zhiyi shot back, raising her brows.

“Shen Zhiyi, you dare call it useless?” Lu Yusheng’s face darkened, his pride wounded.

That was his own handwritten divorce agreement. She used to admire his handwriting so much that, after they married, she often coaxed him into copying romantic poems for her, cherishing every word he wrote.

And now, she called it wastepaper?

“If nonsense is written on it, then of course it’s wastepaper.”

Lu Yusheng’s face went ashen, words choking in his throat, unable to come out.

“Zhiyi, I’m so glad you’re out.” Jiang Ruochu finally lifted her head, speaking softly.

She walked over, reaching for Shen Zhiyi’s hand—only for Shen Zhiyi to jerk away.

Jiang Ruochu paused, her eyes reddening, her voice weak and pitiful: “Zhiyi, you’ve suffered so much these years. I’m so sorry.”

Before she could say more, Lu Yusheng stormed forward, yanking her protectively behind him. “Ruochu, why apologize to a murderer? She’s the one who pushed Tongtong into the reservoir. If Tongtong hadn’t been lucky, she would have—”

“Brother Yusheng, stop. Don’t be angry. You and Zhiyi are still husband and wife. A hundred days of grace follows a single day of marriage. You two aren’t divorced yet,” Jiang Ruochu said gently, as if trying to soothe him—yet every word fanned the flames, reminding him of their real purpose today.

To get Shen Zhiyi to sign the divorce agreement.

But Shen Zhiyi had already torn it to pieces.

Lu Yusheng halted, slowly turning back to her, his tone grave: “Shen Zhiyi, what will it take for you to agree to a divorce?”

“You—and her—kneel and beg me.”

Arms crossed, Shen Zhiyi stood tall, sunlight pouring over her, as if gilding her entire figure in gold.