Chapter 1

Song Ci woke up because she had to pee—
and immediately realized something was wrong.

There was a little face resting on her arm.

Thinking she must be dreaming, she quickly pulled her hand back and pinched herself hard. The pain brought tears to her eyes, and yet the child was still there.

Dazed, she reached over and pinched the child’s arm.

The child woke instantly. Seeing that she said nothing, he closed his eyes again.

“Great. Just great.” Song Ci smacked her own forehead.

“Mom, what’s great?” the boy, Little Tree, asked, blinking up at her. He thought his mother was acting strange today.

“Just talking in my sleep. It’s still early—go back to bed.” Song Ci waved weakly, then sprang from the bed before she could even make sense of the situation. But as soon as she stood up, dizziness swept over her, and she fell back onto the mattress.

“Mom, are you okay?” Little Tree crawled closer.

“I’m fine, just got up too fast. You go back to sleep—I just need the bathroom.” Song Ci steadied herself and stood more carefully this time.

She managed to find the outhouse in the yard, but on her way back, the dizziness hit again. She touched her forehead—burning hot. With no time to think about anything else, she rummaged through a drawer, found some cold medicine, swallowed it, and lay down beside the child again. Before drifting off, she thought hazily: Maybe I really am dreaming.

In her “dream,” scenes of another person’s life flashed by like a lantern reel.

When she woke again, it was already noon. Little Tree was up, playing on the floor with a filthy cloth tiger.

Seeing her stir, he scampered over. “Mom, I’m hungry!”

Zhu Ci—no, it’s Zhu Ci now, she corrected herself. Stroking his head, she said, “Let Mom drink some water first, then I’ll cook for you.”

Little Tree nodded and went back to his toy.

After drinking some water, Zhu Ci headed to the kitchen. Thankfully, she’d grown up in the countryside in her previous life. Though it had been years since she’d used a wood stove, she managed to light the fire and start a pot of porridge.

As the fire crackled, she mulled over the memories she’d inherited.

No doubt about it—she had transmigrated, into the body of a young woman named Zhu Ci in the year 1978.

As for her original body—who knew if the soul-swap went both ways? Before all this, she had just moved into her new apartment. Wanting to celebrate, she’d bought herself a low-alcohol cocktail—despite never drinking—just to try it out. One sip, and she blacked out. Waking up here? Talk about joy turning to disaster. She hadn’t even spent a single night in her hard-earned new home.

The original Zhu Ci was a sent-down educated youth. Because she wasn’t good at farm work, she earned few work points, stayed hungry, and was weak. A couple of years ago, she slipped while washing clothes and nearly drowned—saved at the last moment by Li Yannan, who was home on leave.

If only it had ended there. Unfortunately, a village gossip saw them, rumors spread, and the only way to shut people up was for them to marry.

Still, the original Zhu Ci had it relatively good: Li Yannan was upright, always handed over his pay, and looked after their son whenever he was home. His parents were reasonable and had divided the household early, so there were no mother-in-law problems. After a year of marriage, she became a military wife; the next year, Little Tree was born. Now he was almost two.

The marriage lacked affection. Zhu Ci even looked down on Li Yannan for being uneducated, though she never said it outright. To Song Ci, this life seemed perfectly livable—until the original owner met Gu Yiran.

After that, Zhu Ci changed. She began openly scorning her husband, quarreling with him constantly.

It was easy enough to understand her mindset: she’d finished high school, was an educated youth, and thought she deserved someone like Gu Yiran—handsome, well-born, though cold to everyone except Song Zhen. Coincidentally, the original Zhu Ci had served in the same brigade as Song Zhen back in the day. Both were beauties: one icy and refined, the other vividly glamorous. At first, Zhu Ci hadn’t cared, but after endless comparisons, her pride turned to jealousy. Seeing Song Zhen marry better only made her more resentful.

So Zhu Ci schemed: she tried to get close to Gu Yiran and spread nasty rumors about Song Zhen. But Gu Yiran caught her, confronted Li Yannan, and told him to keep his wife in check. Li Yannan wasn’t stupid—he knew exactly what his wife was thinking. For Little Tree’s sake, he didn’t expose her, only warned her to behave.

But Zhu Ci, stubborn and guilty, refused to admit anything and picked a huge fight with him instead—nearly hanging herself in anger.

Once cold and aloof, she’d turned sallow and thin after years of rural labor, losing that fairy-like air. In despair, her temperament soured further.

Li Yannan hated quarreling and worried for their child, so he simply moved into his unit dormitory, coming home once or twice a week. Even that didn’t cool her wandering heart—she became obsessed with Gu Yiran, neglecting Little Tree as well.

“She looks at me like a snake waiting to strike from the dark.”

Wait—that was from a novel. Song Ci smacked her forehead.

Song Zhen, Gu Yiran… military marriage, food blogger, fake and real daughters—this is that book, Sweet Military Marriage: The Real Daughter Gets Rich in the ’80s!

No wonder she hadn’t recognized it right away—she often forgot characters’ names as soon as she finished reading.

In that novel, the heroine Song Zhen (formerly Song Zhen, a modern food blogger) transmigrated to the late ’70s and built a fortune through cooking while living a sweet post-marriage life with the male lead. The story had its share of face-slapping moments—
and her, Song Ci, was just an early cannon-fodder villain who ended up in prison.

As for why Zhu Ci went to jail? Song Ci didn’t quite remember—probably some hate-fueled misdeed. She’d read too many books for such details to stick.

Fortunately, she’d arrived early. Right now, Zhu Ci had only been warned by her husband and hadn’t done anything unforgivable. As long as Song Ci steered clear of the hero and heroine, she should be safe.

Just then, Li Yannan walked in holding Little Tree by the hand.

“You—you’re back. Have you eaten?” Song Ci almost jumped up from her seat. What was she afraid of? She was Zhu Ci now. If anything, she didn’t know which of them had gotten the better deal: she’d inherited a husband and child she hadn’t wanted but gained back more than ten years of youth, while the original Zhu Ci escaped being a tool and likely inherited her apartment—plus its mortgage—and aged ten years. If she had a choice, she wouldn’t have switched, but no one had asked her.

“Little Tree said you’re sick. Should we go to the clinic for an injection?” Li Yannan’s tone softened, relieved that she wasn’t speaking as coldly as before. He walked to the stove, lifted the lid, and stirred the boiling porridge. He hadn’t planned to come home today—worried about more quarrels—but figured Gu Yiran would never want Zhu Ci anyway, and maybe with time her foolish thoughts would fade.

“I took some cold medicine. Feeling better now,” Song Ci said, then added, “Yesterday I was really out of it—crying for help, scaring Little Tree. But lying there half-conscious made me realize some things. Don’t worry, I won’t fight with you anymore. Let’s just live a good life together.”

In her previous life, Song Ci had reached her thirties unmarried—not because she couldn’t but because she’d never found anyone worth settling for. She often suspected she was incapable of love; she’d never liked or trusted anyone deeply. Her parents had divorced when she was young, and she’d grown used to being alone—even though she longed for someone to talk to.

She thought Li Yannan seemed decent, and now, as Zhu Ci, she had a responsibility to care for Little Tree. Fate had dropped her here, so why not try? Not for love—she didn’t expect him to love her—but to see what living as a family felt like. And, realistically, this was the best option available right now.