Song Jiabao was walking home with a sullen face.

Ever since his third sister had started her hunger strike, the quality of the lunches he brought to school had plummeted. He hadn’t eaten well for several days in a row.

What was she even throwing a tantrum about? She was going to the countryside anyway. Getting engaged to Director Ma would’ve been her ticket back—wasn’t that good for her too? Now she was making such a scene. What if Director Ma found out? What would happen to his job? Had she even considered her little brother? So selfish!  

Fuming, he stomped upstairs, planning to whine to his mother about his grievances later and maybe squeeze some benefits out of her.  

At the thought, his eyes gleamed with calculation.  

“Mom—” he called out pitifully. “I’m so hungry.”  

No one answered.  

The house was dead silent, without even the faintest aroma of food or the clatter of pots.  

“Still not back?” He dropped the act, his face darkening as he stepped over the overturned chairs and tables to his room.  

After waiting a while with no sign of anyone, his patience ran out. He stormed to Song Ruan’s door and barked, “Song Ruan, come out and cook for me!”  

When no response came after two shouts, he raised his foot to kick the door.  

“What are you doing?”  

Song Ruan, cheerfully patting her now even plumper money pouch, had just returned home when she saw Song Jiabao about to assault her door. She immediately shouted to stop him.  

She was planning to take this door with her! She’d already discussed it with the system!  

“Where the hell have you been? The house is a mess, and you didn’t even bother to clean up!” He rolled his eyes and ordered as if it were his right, “Hurry up and cook for me. I’m starving.”  

“You’d better starve to death soon.” Fresh off another financial windfall, Song Ruan was brimming with confidence and fired back without hesitation.  

A wave of exhilaration spread through her soul, as if some invisible chain had been broken—so this was how good it felt to say out loud what she’d only dared think before!  

The system clapped enthusiastically in her mind:  

[That’s it! Well done! Want me to add a notification sound for your ‘Dissing Points’ to boost your sense of achievement?]

Song Ruan replied confidently, “No need, thanks. There’ll be plenty more chances for me to diss people later. I don’t want a headache from all the pings.”  

[We’ll see about that.]

The system was thoroughly fed by her grand promises but still pretended to be unimpressed.  

Song Jiabao thought he’d misheard. “What did you say?”  

“I said, you’d better die soon.” Song Ruan added another jab. “Alive, you waste air. Dead, you pollute the soil. Half-dead, you squander money.”  

“Ahhh—!” The pampered Song Jiabao, who had never been denied anything, couldn’t take this insult. He charged at her, aiming a kick.

Song Ruan dodged to the side, grabbed his collar, and yanked him up before flinging him away like a rotten turnip.  

Song Jiabao landed hard on his backside, completely stunned.  

After a long pause, he suddenly kicked his legs and wailed, “Waaah—you hit me! You hit me! I’m telling Dad!”  

“You’d better hurry then. After all, they’re cracking down on feudal superstitions these days. Once you’re dead, you’re dead—no sending dreams from the afterlife.”  

Song Ruan made sure to speak slowly and clearly, ensuring the little idiot could understand every word.  

“Waaah—!” In response, Song Jiabao’s cries grew even shriller. He rolled around on the floor, howling and thrashing like a fat maggot possessed.  

“Hmph.” For some reason, against this backdrop of noise, Song Ruan felt an unexpected wave of relaxation. Light on her feet, she headed to the cupboard to make herself some food.  

The eggs had already been devoured by her earlier that morning. What remained was half a bag of premium flour, a sack of cornmeal, a jar of pickles, two cucumbers, and a small pile of sweet potatoes.  

Looking up, she spotted a small slab of cured meat hanging from the ceiling.  

Huh. This family’s food stash was pretty decent.  

Well, now it was all hers.  

She mixed the flour and cornmeal into dough, divided it into small lumps, then chopped up the cucumbers and sweet potatoes. After mushing them together with the pickles, she used the resulting black-green-yellow glop as filling, shaping it into unevenly sized flatbreads.  

The system was stunned:  

[What… is that?]

“Cucumber-sweet potato-pickle cakes. They just look a little ugly, but they should taste fine.” Back in her childhood, she wouldn’t even have had this much.  

The system fell silent.  

Balancing the cakes and cured meat in her hands, an oil bottle hooked on her fingers, and a calendar tucked under her arm, Song Ruan headed outside.  

In this era’s apartment buildings, there were no private kitchens—everyone cooked on small stoves set up in the hallway. She poked at the ashes in the stove, trying to figure out how to light the fire. It had been so long since she’d done this that she ended up wasting half the calendar as kindling. Not that she cared—it wasn’t hers anyway.  

Once the flames caught, she placed the meat in the pot, added enough water to submerge it, then stuck the smaller cakes around the edges. The larger ones went on the upper steamer tray.  

Surveying her handiwork, she felt a flicker of pride.  

Then—ding!—a chime sounded in her mind.  

[Admin Message: Your System has gifted you ten servings of braised pork. Please check your inventory.]

[Eat something decent, would you?]

“Wow, thank you, System! You’re so good to me!” Song Ruan, touched by the gesture, wanted to return the kindness. “Want to try my cakes? I’ll slice some cured meat to go with them—should be pretty good.”  

[No, thank you.]

The system politely declined.

As they spoke, the aroma of cured meat gradually wafted from the pot, standing out starkly in the hallway where the scent of oil was usually scarce.

Aunt Zhou from the neighboring room immediately came over. “Oh, cooking meat when it’s not even a holiday? Aren’t you afraid your mother will scold you for being so extravagant?”

Song Ruan quickly switched to a pitiful expression, glancing hesitantly toward the room. “What else can I do…”

Just then, the shrill cries of Song Jiabao erupted from inside, mixed with vicious curses.

Aunt Zhou’s face cleared with understanding, and she sighed sympathetically, her eyes darting toward the pot.

Before she could speak, Song Ruan quickly cut in, “Auntie, don’t you smell something burning in your kitchen?”

“Oh no!” The woman slapped her thigh and rushed back to her own stove, only to find a layer of charred food.

And this was celery-four cents a pound!

She poked at the blackened mess for a long time, unable to bring herself to throw it away. Instead, she poured in two ladles of water, apparently planning to turn it into celery soup.

Song Jiabao had also heard the commotion outside. Malice gleamed in his small eyes: Did she think cooking meat would calm him down? Just wait-after he finished eating, he’d tell their parents that Song Ruan had stolen the meat! Not only that, but she’d also hit him! Then Mom and Dad would beat her half to death! That’d teach her to disobey him!

After a long while, footsteps finally approached the door. He quickly rolled onto his back, splayed out on the floor, waiting for Song Ruan to come crawling to him, begging him to eat.

The smell of meat grew richer, but Song Ruan’s voice calling him to dinner never came. Instead, faint chewing sounds reached his ears. Song Jiabao couldn’t lie still any longer. He scrambled up and charged toward the dining table. “You’re eating it all yourself?”

Song Ruan stuffed the last bit of cured meat into her mouth. “Why would I save any for you?”

She wasn’t the original Song Ruan-she had no lingering attachment to these bloodsucking family members. If anything, she only felt resentment, an urge to grind them into dust. After just fighting with them, why would she grovel and cook for them? Was she some kind of masochist?

Honestly, the meat from this era was delicious. And since it was stolen from the Song family, it tasted even better.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

She deliberately chewed loudly in front of Song Jiabao.

Song Jiabao stared at the plate of blackened pancakes, streaked with yellow and green, left on the table. His eyes reddened with rage. “You eat meat, and I get shit pancakes?”

“Watch your mouth! What shit pancakes?” Ruan Song felt insulted. “And who said these were for you? Dream on!”

Song Jiabao roared and lunged at her. “You bitch, how dare you eat my meat? You don’t deserve meat! I’ll kill you!”

Song Ruan was furious too. Without thinking, she swung her hand and slapped him hard, sending him spinning like a top before he collapsed to the ground.

His plump, pale face swelled red instantly, as if inflated.

Song Jiabao howled in pain.

But he wasn’t completely stupid. He knew this version of Song Ruan wouldn’t let him bully her without fighting back like before, and his usual protectors weren’t home yet. Clutching his face, he scrambled outside, snarling venomously, “Just you wait! I’ll tell Dad to beat you so badly you can’t even crawl!”

Seeing Song Ruan shift as if to stand, he shuddered and bolted faster.

He ran all the way to the hospital, clutching his face and wailing as if his mother had died. “Doctor! Doctor! Someone hit me!”

The on-duty doctor rushed out in alarm. “Why are so many people getting beaten today? Let me see, let me see!”

“Here! Here!” Song Jiabao pointed at his face and screamed.

The doctor glanced at it and snorted. “I thought it was something serious. It’s just a slap-not even broken skin. If you’d come any later, it would’ve healed on its own.”

Song Jiabao grabbed the doctor’s sleeve. “You can’t leave! It hurts! I’m dizzy! I’m dying! Give me medicine!”

How else can I look badly beaten without applying medicine? How else can I make Mom and Dad feel sorry for me?

He absolutely had to make his parents tear that bitch’s skin off!

Having made up his mind, Song Jiabao clung to the doctor’s leg, wailing and thrashing so violently that even two nurses couldn’t pry him off.

The doctor, exasperated by his antics, had no choice but to instruct the nurses to dab some gentian violet on him and wrap him in gauze, along with handing him two painkillers.

“Thirty-seven cents,” the nurse said curtly as she put the remaining gauze back on the tray.

Now that he had gotten his way, Song Jiabao was suddenly reluctant to pay. “My dad is Song Guogang from the winery. Send someone to get him to pay for me.”

The nurse paused, flipping through her notebook with a strange expression. “Song Guogang from the winery? Is his wife named Zhang Meijuan? And does he have a daughter named Song Li?”

Jiabao’s eyes lit up. “Yes, yes! That’s my mom and my second sister. You know them? Can you front the money for me, then?”

The nurse gave him an odd look before suddenly smiling. “No need to call anyone. Just take the stairs over there to the first room on the second floor. They’re all there.

Go get the money yourself.”

Jiabao was stunned. “Huh?”

Baffled, he went upstairs and immediately spotted the room the nurse had mentioned: his father lay on the bed with his arm in a sling, breathing heavily; his second sister groaned on another bed; and his mother sat between them, weeping.

As if sensing his presence, Zhang Meijuan looked up. When her gaze landed on the gauze on his face, she shrieked and rushed over. “Jiabao! Jiabao! What happened to you?”

Without waiting for him to answer, she sobbed, “That ungrateful wretch Song Ruan broke your father’s arm! How could I have given birth to such a monster? She has no sense of familial love at all!”

Jiabao opened his mouth. Wait-that’s supposed to be my line.

By the time the four of them had compared stories, the room was filled with furious curses.

Song Guogang roared, “If I’d known I’d spawn such a beast, I should’ve strangled her at birth! I-“

A nurse carrying a medicine tray pushed the door open and snapped, “Keep it down! This is a hospital, not your personal space.

Other patients need rest!”

Song Guogang shut his mouth like a chicken with its neck wrung.

Zhang Meijuan wiped her tears. “We were going to prepare some luggage for her, but since she’s so tough, why should we bother?”

Song Li added, her eyes red, “I even thought that since I took over Third Sister’s job, I should send her some money every month…”

“She doesn’t deserve it!” Song Guogang couldn’t help but bellow again. “Once she’s sent to the countryside, we’ll use her work permit to transfer her job at the factory. I’m her father-what’s wrong with taking her job? Not a single cent for that beast!”

A cold glint flashed in Song Li’s eyes. “Third Sister’s train is tomorrow morning, right? Let’s all stay at the hospital tonight and not go back. We’ll pretend we forgot to pack her luggage. After two months of suffering empty-handed in the countryside, she’ll finally understand Mom and Dad’s good intentions.”

“I hope she starves to death out there!” Jiabao spat venomously.

“Yeah! Let’s see how long she can keep acting tough then!” Song Guogang slammed the bed rail.

Another shout from the nurse outside made him quickly withdraw his hand.

Zhang Meijuan’s lips trembled before she finally muttered to herself, “She’s just immature. She’ll realize how good we were to her eventually…”