The Song household was in utter chaos.  

Determined not to spare a single cent for Song Ruan, the family had deliberately delayed their return, ignoring the nurses’ urging and lingering until the sun began to set before reluctantly leaving the hospital.  

They had fantasized about Song Ruan, humbled by hardship, tearfully begging for their forgiveness. In high spirits, they chatted merrily on their way home, filled with vindictive satisfaction and rosy visions of the future.  

“Dad, you have to give her a good beating when the time comes—she hit me so hard!” Song Jiabao whined.  

Song Guogang glared. “Fine, I’ll tie her up, and you can hit her yourself! How dare that worthless brat rebel? Just don’t mess up her face—we still need her to secure your job transfer.”  

Song Jiabao grumbled, dissatisfied. “It’s just a temporary position.”  

Song Guogang coaxed him, “Once your sister settles into Director Ma’s household, getting you a permanent position will be easy.”  

Song Li listened to their casual, almost indifferent tone—as if discussing a stray dog—and felt an inexplicable chill. Before she could dwell on it, her gaze froze at the sight of their home. “Why does it seem… different?”  

Still lost in thought, Zhang Meijuan, who had stepped forward to open the door, stood dumbstruck at the scene before her.  

Two shrieks erupted almost simultaneously:  

“Where’s the stove and pot by the door?!”  

“Where are all our things???”  

Zhang Meijuan’s voice was shrill, like a wounded duck: “Jiabao’s dad, Jiabao’s dad—oh heavens, we’ve been robbed!!”  

“What?!”  

The others, who had been lagging behind, rushed forward in a panic, only to freeze in place alongside Zhang Meijuan.  

They had never seen their home so barren, so starkly empty. The rooms were hollowed out, with only a few grimy concrete pillars standing like skeletal remains—even those seemed thinner than before. The place was so desolate that even the north wind would weep upon passing through.  

Amid the stunned silence, Song Li was the first to snap out of it, sprinting toward her room.  

Her scream echoed unimpeded back to the doorway: “My trunk! My bed! My… my quilt!!”  

The last shred of her restraint kept her from wailing over her missing private savings, so she vented through other losses instead.  

“Mom, all my things are gone! My clothes, my shoes—even my broken hairpin!!!”  

Like a battle cry, her outburst spurred the rest of the family into action. They stampeded into their respective rooms, howls of despair rising one after another:  

“Where’s the wardrobe?!”  

“Mom, my box is gone!!!”  

“Where’s my money?!”  

Zhang Meijuan collapsed to the floor as if her bones had melted, wailing and slapping her thighs. “Our house—it’s been looted by Japanese devils!!!”

Song Guogang stumbled outside in a frenzy: “I’m reporting this to the police! I’m going to the police!”  

The tenement walls were thin, and the commotion from the Song household quickly drew the neighbors. Led by Auntie Zhou next door, people gathered—some clutching melon seeds, others holding their children, and a few even brought their dinner bowls along, crowding the scene until it was packed tight.  

Though they came for the spectacle, people in those days were still mostly warmhearted. By the time the police arrived at the residential compound, everyone swarmed around them, eagerly recounting the Songs’ misfortunes.  

“Aiyo, the Songs have been hit hard—everything’s been stolen clean!”  

“Why does their place look taller now?—Holy crap, even the wallpaper’s been scraped off!”  

“I’ve lived this long and never seen such a brazen thief. You’ve got to catch them!”  

“Yeah, what if they come for our homes next?”  

The officers walked through the house, equally stunned by the barren, snow-cave-like emptiness. “When was the last time you left home?”  

“Yesterday! Last night!” Zhang Meijuan wailed, distraught. “The whole family was at the hospital overnight—only our third daughter, Song Ruan, was home.”  

“Where is your third daughter now?”  

“She’s gone! Sent to the countryside—left on a train this morning.”  

“Then there’s no way to contact her for now,” the officer said, troubled. “Have you had any recent conflicts with anyone?”  

Song Li burst out of her room, shrieking hysterically: “Officer, it’s Song Ruan! She must’ve resented us for sending her away! She’s been making a scene at home for ages—she definitely stole everything and ran off! Go arrest her!!”  

The officer frowned sternly.  

Auntie Zhou couldn’t take it anymore. “Girl, you’ve got no conscience saying that. Your family didn’t prepare a thing for Song Ruan—when she left, her bundle was smaller than your mom’s when she visits her parents. How could she possibly have taken all your stuff?”  

Others who had seen Song Ruan yesterday chimed in: “Right, it was a tiny bundle.”  

The officer was already 70-80% convinced but, clinging to professionalism, pressed further: “Did you personally see her leave? Do you remember the details?”  

Auntie Zhou loved being the center of attention, especially when questioned by an “authoritative” officer. She lifted her chin smugly, rolled up her sleeves, and launched into her performance: “Now you’re asking the right person!”  

“So, my family had just finished dinner, and I was tidying up dishes by the door when I spotted Song Ruan walking out in tears with that tiny bag. I asked, and she said her second sister signed her up for the countryside—she had to leave right then.” 

The crowd gasped, their gazes turning strange as they looked at Song Li.  

Everyone knew how harsh rural life was—nobody wanted to go. But no matter what, you don’t screw over your own sister, especially when she already had a job.  

Given the political climate, no one dared say it outright, but they instinctively edged away from her.

—This girl is vicious.  

Song Li’s face turned ashen, then deathly pale.  

“And she said her parents wanted to marry her off to Director Ma from the liquor factory—so she could come back later—oh, was I not supposed to say that?” Auntie Zhou clapped a hand over her mouth in exaggerated shock.  

The crowd gasped again. The twice-divorced Director Ma, infamous for beating his first wife into running away, was practically a local legend.  

No decent parent would ever push their daughter into that kind of hell.  

So the judgmental stares now shifted squarely onto the elder Songs.  

—These two are just as rotten. 

Now it was the old couple’s turn to blanch.  

Auntie Zhou twisted the knife deeper: “And they didn’t even pack her anything. When she gave my grandson a piece of candy, I peeked into her bag—nothing but tattered clothes and a threadbare quilt. Pitiful, really.”  

Song Guogang couldn’t take the humiliation and shoved Zhang Meijuan forward.  

“Dang-dang-dang-dang-dang—!”

A procession marched into the compound, banging gongs and drums. The leader bellowed: “Is this Song Li’s residence?” 

“Huh?” The crowd’s attention snapped back to Song Li.  

Something about the scene felt eerily familiar. A sense of dread crept up Song Li’s spine as she stepped forward, voice trembling: “That’s me.”  

The team swarmed around her—some draping a red sash over her shoulders, others clapping enthusiastically: “Salute the educated youth who voluntarily signed up for rural labor! Here’s your assignment notice and train ticket.” 

“WHAT???” Song Li shrieked, then immediately clamped down, afraid of drawing scrutiny. She forced composure. “There must be a mistake—I never signed up!” 

Zhang Meijuan rushed over in a panic: “That’s right, Comrade! We already sent one daughter—our third, Song Ruan—to the countryside!”

The official frowned, checking his documents: “You are Song Li, correct?”

“Y-yes, but—” 

“Then there’s no mistake. Think hard—you asked your sister to register for you. Specifically requested the southwestern frontier.”

The realization hit Song Li like a brick. Furious, terrified, and choking on rage, she swayed—then collapsed like a felled tree.  

THUD.

She landed right on Song Guogang’s splinted hand.  

“AAAH!!” He nearly passed out from the pain.  

Taking in the chaos, the official sighed and thrust the papers at Zhang Meijuan:  

“Look, we’ve done our part. Make sure your daughter reports to the train station by 9 a.m. the day after tomorrow.” 

Whispers rippled through the crowd.  

“Did he just say who registered her?” 

“That third daughter they screwed over—Song Ruan.”

“Well damn…”

Zhang Meijuan fumbled to take the assignment notice and train ticket. Staring at their stripped-bare home, her groaning husband on the ground, her unconscious daughter, and the dense crowd of onlookers, she finally broke down, wailing: “Won’t someone help me?!”

The crowd fell silent-then, in perfect unison, took a collective step back.

This family? Trouble with a capital T.

Best not get involved.

Song Ruan and the system were having a grand old time watching the chaos.

The system spat out a melon seed shell, gleefully gloating:

[That bastard tried to pin the blame on you-ha! Serves her right, passing out like that. Look at her face, flattened like a shoehorn, ahahaha!]

Suddenly, a sharp ding! echoed in both their minds:

[Administrator Alert: Random inspection detected potentially vulgar language in your dialogue with the host. First warning issued.

Building a Civilized Spacetime Administration Bureau is everyone’s responsibility.]

[Administrator Alert: Random inspection detected your system using potentially vulgar language. If you feel personally insulted, click here to report.]

Song Ruan: “……”

The System: “……”

She cleared her throat dryly. “Wow. You guys are… really professional. Host benefits are top-notch.”

The snarky system huffed:

[Damn inspections. Never show up when I’m pulling overtime, but the second I vent-bam! Caught red-handed.]

Song Ruan nodded in bitter understanding.

“Like when I was a kid-break my back working, not a soul in sight. Take one sip of water? Suddenly my foster parents materialize out of thin air to whack me. Devil’s luck, I swear.”

The system looked at her like it had found a kindred spirit, promptly materializing a soda. “Here. Let’s toast to that.”

Song Ruan pulled out her enamel mug and lightly clinked it against her head. “Cheers.”

From that moment on, their bond deepened. Throughout the journey, they periodically tuned in to the Song family’s meltdowns, offering live commentary.

The highlight? When the Songs slunk to the textile mill, hoping to trade “her” job for disaster relief funds-only to learn the position had long been sold off.

Their impotent rage as they returned empty-handed sent the duo into fits of laughter.

The air was thick with joyous schadenfreude.

Three days of clattering train travel later, as they neared Heilongjiang Province, Song Ruan had a sudden brainstorm: “Hey System, this livestream function-can you pick any location? Could I preview Dongfeng Brigade? Get a head start on preparations?”

[No can do.] The system sounded almost apologetic. [There are limits. I can access the Songs’ feed because that counts as ‘your home. Dongfeng Brigade doesn’t qualify-no broadcast permissions.]

“Hmm.” Song Ruan’s eyes sharpened. “But once I move into the educated youth dormitory, even if I’m away, you could still pull up footage of it, right? Since that’d be my new home.”

The system considered this.

[…Yes.]

Satisfied, Song Ruan leaned back against her seat: Essentially, I’ve got myself a remote surveillance system!

—

Dear readers,

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the translation so far! Are you enjoying the story? If you think there’s anything that can be improved or if the translation doesn’t feel smooth enough, or if the language feels too stiff, please feel free to let me know. Your feedback is truly appreciated!