Chapter 8

Two figures walked away side by side, not too far and not too close.

Jiang Henián shrank back her head after sneaking a peek, casually wiped away the tears at the corner of her eyes, and gave a satisfied flick of the ten-yuan bill in her hand.

At this time, ten yuan was roughly equivalent to 1,500 in modern currency.

Judging by Song Wenqing’s nervous reaction, if she guessed right, that girl with the pearl hairclip and shoulder-length hair must be none other than the female lead of the novel—Si Yuzhen.

Another city-born educated youth, she came from a well-off family and volunteered to go to the countryside to avoid gossip and gain political merit.

She seemed like a decent girl—what a shame she’d end up wasted on such a selfish and scheming “phoenix man.”

Jiang Henián tucked the extorted ten yuan into her space and turned back into the yard.

She took the money with a clear conscience. Song Wenqing had been in Huagou Village for over half a year and had taken plenty of food and daily items from the original host without giving anything in return—never refusing, never accepting, never making it clear.

Basically treating her like a backup option and a sucker.
Bastard!

“Splash, splash, splash—”

She scooped water into a basin.

Looking at the face reflected on the surface—identical features but dull and sallow—Jiang Henián was bombarded by memories of the original host’s infatuation with Song Wenqing.

It felt like mental pollution—deeply unpleasant.

Now that she knew the plot up to Chapter 10 before the original host’s death, all she needed to do was stay away from the male lead, and she should be able to avoid that fatal ending.

As for how the male lead would win over the heroine and ride her family’s connections to success—none of her business.

Jiang Henián shook her still-aching head and flicked the water surface with her fingers.

No taste whatsoever.

Don’t worry, I won’t let you—
we won’t walk that dead-end path again.

We’ll stay far, far away from him.

The water rippled outward in waves. The pretty yet gloomy reflection in the basin slowly distorted and disappeared.

Jiang Henián splashed her face, shut the courtyard gate tightly, and pulled a box of braised chicken with mushrooms out from her spatial storage.

Her eyes swept over the yard littered with dirt and chicken poop before settling on a chopped wood stump in the corner.

She squatted there.

The instant she opened the meal box, savory steam burst forth.

Her stomach flipped and twisted in hunger—she felt so ravenous her eyes practically turned green.

She clamped down on a large chicken leg with her chopsticks and bit into it with a growl, swallowing it whole. Even the toes in her ragged cloth shoes wriggled in delight.

In no time, the full box of one meat and two vegetables was completely cleaned out.

Jiang Henián let out a satisfied belch.

Looking at the utterly empty box—nary a grain of rice or drop of sauce left—she glanced in disbelief at her own stomach.

This body was seriously malnourished.
No wonder her complexion was waxy and lifeless.

Clearly, she needed to start nourishing herself.

Slowly getting off the stump, Jiang Henián took out a bottle of strawberry yogurt from her space.

Carefully stepping around a line of ants carrying rice grains across the ground, she sipped her yogurt while walking back to the house—completely ignoring the massive pile of firewood in the center of the yard waiting to be chopped.

The Jiang family house wasn’t big—just three small rooms and a central hall. The floor was paved with blue bricks, but the walls were all made of mud bricks.

The kitchen stove sat in the yard, built against the west wing—the very room she had woken up in.

Jiang Henián returned to the west room, crouched beside the kang bed, and fished out eight paper bills from a small hidden crevice.

Altogether, one yuan and fifty cents.

This was the money the original host had secretly saved. It used to be over eight yuan.

But ever since Song Wenqing came to Huagou Village, the original had fallen for him at first sight, then deeper still at second. Like a wildflower finally touched by sunlight, she gave all she had, selflessly and silently—spending all ten years’ worth of hoarded change on that dog of a man.

Thinking about how she died gathering wild vegetables on a mountain made Jiang Henián’s blood boil.

Too inexperienced. Should’ve extorted more just now.

She jabbed a finger hard into the crevice.

You little cannon fodder, pure-hearted love warrior—too bad you had no taste.

Jiang Henián squatted in the corner, muttering to herself for a while, then stored the original host’s “inheritance” in her space too.

Just in case someone came snooping and took it.

She looked around the cramped little room—barely a few steps wide beyond the bed. Old newspapers on the wall had turned yellow and brittle; just brushing them made them flake and fall like powder.

Like the soybean powder from the donkey roll snacks she ate as a kid.

So poor. Really poor.

On the kang bed, two flat pillows lay side by side. The pillowcases had large, garish floral patterns in pink and green—vintage enough to make Jiang Henián’s eyes sting.

She sucked the last of her yogurt dry and stored the empty box away like the meal box—these couldn’t be thrown out randomly. She’d have to destroy the evidence properly.

Patting her now slightly fuller stomach, she shuffled back onto the kang and glanced at the other, clearly better-quality pillow.

That one belonged to her stepsister, Jiang Yanqiu.

From the bits of memory she received, only the parts related to Song Wenqing were complete. Everything else was fragmented—but she could piece together the basics.

A remarried couple with kids from previous marriages.

This household… was not going to be easy.

Jiang Henián felt a headache coming on. She had only just escaped debt by transmigrating—why was living a peaceful life so hard?

Was there any way she could live on her own?

She sat cross-legged at the edge of the kang, absentmindedly massaging her right ankle.

She wondered how that Grandpa He was doing—he must’ve been seriously injured first, then just happened to get gently bumped by her minivan.

He… probably wouldn’t die, right?

Being a mafia boss is really a high-risk job.
If he’s dead—please, please don’t blame me, I didn’t mean it…

Maybe it was the side effect of time travel, but with all those random thoughts swirling in her head, Jiang Henián quickly dozed off again from sheer exhaustion.

—

“I’m not marrying him, no matter what! Didn’t you hear what they said?! Even if he wakes up, he’ll be crippled—can’t even work the fields. How am I supposed to live if I marry him?!”

“Keep your voice down! You want the whole neighborhood to hear?! First, go wake that deadbeat girl up—she hasn’t chopped the firewood, fed the pigs, or even made lunch! Is she trying to defy the heavens?!”

“You go wake her! She’s out cold like a dead pig—I don’t even know if she’s alive. Either way, I’m telling you—I’m not marrying him!”

After a chaotic burst of clattering and banging, Jiang Henián was violently yanked by the ankle and dragged off the kang bed.

Her body jolted in shock. Before she even opened her eyes, her legs instinctively kicked out, screaming:

“Don’t touch me! Get away from me!”

“Jiang Henián, are you crazy?!”

Wang Chunfang clutched her nearly dislocated wrist, glaring at Jiang Henián with venomous hatred in her eyes.

That face—looking more and more like her dead mother—was an eyesore.

Jiang Henián scrambled to sit up, still reeling, and looked at the two unfamiliar women in the room.

It took her a moment to realize—this was her stepmother Wang Chunfang and her stepsister Jiang Yanqiu.

Definitely not here with good intentions…

Jiang Henián swallowed hard. From the cracked window, she caught sight of someone entering the courtyard.

Wang Chunfang turned around at the noise and saw her husband, Jiang Chengmin, taking off his straw hat and stepping in.

Her expression immediately flipped, and she widened her eyes to glare at Jiang Henián, voice turning soft and concerned:

“Sanya, how are you feeling? Why did you run into the fields in the middle of the night? If your Auntie Gui hadn’t found you, you could’ve been dragged off by wolves! Your poor father was worried sick.”

“Your Auntie Gui said she saw someone running off—who did you sneak out to meet?”

Probably up to something indecent,
and dragged back half-dead—hmph!