Chapter 1

Splitting Headache!

It felt like a thousand needles piercing her brain. Ye Xiaoyu thought she’d never wake up, but she wasn’t ready to die. Struggling against the pain, she finally forced her eyes open.

Sunlight filtered through floral curtains into an entirely unfamiliar room.

Yellowed whitewashed walls, brownish-yellow ceramic tiles on the floor, and an old but sturdy camphor wardrobe against the wall. She lay on a bed opposite the wardrobe, covered by two worn but clean red floral duvets.

What?

Ye Xiaoyu tapped her forehead, trying to piece together her last memories.

She was an overworked corporate drone, proud to have saved enough to buy a second-hand apartment in Beijing. Renovation had been a grueling process, but her stubborn, goal-driven nature saw her through. She even treated her two closest girlfriends to a seafood feast to celebrate her “promotion” to homeowner.

The last thing she remembered was a lively conversation at the party—no alcohol, just drinks, since everyone had to drive home. But now, she was in this strange room and an unfamiliar body.

What happened?

She pinched herself. It hurt. Not a dream.

Throwing off the quilt, she sat up. The cold hit her like a slap, jolting her fully awake. Wrapping a quilt around herself, she glanced at the dressing table mirror.

!!!

Her reflection was not her own. A wave of panic sent her heart racing. Closing her eyes, she took deep breaths before daring to look again. The stranger in the mirror remained.

Tall—easily over 1.7 meters—and stout, weighing at least 200 pounds, the woman in the mirror had decent features buried under layers of fat. Despite the unfamiliar body, her keen observation told her the obesity was more environmental than genetic, likely stress-related weight gain.

Even worse than the weight were the posture issues: slumped shoulders, a forward neck, tilted pelvis, and knock knees screamed of years of overwork and neglect.

This has to be a nightmare.

Just as she began to despair, a rush of memories not her own flooded her mind. Another person’s life flashed before her eyes, leaving her gasping and clutching her head. As the pain subsided, clarity dawned: she wasn’t herself anymore.

Ye Xiaoyu lay back down, covering her head with the quilt. A new chapter of her life had just begun—one she’d never asked for.

The woman was also named Ye Xiaoyu, 26 years old, about ten years younger than her.

She was born in a rural production brigade on the outskirts of Yan Capital in Ye Nation. An excellent student in her school years, she chose to attend a technical secondary school, harder to gain admission to than a regular high school, to ease her family’s financial burden. Upon graduation, she was lucky enough to be assigned to work at a motor factory in Yan Capital.

Her once pure and attractive appearance caught the attention of many young single men. Among them was Yang Ligang, a technician at the same factory.

Yang Ligang acted quickly, arranging a matchmaker to propose on his behalf before anyone else. Ye Xiaoyu’s parents, seeing that Yang Ligang was decent-looking and a skilled technician, agreed to the marriage. The two soon entered the “graveyard of marriage” and had a son, who was now five years old.

“…”

Had a son?

Ye Xiaoyu blinked repeatedly to confirm the reality—she had become a mother, painlessly.

Although this era had broken away from feudal thinking, with slogans like “Women can hold up half the sky” advocating for women’s empowerment, traditional beliefs were still prevalent. The original Ye Xiaoyu was a kind, hardworking, introverted, and gentle woman.

Perhaps it was the shared name that stirred Ye Xiaoyu’s protective instincts, making her heap all the positive qualities onto the original owner of this body.

After marriage, the original Ye Xiaoyu was selfless in her devotion. She balanced work with maintaining a spotless household, raising her child, and even occasionally taking care of her in-laws.

Unfortunately, she didn’t understand the truth of “relying on others will eventually let you down” or the importance of self-care and investment. Worse yet, she married the wrong man, who ruined her life.

Yang Ligang had always been shallow and of poor character. During her pregnancy, he was already treating her poorly, and his behavior only worsened after their son was born. As the original Ye Xiaoyu became increasingly fatigued and overweight due to overwork and stress, Yang Ligang underwent a complete transformation, treating her with disdain.

The year was now 1992, during the winter. Since the 1980s, Ye Nation had seen waves of entrepreneurs emerging, with some families earning tens of thousands and even millions.

There was a common saying: “Poverty tests love, and hardship drives people apart.” These sayings were often rooted in the flaws of one partner’s character. Even without poverty or hardship, some relationships still fell apart due to incompatibility or selfishness.

Many nouveau riches, with “yellow-faced wives” at home and “colorful flags flying” outside, even saw infidelity as a badge of honor.

Though Yang Ligang hadn’t ventured into business to get rich, he had been promoted to factory director at the motor plant and fancied himself a prestigious cadre in a state-run factory. Living in the spacious apartments provided by the factory, he began imitating those nouveau riches by flirting with younger, prettier women at work.

Most of the young women ignored him. After all, they had their pride and wouldn’t settle for a divorced man, especially one with a child. But a few women with questionable motives saw an opportunity and climbed the ladder he extended.

Yang Ligang became infatuated with one particular mistress. When she got pregnant, he sweet-talked her and began planning to divorce his wife, completely disregarding his own beer belly and greasy demeanor.

The original Ye Xiaoyu had lived a stifling life. Her husband’s disdain, emotional abuse, and her in-laws’ constant criticism had driven her to the brink.

In her desperation, she thought her son might have a better life without her, failing to realize that in such a dysfunctional family, a motherless child would only suffer more.

On her day off, she sent her son to his grandparents’ house, returned home, and turned on the gas, attempting to take her own life.

And so, the original Ye Xiaoyu died. In her place, the modern Ye Xiaoyu, bearing the same name, woke up in her body. Were their lives somehow exchanged?

Ye Xiaoyu couldn’t shake the feeling that fate, or some divine intervention, had set things right—each Ye Xiaoyu now living the life they were meant to lead.

This world wasn’t entirely the same as her 21st century. Even the names of countries were different. Though the timeline and major events were similar, the details diverged, resembling a parallel universe from a novel.

Ye Xiaoyu doubted she could return. But what about her painstakingly renovated little apartment? The thought of leaving her new home behind—after pouring in all her energy, learning wiring, design, and carpentry—made her fume.

Wait. Gas suicide?

Her muddled thoughts snapped into focus. Ye Xiaoyu’s body moved faster than her mind. Despite her weight, she bolted out of bed and sprinted to the kitchen.