Chapter 31.1

Song Qian returned to her dormitory—a six-person room filled with fellow students who had been “sent down” to the countryside before being admitted to university. As soon as she walked in, the rich aroma of braised pork filled the air.

Several of her roommates were clearly struggling to swallow their saliva. It was dinnertime—some had gone to the cafeteria, while others were eating whatever provisions they had brought from home. Song Qian entered with a weary expression and walked straight to her bed.

The tantalizing scent of meat wafted from a nearby table, invading her senses. She tried to ignore it, but her body betrayed her—the involuntary salivation was beyond her control.

Back in her old life, she would refuse to eat meat that contained even a sliver of fat. But now? Her stomach was empty, devoid of any oil or richness. If she had a bowl of meat in front of her, she wouldn’t even blink before devouring it.

The bed next to hers belonged to the daughter of a local commerce bureau director—a plump girl with an insatiable appetite. Every time she returned home, she’d bring back an abundance of delicious food. In this era of scarcity, when everything required ration tickets—especially meat—her family somehow never lacked a thing. They could eat whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted.

The sound of her loudly chewing on chunks of red-braised pork echoed through the room. The girl eating pickled vegetables with a dry biscuit gulped audibly, and everyone in the dormitory heard it. But no one said a word. Meat was too rare—who would willingly share it? They were all here to study, aspiring intellectuals. Pride prevented them from begging for food.

Song Qian glanced at her chubby roommate but masked her disgust well.

The director’s daughter, chewing happily, turned to her. “Qian Qian, want some? My mom made this braised pork—it’s sweet and flavorful. I can share a little with you.”

Song Qian looked at the mushy, over-stirred chunks of meat and shook her head.

Just as she sat down, a classmate who had been eating pickled vegetables walked over hesitantly. “Song Qian, um… can you pay me back the two yuan I lent you the other day? I—I don’t have money to buy meal tickets…”

Irritated, Song Qian snapped, “What’s the rush? I’ll give it to you in a couple of days. Just borrow some meal tickets from someone else for now.”

“But—”

“Enough, enough! I’ll give it to you tomorrow, okay? Why are you nagging over just two yuan?”

Frustrated, Song Qian left the dorm.

After failing to get Commander Yan’s contact information at the military district earlier, she was feeling restless. It was as if everything that had once worked in her favor was suddenly turning against her. The smooth progression of events—the story she had anticipated—was unraveling.

Could it be the butterfly effect from that one mistake she made in front of Wen Xin?

She had been lying in bed when she first transmigrated here. Back then, she had been flipping through her own novel, rereading the part where the supporting female character suffered the most. That passage had filled her with a sense of satisfaction and revenge. She had read it several times before falling asleep—only to wake up and find herself inside the very story she had written.

After the initial shock and confusion, she endured countless hardships before finally making it out of the countryside, where she had survived on nothing but coarse cornmeal buns. She had fought tooth and nail to get into Beijing University.

She had thought that once she got here, everything would proceed according to the novel’s plot. She would meet the male lead, pursue him, marry into the Yan family, and then use their connections and wealth to build her business empire.

But now, things were starting to deviate from the script.

The male lead in the novel wasn’t actually her type—it was the type of man her former best friend liked. Writing him into the story was just her way of venting. She created this character purely to satisfy her own imagination, making the supporting female character watch helplessly, unable to obtain him, and ultimately falling into an abyss of despair, meeting a tragic end on the streets. That was the final fate she had arranged for the supporting female character.

Yet, the female lead didn’t actually love him.

To the female lead in the novel, the male lead was merely a tool—something to use when needed and completely forget when not. He might as well not exist.

She designed the male lead as a career-driven man with little emotional needs but a strong sense of responsibility. As long as someone fell under his protection, he would take full responsibility for them. So after marriage, he fulfilled all of the female lead’s demands.

When she decided to move south after graduation—

Male lead: Okay.

During the golden period of her career, she didn’t want children—

Male lead: Okay.

After marriage, she refused to follow him in the military and would only see him twice a year—

Male lead: Okay.

Later, she became a powerful businesswoman, reaching the peak of her career. She surrounded herself with men from different industries, engaging in lively conversations with her business partners, dancing with high society at banquets, and maintaining ambiguous relationships with multiple men. Eventually, when the tabloids exposed her actions and the male lead found out—

She explained, “This is all fabricated. You have to trust me.”

The male lead, stationed at the military district, simply responded—

Male lead: Okay.

His presence in the story was minimal, yet he was the most worry-free character—the strongest support and the deepest background for the female lead. As long as he was there, no one could touch her. No matter what storms she stirred up, the story was set up so that he would clean up all the mess.

The female lead’s romantic conquests, her ultimate happiness, all culminated in a moment where she, standing in the dazzling city lights, spotted the supporting female character on the streets.

Looking down at the woman, now curled up in a corner like a beggar, she said, “Without you, I wouldn’t have been able to win him over back then. Even though I didn’t really like him, without him, I wouldn’t be who I am today. I owe you a thank you. So, thank you for helping me chase him.”

Then, she casually tossed a hundred-yuan bill onto the ground and gracefully stepped into her luxury car, driving away.

That was Song Qian’s triumphant and perfect ending in the novel.

…

But when she found herself inside the world of her own book, she realized—reality wasn’t as simple as writing a novel. It wasn’t just a matter of putting down a few words, a few thousand words, or even hundreds of thousands of words on paper.

Even just surviving in this era was an enormous challenge for her.

In real life, her family wasn’t exceptionally wealthy, but she had always been pampered. She had never lifted a finger for housework, let alone acquired the life skills needed for this time period. At first, she struggled even to take care of herself, falling sick multiple times.

After enduring countless hardships, she finally made it to university. In the book, as long as she got into university and found the male lead, everything would be smooth sailing—he would shield her from everything.

So, after entering university, she spent all her money on clothes and shoes, dressing herself up meticulously to leave a perfect first impression on the male lead.

But to her shock, the supporting female character cut ties with her over a single careless remark. Even worse, she couldn’t even recognize the face of the male lead she had created—almost like a cruel joke.

The storyline was no longer unfolding as she had written. The supporting female character even had the audacity to demand her money back.

Song Qian was utterly stunned.

That was when she realized—everything changed the moment she entered this world. A butterfly effect had taken place. These characters were no longer just words on a page, no longer puppets controlled by her pen. They were real people, living and breathing in this reality.

From then on, she had to tread carefully.

But by this point, she was already out of money.

The university stipend barely covered her meals, but she had nothing left—not a single cent. She even owed a classmate ten yuan.

She had no way to make money, no practical skills. The theories she had written in her novel fell apart the moment she tried to apply them in reality. None of it worked.

Once she understood this, she had only one option left—to cling to the male lead, her story’s one and only golden ticket.

But even that wasn’t going smoothly—she couldn’t even get his address. This left her feeling anxious and increasingly irritable.

A sinking feeling crept into her heart.

Back when she was the writer, she was the master of every character’s fate. But now, inside the story, she was trapped. The powerful, unstoppable female lead she had written had all the abilities she herself lacked.

That overwhelming gap between her fantasy and her reality sent her emotions plummeting into despair.

…

“Song Qian, Liu Feng is looking for you.”

A girl from the dorm next door came over with a message. “He’s downstairs. Says he needs to talk to you.”

“Oh, I’ll be right down.”

The plum blossom-brand watch on Song Qian’s wrist was a gift from Liu Feng.

Right now, she hadn’t managed to connect with the male lead, nor did she have any source of income.

So for Song Qian, Liu Feng—who clearly liked her—might just be the only person she could use.

…

That morning, the Yan household was empty.

Wen Xin locked the door behind her and headed straight to Tailor Yang’s shop. After taking a walk around the municipal compound last time, she had asked Tailor Yang to make another white dress, tweaking the design slightly.

The moment she stepped inside, Yang’s granddaughter, Yang Hemiao, who had been organizing clothes, ran over. “Wen Xin, you’re here!”

“Mm. Is the dress ready?”

Wen Xin was wearing the dress Tailor Yang had previously made for her, paired with heeled sandals. Before stepping out, she had taken time to freshen up. Though she was naturally beautiful without makeup, she still enhanced her look—styling her hair, deepening her eye contour, and applying a natural lip tint.

The transformation was immediate—stunningly radiant.

Her fair, porcelain-like skin, delicate features, and high cheekbones made her striking even in simple attire. The moment she put on the dress, it amplified its effect, making it look three to five times more expensive.

That was exactly the effect she wanted.

In this novel’s world, there was a sharp divide—on one side, the lower-class citizens still wore coarse fabrics with long sleeves to cover their skin.

But among the elite, those with connections to southern cities had access to high-end goods.

And since Wen Xin had already seen people wearing them in the capital—

That meant she could wear them too.

She was only worried that no one would dare to wear it—if that were the case, she wouldn’t be able to sell it at all.

“It’s finished.” Yang Hemiao took out the dress and held it up in front of Wen Xin. Wen Xin took it and examined it.