Dongmei’s curiosity grew exponentially when she noticed An Xin staying quiet. She leaned closer, unable to suppress her urge to ask:

“Did you and Zhang Fan… you know?”

If that were true, then maybe her best friend could finally get married!

After all, An Xin’s reputation in the village was dreadful. People in the village say that An Xin has a foxy face, is a beauty that brings disaster, and a jinx. If she doesn’t go out and find a man, she might not even be able to get married.

Fortunately, Zhang Fan didn’t seem to mind her tarnished reputation, so An Xin had hatched this plan to force things along by turning “raw rice into cooked rice” and had Dongmei run the errands for her.

“Oh, my God, what a mess!”

An Xin screamed internally, though outwardly, she forced a stiff smile and nodded.

“Yeah… I broke up with Zhang Fan.”

“What?!”

Dongmei’s jaw practically hit the floor. Her confusion only grew as her questions came out in rapid-fire succession.

“Wait, what?! You broke up with Zhang Fan? But wasn’t this whole thing about catching you two together? Didn’t I bring everyone here to help you pull it off?”

Dongmei mentally retraced every detail of the plan, trying to figure out what could have gone wrong. From her perspective, nothing seemed out of place.

“We were caught at the scene by the group of people you called,” An Xin replied blankly. “But the male lead wasn’t him.”

“Then who was it?”

Dongmei’s curiosity flared like a wildfire.

“Ugh… It was that guy from the geological team at the village entrance. What’s his name again? Bai Yichen.”

Dongmei was stunned.

“Bai Yichen? How on earth did you end up with him?”

An Xin sighed, exasperated.

“How should I know? One moment, I was asleep, and the next thing I knew, he was there!”

Now that she had pieced it all together, An Xin finally understood why the original owner of her body had been so desperate to turn “raw rice into popcorn.”

The poor girl had been ostracized, her confidence shattered by the village’s cruel gossip. Desperate to escape her label as a “disaster,” she had tried to marry herself off to Zhang Fan.

Feeling a pang of pity for the original owner, An Xin turned serious.

“By the way, you’re not allowed to tell anyone that I asked you to organize that scene. Take it to your grave.”

If word got out, Bai Yichen might skin her alive—and the villagers might drown her in their spit.

Dongmei looked at Anxin silently for a long time, then nodded heavily, and the gossip fire in her heart burned again.

“Wait, so… you and Bai Yichen didn’t already have something going on?”

“Pfft!” An Xin scoffed. “What makes you think I’d be involved with someone like him?”

If she were going to pick a man, she’d much prefer a warm, cuddly “golden retriever” type over an icy, stoic “wolf.”

Still, the current reality was undeniable: she had crossed paths with the “cold wolf.” Now, she had to figure out how to deal with the fallout.

Dongmei wasn’t ready to let go of her curiosity.

“But how did it happen? You two being… together?”

An Xin shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe something went wrong somewhere along the way.”

Deciding it was pointless to dwell on it, she stood up and grabbed her things.

“Anyway, now that things are what they are, I need to hurry home. If Bai Yichen really shows up, my mom and siblings are going to be terrified.”

Dongmei finally grasped the gravity of the situation and waved her off.

“Alright, alright, go handle your business.”

As An Xin left, Dongmei felt a mix of relief and happiness for her friend. At least An Xin could marry now, escaping the suffocating weight of the villagers’ judgment.

---

Walking home with unsteady steps, An Xin entered her modest house. It was so barren and empty that one glance revealed everything inside. The poverty was palpable.

Her twin brothers and younger sister weren’t home, leaving her mother, Chen Hongyan, lying weakly on the bed. At the sight of An Xin, a flicker of light returned to her dull eyes, and she struggled to sit up.

“Xin’er, where have you been? You didn’t come home all night. I’ve sent your siblings out to look for you.”

Chen Hongyan’s voice was faint, but her concern was evident.

Guilt gnawed at An Xin as she hastily fabricated a response.

“Mom, you shouldn’t have worried. And you definitely shouldn’t have sent the kids running around. I was with Dongmei. She couldn’t sleep well lately and asked me to stay over. I forgot to send word, sorry!”

The original owner’s memories filled An Xin’s mind. Six months ago, her mother had suddenly fallen ill. Her appetite suddenly increased, and the frequency of urination and defecation increased along with the increase in appetite. Then, her hands and feet would tremble whenever she did farm work. Finally, she developed palpitations and lost weight rapidly. Now, she could barely move, relying on sporadic herbs her children found in the mountains to keep her alive.

Looking at her mother’s frail figure—skin and bones, ghostly pale—An Xin’s heart ached deeply.

It was as if the original owner’s lingering emotions had seeped into her own. Seeing her mother, An Xin felt both warmth and an overwhelming sorrow.

Chen Hongyan’s illness, as An Xin recognized from her modern knowledge, was likely hyperthyroidism. Left untreated, it drained the body’s energy and vitality. But in this era, with such primitive medical resources, a diagnosis seemed impossible—let alone treatment.

Moreover, the family was too poor to afford even basic care.

Her father, An Dingguo, had passed away not long ago, worn down by years of grueling labor. Now her mother was wasting away, leaving An Xin and her younger siblings to fend for themselves in crushing poverty.

Seeing her daughter’s unusually gentle tone and demeanor, Chen Hongyan felt a rare flicker of comfort. Her face, as pale as a sheet, softened slightly as she thought:

My daughter seems to have grown up.

From the day she was born, An Xin had been labeled a “disaster magnet.” Her beauty, inherited from both parents, was almost too striking for her own good. Villagers called her a curse, blaming her for everything from a dying pear tree to the family’s misfortunes.

But deep down, Chen Hongyan knew the truth. The family’s struggles had nothing to do with An Xin. Their misery stemmed from one thing: poverty.

If only they weren’t so poor, her husband’s illness could’ve been treated, her own condition wouldn’t have been neglected, and her children wouldn’t have grown up half-starved.