“Why am I not your biological daughter? I grew up here. I don’t want to leave.”
“My home is here. Wherever Mom and Dad are, that’s where I belong.”
“Did you stop loving me after recognizing Shen Qingyun? …Fine, then I’ll go.”
The cries ringing in her ears jolted Shen Qingyun awake. Enduring the pounding headache, she forced her eyes open—only to see a long wire dangling from the ceiling, holding a lone incandescent bulb that swayed in the center of the bare room.
She was lying on the floor. The cement beneath her was icy cold, yet her body felt like a furnace—scalding hot, sore all over, her head throbbing and limbs weak.
She had a fever.
Shen Qingyun fed herself a drop of spiritual spring water. Once she felt a little steadier, she finally took in her surroundings.
This house looked like it had teleported straight out of the 1970s.
Whitewashed walls, concrete floor, wooden furniture. Calendars, portraits of national leaders, certificates and medals hung on the wall, and a framed family photo. On the tea table sat a radio, a stack of newspapers, a plastic thermos, and two red enamel mugs bearing the slogan “Serve the People.”
Strange. Just moments ago, she had been at a parachuting base preparing for her next jump—how did she suddenly end up on the set of a retro drama?
“Vivi, our family is in a special situation right now. This isn’t the time for you to be willful. You’re our precious daughter—we would never harm you. Be good and go back to Shen Zhigao’s house. Don’t come again for now. If you really miss us, sneak over quietly. Don’t let anyone see you.”
“Vivi, you will always be our treasure.”
Shen Hanyang and Bai Yue looked at their daughter with reluctance. If things weren’t so dire, they would never let Shen Zhigao take her back.
“Mom, Dad…” Shen Xinwei’s choked voice trembled.
The sound carried through the open door and into the living room. Shen Qingyun followed it and saw a plump girl leaning into a woman’s arms, the man beside them looking on lovingly—just like the family photo hanging on the wall.
What was this? Some dog-blood melodrama? Even the costumes looked like a countryside period show.
Before she could think further, memories slammed into her mind like a flood. When she finished sorting through them, her expression twisted.
She had transmigrated. To be precise—she had transmigrated into a book. Into a retro-era novel she once read, “I Transmigrate, You Reborn: Besties Living Their Best 70s Life.”
The leads were Wang Yalin and her best friend—the fake daughter—Shen Xinwei.
Her role? The real daughter switched at birth, the cannon-fodder villainess used to highlight the fake daughter’s kindness and perfection.
A scheming, vicious villainess at that.
As the real daughter, she had grown up like a servant in her adoptive home. Just after turning twenty, the adoptive parents arranged her marriage—to a domestic abuser from the machinery factory whose three previous wives had all died, leaving him with five children.
Terrified, the original Shen Qingyun had rushed to claim her birth identity when she discovered the truth.
Both daughters returned to their respective families. The original thought her suffering was finally over—only to learn that just days later, her biological parents were being reported and exiled, and she was to be exiled with them.
Meanwhile, the fake daughter—beautiful, kind, and oh-so-perfect—volunteered to “go to the countryside,” touching everyone’s hearts. During that time, she didn’t lift a finger. Others did the hard labor, and she came back unchanged—rosy and plump while everyone else was tanned and thin.
The real daughter wasn’t so lucky.
During exile, she served the Shen family like a workhorse, AND did the fake daughter’s share. Overworked with a weak constitution to begin with, she collapsed when the news of vindication finally came. While the family celebrated, no one noticed—or cared. All they dreamed of was returning to the city.
Illness twisted her mind. She began targeting the fake daughter, but every attempt failed. The final straw: she spit in the communal water kettle, was caught, and the Shen family abandoned her in the countryside without turning back.
They prospered in the city. The fake daughter soared to the top with the help of both families. The real daughter died alone.
Maybe it was the shared name, but Shen Qingyun felt sick just recalling it. She had dropped the book at this point—she wanted to ask the author what kind of brain damage produced such a plot.
Now, she was in the moment after the original had just been recognized. The voices in the room belonged to her biological parents, Shen Hanyang and Bai Yue, and the fake daughter Shen Xinwei.
“I asked a comrade to introduce a reliable, well-born young man. The meeting is set for tomorrow. If it goes well, we’ll settle it as soon as possible. Once you’re married off, your mother and I won’t have to worry. If the Shen family treats you poorly, your husband will be there to protect you.”
“Whatever you say, Dad. I… I don’t mind.” Shen Xinwei blushed.
Shen Hanyang had barely slept since the rumors started—pulling strings, handling assets, planning escape routes. What worried him most was Shen Xinwei.
Now everything was going according to plan. He exhaled.
“What about Sister? Are you arranging something for her too? Mom, Dad—you can’t favor her and leave the good stuff for her.” Shen Xinwei pouted, tugging his sleeve.
Shen Hanyang patted her hand soothingly. “No.”
“She’s dull and not likable. Keeping her with us is best.”
The words fell crystal clear into Shen Qingyun’s ears. She sneered.
The original had been touched hearing this. But the truth? Everyone except the original and her still-young seven-year-old brother already knew the family was going to be exiled.
They didn’t want to leave behind a hardworking servant. Shen Hanyang and Bai Yue had never suffered in their lives—could they handle exile? And with a child?
They claimed to care, yet chose this moment—the most dangerous moment—to acknowledge the real daughter. They were obviously offering her up as a scapegoat to protect Shen Xinwei.
Feeling the original’s injustice and rage boil in her veins, Shen Qingyun murmured inwardly:
Fine. I won’t recognize these parents either. I’ll help you get justice instead.
Once she could move again, she slowly pushed herself up. A warm trickle slid down her neck—she reached back and found a cut on her scalp. She must have hit the table corner when she fainted.
Inside, the conversation continued. Bai Yue and Shen Xinwei were now sobbing in each other’s arms, while Shen Hanyang’s eyes reddened.
Bai Yue clutched Shen Xinwei’s hands. “When your father and I leave, you’ll be all alone in the capital. My heart feels like it’s soaking in bitter water. I can’t bear it. I can’t let go.”
Shen Hanyang’s expression crumpled. “Don’t cry. Do you want her to suffer with us? While we’re still here, we should arrange as much as we can.”
“Dad, don’t you dare secretly find Sister a partner,” Shen Xinwei pouted in Bai Yue’s arms. “You need my approval. I want to choose someone good for her.”
She hated Shen Qingyun. She refused to accept the idea of Shen Qingyun ever living better than her. Once she was sent away, the gap between them would only grow.
“Don’t worry,” Shen Hanyang said. “She’ll go with us when we’re exiled.”
“You already have so much to worry about,” Bai Yue chuckled and pinched Shen Xinwei’s nose affectionately. “And you still want to help Qingyun?”
Shen Xinwei blushed and buried her face in Bai Yue’s arms.
The room was filled with warmth and affection—no one noticed the wooden door creaking open, the noise swallowed by their laughter.
“Exile? Who exactly is getting exiled?”
A cold voice cut through the room.
Startled, Shen Hanyang and Bai Yue looked up. A slender figure stood at the doorway.
Shen Qingyun.
For a moment, panic flickered in Bai Yue’s eyes. She had no idea how much Shen Qingyun had heard.