1978, the sixteenth day of the first lunar month. The residential compound of the Agricultural Machinery Factory.
“Xiao Nan, I ran into Director Wu from the Personnel Department while buying vegetables today. She asked when you’ll be able to start work…”
Jiang Nan was puzzled why her stingy mother-in-law had lingered after setting down the food instead of leaving. Turns out she’d been working up the nerve to push her into earning money.
Jiang Nan sneered inwardly and said coldly: “Mom, the doctor said my condition requires a full month of postpartum rest, just like a normal delivery. Otherwise, I’ll suffer for it when I’m older. It’s only been half a month—I absolutely can’t go. Next time Director Wu asks, just show her the doctor’s note. She’s a woman too; she knows how serious this is. If she still insists I go to work, then we’ll take it up with the union!”
Sure enough, her mother-in-law’s smile froze at once.
Jiang Nan thought to herself with bitter irony: whoever’s pushing her to work, it might not be who it seems.
Her mother-in-law mumbled an acknowledgment, then awkwardly added, “Well, you eat. I’ll go have my meal too,” and slipped out.
From outside came the lively voices of the family calling her mother-in-law to join them. Jiang Nan lowered her gaze to the bowl of chicken soup noodles, suddenly lost all appetite, leaned against the headboard, and sighed heavily. If her body weren’t still weak, she would’ve kicked the bedframe a few times in frustration. What kind of mess was this!
So many people watched this dog-blood melodrama of an era, yet she was the unlucky one—sharing the same name as the original character, and ending up as the scapegoat.
Yes, Jiang Nan had transmigrated. Or more precisely, she and the original soul had swapped bodies—and there was no way back.
In her real life, Jiang Nan had been a single woman in her thirties in the twenty-first century. After more than ten years of work, she had finally saved enough for a car and an apartment. She’d been debating whether to transfer to a lighter post at her company or resign altogether and retire early in a comfortable third- or fourth-tier city.
Unexpectedly, she woke up to find herself in the body of the original host—hauled straight out of the emergency room—the tragic sister-in-law of the heroine.
And tragic was no exaggeration.
Born into a rural family that valued sons over daughters, the original host had married into the city by chance, but had no job. Normally, in such cases, the mother-in-law would transfer a job quota to the daughter-in-law. But before she married into the Cheng family, her mother-in-law had already given the position to her son Cheng Denglin, to keep him from being sent down to the countryside.
After marriage, since her father-in-law was a fifth-grade technician earning 68.8 yuan a month, if the job were given to her, she’d start as an apprentice at only 18 yuan—a loss of 50 yuan. Naturally, no one in the family mentioned it again.
Fortunately, the original host was capable. After giving birth, she worked as a temp at the factory and, through sheer effort, eventually became a permanent worker.
But then came the twist.
At the start of this melodrama, her sister-in-law—the heroine Cheng Yixin—returned home with her children after her officer husband died in service. The Cheng family, overcome with pity, didn’t care about wage downgrades. The job that the original host had fought so hard for was swiftly transferred to the heroine. What’s more, she wasn’t required to contribute to household expenses—the elderly parents covered everything.
In other words, the heroine brought three extra mouths to feed, yet took away the family’s largest source of income, without giving back a single cent. At best, she occasionally bought candy or meat, which was considered thoughtful enough.
The in‑laws’ promise of “subsidy” lasted only the first few months. As time dragged on, the old couple—already retired and without income—watched their savings shrink and grew anxious. They stopped contributing. Instead, whenever the household expenses ran out, the mother‑in‑law would quietly approach the original husband.
He, being the heroine’s twin brother, felt deeply for her. With her husband gone, she and the children had no support. He thought: *I can manage, so why not help more?* And so he willingly handed over money.
The original host discovered this secret support early on, but didn’t take it too seriously. She assumed it was temporary—after all, her sister‑in‑law had plenty of suitors and would surely remarry soon. The subsidies couldn’t last forever. So she chose to turn a blind eye, letting her husband coax her along.
But melodramatic heroines never have it so simple. Her love story dragged on through endless entanglements—changing partners, breaking up and reconciling—forty or fifty episodes of twists before any “true love reunion.” Thus, the hapless couple became the ultimate victims. Their combined monthly wages barely topped eighty yuan, yet they scrimped and slaved to support aging parents with savings, a sister whose deposits were several times theirs, plus one son and two nephews. They carried this burden for more than two years.
And that was only the beginning of her tragic saga.
Half a month ago, she miscarried. The baby was already over five months along. Worse, the doctors said she would likely never conceive again.
The cause? Absurd and heartbreaking.
The heroine was beautiful, well‑off, and fashion‑conscious—the “style pioneer” of the factory compound. Her daughter, Lu Xiaoxiao, inherited her vanity and loved dressing up. That year, Director Zhou’s granddaughter wore a dazzling red down jacket from Shanghai, stunning all the little girls. Lu Xiaoxiao lost the “beauty contest” and ran crying to the original host’s son, Cheng Hao, begging him to avenge her.
So Cheng Hao, while the children were setting off firecrackers together, secretly lit one in the girl’s pocket. Her new coat was ruined; she burst into tears, though thankfully she wasn’t hurt.
When the host found out, she was furious. She grabbed a broom and beat him. She had warned him repeatedly never to throw firecrackers at people. Yet he not only disobeyed, but he also used them to bully someone—for the ridiculous reason: “She made my sister cry!”
Not just the original host—even Jiang Nan, watching from outside the story, felt her blood pressure spike. Who wouldn’t want to thrash him? A little girl happily wore a new coat for New Year—what harm did that do you? Your sister insists on competing, loses, and cries. And you think you have the right to retaliate? Do you really believe your sister is some little princess who must never suffer the slightest grievance?
In short, Jiang Nan’s outrage matched the original’s, which is why her punishment was even harsher.
For the first time, Cheng Hao was beaten so severely. Spoiled by his grandparents, he had never truly feared his own mother. In pain and panic, he rammed himself against her without thinking. That collision caused his already well‑developed baby sister to be lost. And all of it began with nothing more than a childish quarrel between little girls. How unjust for the original host, and how pitiful for the child who never had a chance to live.
But the story only grew more explosive.
Had Jiang Nan not arrived, the original host—true to her nature and the plot’s design—would have yielded to her mother‑in‑law’s hints and pressure. Out of pity for her husband carrying the family’s burden alone, she would have cut short her postpartum rest and returned to work, continuing to toil and sacrifice for the Cheng household.
Meanwhile, the heroine sold her job quota, left her two children in the care of her parents and sister‑in‑law, and set off alone with her university admission letter, the money from selling her job, two years of wages, her late husband’s savings, and his pension. She embarked on a bright campus life—romance, study, friendships, mentors. After graduation, she launched into a dazzling Mary Sue‑style career as a “strong, independent” businesswoman.
Through it all, the original continued her tragic existence:
When she asked the heroine for child support for the twins, her mother‑in‑law and the children spread rumors that she was stingy and cruel, so neighbors and colleagues gossiped about her. In truth, she never received a cent, yet still raised the twins healthy and respectable until they finished primary school, only sending them back once the heroine’s love life and career were secure.
Spotting opportunities in the early days of reform, she planned to take unpaid leave to start a business. But the heroine also wanted to start one and asked the family for capital. She refused, quarreled bitterly, but her husband and in‑laws secretly handed over all their savings to the heroine, forcing her to give up.
Years later, when her husband’s workplace pooled funds to build housing, she was thrilled at the chance to move into a spacious, bright apartment. Yet again, the heroine came asking for money to expand production. Her husband and in‑laws ignored her protests and lent it out.
Time and again, the hard‑earned savings she had scraped together were siphoned off to the heroine. And still, she was branded by everyone as the miserly, short‑sighted “awful sister‑in‑law.”
After being laid off, she refused to stay home as a housewife. She tried to run a small business near a school, only to be scorned by her teenage son for being embarrassing. When he finally went to college and she prepared to spread her wings, her husband was promoted. He persuaded her that a bureau chief’s wife running a street stall would look bad.
And so, the original host was like someone who had fallen into a swamp—struggling desperately to save herself, yet dragged deeper and deeper by the very people she called lover and family. Her ambition, her drive, her fighting spirit were worn away day after day by trivial chores and endless household drudgery, until she became a dull, numb middle‑aged woman. Her own son resented her, saying that as a woman she should have been like his aunt, capable of earning money. Her in‑laws secretly despised her, believing she was unworthy of her husband.
The once sweet marriage was reduced to endless quarrels and cold wars. Everyone urged her to divorce. Her son promised that after the divorce he would support her, that he would always be her safety net. He didn’t want her wasting her life on his father, nor could he bear to watch his parents torment each other any longer.
She believed him. But after the divorce, she realized her son only wanted a mother who was elegant, respectable, someone he could show off.
Her husband, meanwhile, had long cherished a female confidante from his university days. Though they had never crossed the line, he had kept her in his heart for half a lifetime. Finally, with his sister’s matchmaking and the family’s blessing, he married her.
In the end, the woman who had sacrificed everything for her husband and son was left utterly heartbroken. On the day of her husband’s remarriage, she left town. Alone, she died of illness in a rented room.
Thus ended her tragic life.
“Ugh—” Jiang Nan recalled the plot and felt sick to her stomach. Back when she watched the drama, she only thought the melodrama was entertaining. But now that the script had become her reality, those blood‑boiling plot twists were her own memories. It was nauseating beyond words. Luckily, she had taken over!
Jiang Nan couldn’t help but sigh again. Even after half a month, she still struggled to accept it, but she felt relieved for the original woman.
Surely the original host must have recognized this drama within her own memories, Jiang Nan guessed.
Though the actors didn’t resemble the real people, every character’s personality and relationships matched reality. The Cheng family’s daily affairs might not have been shown in detail, but every major event involving the heroine was faithfully reproduced. The original would have recognized it all.
Knowing the disgusting future plotlines, seeing clearly her husband’s emotional betrayal and her son’s selfishness, she should finally be able to break free from the chains of so‑called love and family, and fight without hesitation.
As Jiang Nan thought this, she quietly calculated her assets. Whether the original chose to start a business or continue her career, there was enough to secure her future.
As for Jiang Nan herself, she needed to adjust her mindset, adapt quickly to this era, and begin her retirement plan. The more she thought about it, the more she realized this was a perfect era for retirement: university came with subsidies, graduates were guaranteed job assignments, workplaces provided dormitories, sometimes even housing benefits. In short, the state covered nearly every aspect of life. Even with the economic boom, the pace of life and work was relatively slow. For a seasoned corporate veteran, stress was practically nonexistent.
Jiang Nan touched her face—ten years younger now. In this light, her and the original’s soul swap could almost be called mutually beneficial. The more she thought, the more her fighting spirit flared. She bent over, opened the bedside drawer, pulled out her son’s practice notebook and a half‑used pencil, and began scribbling plans.
Unnoticed, the clatter of dishes in the main room faded, replaced by children’s laughter. Immersed in her own world, Jiang Nan heard a knock at the door, a voice calling “Sister‑in‑law,” and then saw someone push the door open.