“Chop the greens, dice the mushrooms, shred the lean meat… oh, don’t forget the century egg.”
On a sweltering midsummer day, outside the window of the small house, a little clay stove held a small earthenware pot.
Inside, white rice porridge bubbled gently.
A three- or four-year-old girl muttered to herself as she held a century egg, preparing to crack it into the pot.
She was tiny, looking fragile, and she worked cautiously, carefully watching the food in the pot, afraid of making a mistake.
But because she was too nervous, she couldn’t hold the egg properly—it slipped from her hands and fell to the floor.
It was the last century egg in the house.
If she didn’t finish the lean meat and century egg porridge before her stepmother woke up, she would surely be beaten. Panicked, she rushed to pick it up…
“Yo, your stepmother’s forcing you to cook again? And always with meat, huh? No wonder you’re the daughter of a capitalist!”
“Little girl, I’ll tell you, your stepmother was sneaking around in someone’s cornfield last night. She’s a seductress, always flirting with men. Your dad’s been humiliated to no end. And you’re cooking for her? Are you stupid?!”
A soldier’s wife walked over, amused, watching the scene.
Xiao Niannian, still holding the muddy century egg, pouted in grievance at their words.
Her eyes quickly reddened.
“Don’t talk about my dad! I don’t want you to say anything about him… boohoo…”
“Heh, your whole family’s a mess. Your dad’s a great man—tall, handsome, a regiment commander. He could marry anyone! How could he end up with that piece of trash? Honestly, you should just let your dad divorce her…”
…
Inside the room, Jiang Mengning lay on the bed, sighing sadly.
Listening to the voices outside, she became certain: she had transmigrated into a book.
One moment she was on the awards stage, holding her trophy for Best Actress; the next, a crazy, obsessive fan shoved her off the stage.
When she woke up, she had entered a novel set in the 1980s—a story she had been preparing to adapt herself.
Because of this, she had analyzed each character in depth.
In the original story, the male lead was exceptional: from age twelve, he skyrocketed without setbacks and became the world’s richest man at a young age. His life was flawless, apart from having a stepmother.
He was a perfect male protagonist—charismatic, talented, and unstoppable.
The female lead? Well, that had nothing to do with Jiang Mengning.
Unfortunately, she had transmigrated into the role of the male lead’s stepmother—a villain sharing her same name.
Originally, she had the script of the female lead in hand, but now, suddenly, she was the stepmother.
She felt like dying.
The original Jiang Mengning, daughter of a wealthy capitalist, had schemed to marry Huo Jinyan, a regiment commander, at age eighteen. Huo Jinyan had two children: the older, a twelve-year-old boy—the story’s male lead—and the younger, a three-and-a-half-year-old girl.
The original woman had been cruel: as a stepmother, she tormented the children. They suffered under her care. She shamelessly frequented dance halls and consorted with men, eventually returning home pregnant with a child of unknown paternity. Her husband, unable to tolerate it, divorced her.
Jiang Mengning groaned in despair.
What kind of ridiculous setup was this! Thankfully, she had been married to Huo Jinyan for less than two years, and the original had not yet become pregnant by another man. Otherwise, this body would have been too filthy for her to want.
Outside, the child’s cries grew louder. She couldn’t ignore them.
She got out of bed, looked around the room, and saw a chamber pot under the bed.
Picking it up, she opened the door and dumped it over the long-tongued woman outside.
“Shut up already! Annoying as hell.”
“Splash!”
Qin Sufang was drenched from head to toe, looking like a soaked chicken.
“You crazy woman! How dare you throw this on me!”
Jiang Mengning casually leaned against the door.
She picked up a handkerchief and wiped her hands disdainfully.
Her fingers were delicate and fair, her joints pink and soft, clearly unused to any labor—a pampered lady.
Her appearance was enchanting: thin eyebrows, slightly upturned phoenix eyes, long curled lashes, a droplet-shaped nose, cherry lips, and a curvy figure. Every gesture was full of charm. In sunlight, her skin was milk-white.
Today, she wore a tight qipao, her figure alluring, impossible to ignore.
Qin Sufang opened her mouth to curse but didn’t know what to say.
This woman was sharp-tongued and shameless—clearly not someone to mess with.
Jealous, she glared and then left.
“I’ll tell your old man Huo about this!” she spat.
Pfft—what a seductress, all she does is flirt with men.
Once she left, Jiang Mengning snorted coldly.
“Some nerve! Serves you right to get splashed.”
Seeing her stepmother appear, Xiao Niannian no longer dared to cry. She hurriedly wiped her tears with her dirty sleeve and carefully approached her stepmother.
“Mom… I… I dropped the egg. Please don’t hit me. I won’t do it again.”
She held out the cracked century egg to her stepmother.
Her voice trembled; she knew she couldn’t avoid the punishment.
Her small hands were dirty, her face and clothes covered in ash. Her hair was messy, and she was so thin that her eyes seemed twice as large as normal.
Though her features were fine, her upbringing had left her fragile and pitiful.
Jiang Mengning looked at her and felt a strange emotion stir.
“Mom?” This was the first time a child had softly called her “Mom.” It… sounded surprisingly nice.
Jiang Mengning had always been against marriage and had no particular fondness for children.
She didn’t dislike them, but she couldn’t warm to them either.
But… looking at this little girl, she felt a flicker of pity.
This little one must be Huo Jinyan’s daughter, Huo Sinian.
According to the book, the girl had an unhappy childhood.
When she grew up, she tried to escape her stepmother by going far away to study.
But fate was cruel: alone outside, she was harassed by a thug and ultimately met a tragic death at eighteen.