“Ranran, just take the grain from the house for now. That’s my second uncle, after all; I can’t just stand by and watch his whole family starve.”
“Ranran, you handle the work in our fields for now. I’m going to Aunt Zhao’s house first to help her bring in her harvest.”
“You guys aren’t doing much at home anyway, so what’s the big deal if you go a little hungry? That’s my mother we’re talking about!”
…
Zhao Ran felt like she was losing her mind. Was reading a single novel really enough to make her start dreaming about its contents? Except, she didn’t seem to be dreaming about the actual plot. It felt more like the thoughts that had flashed through her mind while she was reading.
Was this a case of “what occupies the mind by day, haunts the dreams by night”?
Regardless, Zhao Ran hated this dream. It felt incredibly stifling and aggravating. For someone like her, who loved “power fantasy” web novels where the protagonist gets their revenge, this kind of plot was pure garbage. To her, this dream was a total nightmare!
She forced her eyes open, but the sight of a ceiling plastered with old newspapers left her dazed once again.
While her mind was still a muddled mess, countless images suddenly flooded her brain. The sheer intensity of the memories almost made her black out again, but she managed to endure it.
However, Zhao Ran couldn’t help but curse inwardly. She wasn’t cursing her own non-existent mother, of course, but the mother of the author who wrote The Days of Being Heavily Pampered by My Factory Director Husband After Rebirth!
That’s right—Zhao Ran had transmigrated. Specifically, she had transmigrated into that novel set in 1983, the second year after the peasants had finally been granted their own land.
The scenes from her “dream” just now weren’t a fictional product of her imagination; they were the actual past of the original host of this body.
The original host was the “cannon fodder” ex-wife of the male lead, the factory director. She had only appeared in the male lead’s memories and in conversations to serve as a foil for the female lead’s virtues.
The novel established right at the start that the male lead was a widower with three daughters. When the original host was still alive, the male lead had been a “great man” who sacrificed his small family for the sake of the greater good. Whether it was friends, relatives, or neighbors, everyone else’s business was always more important than his own family’s affairs.
In the end, the original host actually died of acute appendicitis. While the male lead was in the middle of borrowing a vehicle to take her to the hospital, he was called away by someone else. She didn’t receive treatment in time and died at home.
Because of this, the male lead felt immense regret and sorrow. Ultimately, he underwent a transformation, becoming a mature man who knew how to set boundaries and balance relationships. And all the debt he owed his late wife, he repaid in full to the female lead.
Perhaps because the original host shared a similar name, Zhao Ran couldn’t help but feel for the poor woman. While reading the book, she hadn’t been able to empathize with the female lead at all; instead, her mind had been filled with thoughts of the hardships the original host had endured.
But now that she had actually transmigrated as the original host and recalled her past, Zhao Ran was so consumed by rage that her chest felt tight.
She was angry at the male lead for being such a spineless pushover, and even angrier at the original host for being a woman so worn down by life that she was powerless to resist. The original host’s reality was even harder than Zhao Ran had imagined.
Zhao Ran had always hated these kinds of frustrating stories. She never expected that after finally sifting through a pile of trash to find a decent-sounding book, not only would the plot be this aggravating, but she would also be sent here to experience this miserable life firsthand.
Zhao Ran was so angry she wanted to punch a wall, but looking at the adobe house with its visible cracks, she didn’t think the structure could withstand a single kick from her.
Sighing, Zhao Ran stood up. A sharp, stabbing pain in her abdomen made her hiss, reminding her that her top priority was getting to the hospital immediately.
Enduring the pain, Zhao Ran got dressed and stood up. Looking at the three yuan and twenty cents the original host had on her, she decisively picked up a brick used to weigh down the large pot lid on the earthen stove. She turned around and smashed open the cabinet belonging to the male lead—her current husband, Yang Jianjun.
In the original host’s memory, this cabinet held all of Yang Jianjun’s belongings. The original host was a country woman, and in an era where those who worked for the state were envied by everyone—let alone a factory director like Yang Jianjun—she felt she had married above her station. Consequently, she practically worshipped him.
To protect his pride, whenever Yang Jianjun came home, his things were always locked in this cabinet. Neither the three daughters nor the original host were allowed to touch it.
According to Yang Jianjun, it contained important documents from the factory, and if they touched them, it would bring him ruin.
But Zhao Ran wasn’t the original host. She wasn’t stupid enough to be fooled, nor did she believe that “important documents” needed to be kept at a factory director’s home long-term.
When Zhao Ran smashed the cabinet open, she saw that in addition to the military uniforms and blankets Yang Jianjun had brought back after being discharged, there was also a box. Inside the box, besides his military medals, were three hundred yuan in cash and a savings passbook.
That’s right, Yang Jianjun was a veteran who had been reassigned to work as a factory director. Since his hometown was also in the countryside, he wouldn’t have had the chance to become a director without some special circumstances.
Perhaps because of this, Yang Jianjun was always eager to help others and never knew how to say no when asked for a favor.
Zhao Ran’s hands trembled slightly as she looked at the passbook. The balance was a total of 3,850 yuan. Looking at the entries, it was clear the money had been saved bit by bit since the original host and Yang Jianjun got married. He had deposited fifty yuan at a time, saving every year of their six-year marriage.
The original host had never known about any of this. She didn’t know how much Yang Jianjun’s monthly salary was, let alone what he did with his money. He only gave her ten yuan a month for household expenses; she was kept in the dark about the rest.
Zhao Ran didn’t want to dwell on this now; it wasn’t the time. Subconsciously, before leaving, Zhao Ran placed the passbook into her Kongjian.
Yes, Zhao Ran had a Kongjian in her previous life. She had always relied on it heavily, so after realizing she had transmigrated, she had instinctively sensed its existence.
The Kongjian wasn’t large and could only be used for storage; Zhao Ran couldn’t enter it herself. In her previous life, she had been poor, so she had essentially used the Kongjian as a suitcase. Of course, it was because of this Kongjian that she had loved to travel everywhere.
A sharp intake of breath called Zhao Ran back to the harsh reality of the novel.
Clutching the three hundred yuan, her face pale, she stumbled toward the door.
As soon as she stepped out, Zhao Ran saw the original host’s eldest daughter washing diapers for the youngest daughter. According to the original host’s memories, the eldest was only five years old.
Yang Jianjun wasn’t the biological son of Old Mrs. Yang, so it wasn’t a case of the mother-in-law disliking the original host for only bearing daughters—the old woman simply disliked everyone in this branch of the family.
Hiss. She knew she was on the verge of dying from the pain. If she left now, she probably wouldn’t be back for seven or eight days after the surgery, and she certainly couldn’t count on Yang Jianjun.
“Tingting, go out and find Granny Sun. Tell her Mommy is dying of pain and ask her to come help.”
Seeing her mother in such a state, the eldest daughter rushed outside in a panic. Fortunately, there were always elderly women sitting near their door chatting. The little girl ran out crying and shouted:
“My mommy is dying!”
In an instant, many people rushed into the house.
The neighbors had never been close to the original host because she was introverted and rarely socialized; most of them only came in to see the spectacle. But Zhao Ran didn’t care about that. She didn’t know why she had transmigrated, but the instinct to survive was paramount.
With great effort, she managed to force out a few words: “Whoever takes me to the hospital, I’ll give fifty yuan.”