Chapter 3: Car Accident Crossing
Sheng Wanyan flew to over a dozen countries in a single month. She didn’t just buy livestock and agricultural seeds; she swept the global markets for everything she could get her hands on.
Cheap fabrics, daily necessities, medications, sanitary products, bulk seasonings, pots and pans, bicycles, electric scooters, and stacks of educational books—she bought it all. From heavy excavators down to wooden toothpicks, if it was for sale, she bought it.
Yet, even after visiting more than a dozen countries, she still had five billion yuan sitting in her account. Realizing that gold bars were the ultimate security, she spent three billion yuan acquiring pure gold bullion. The remaining two billion yuan she donated directly to national charities to build schools for children in impoverished mountainous regions.
The next evening, Sheng Wanyan sat on the sofa of her luxurious hotel room. The dream she’d had the night before had felt incredibly vivid, as if she were physically standing in that bleak, gray world.
She had a sinking feeling that it wouldn’t be long before she said goodbye to this life.
With a thought, Sheng Wanyan entered her space. She used her mind to systematically sort, organize, and stack the towering mountains of supplies into her warehouse. After eating a quiet meal inside, she returned to her hotel room. The next morning, she checked out and took a drive to admire the beauty of the city one last time.
CRASH!
Sheng Wanyan’s eyes widened as an out-of-control truck barreled directly toward her. No matter how sharply she swerved, there was no escaping destiny.
Sheng Wanyan lay in a bed, her head throbbing and heavy. Through the thick fog of her consciousness, muffled voices drifted in from the outside room.
“What are we going to do?”
“The neighborhood committee already sent the official notice. Yan’er has to go to the countryside.”
The anxious, trembling voice of a woman reached Sheng Wanyan’s ears. She tried desperately to open her eyes, but her body felt entirely drained of strength.
“Yan’er turns twenty this year. Sending her to the countryside will ruin her life!” the woman cried out, her voice rising with emotion. “Are we just supposed to watch her get stuck out there and marry some random stranger?”
In the small living room, a middle-aged man sat on a wooden stool, his brow furrowed in deep helplessness and sorrow. Over the years, out of all the young people sent to the countryside, had any of them actually managed to return to the city?
Their daughter was twenty years old—prime marriageable age. Once she went down to the rural villages, she might never be allowed back.
The man wiped his tired face, trying to find a way out. “Our only option is to buy her a job. Otherwise, she’ll have to find someone to marry here in the city, fast.”
Hearing this, the woman grew even more frustrated. “Do you think I don’t want to buy her a job? But jobs are impossible to come by these days! Who would be foolish enough to give up a secure city position and sell it to an outsider? Even if someone did vacate a spot, they’d pass it down to their own relatives.”
Listening to the frantic conversation, a dazed Sheng Wanyan finally forced her eyes open. Gazing up at the drab, gray ceiling, she realized she had transmigrated.
As she lay there, a sharp pain lanced through her skull, and a flood of memories that didn’t belong to her rushed into her mind.
This was the 1970s—specifically, April of 1973. It was a strict, ration-dependent era where nothing could be bought without commodity coupons. The Lunar New Year had just passed.
The original owner of this body shared her exact name, and her family consisted of six people.
There was her grandfather, Sheng Jingxin, sixty-five; her grandmother, Wang Yulan, sixty-three; her father, Sheng Yuhua, forty-five; and her mother, Hua Fu, forty-three. She also had an older brother, Sheng Wanze, who was twenty-five and currently serving in the military. Because of the nationwide youth movement urging young citizens to build up the rural borders, the neighborhood committee had flagged Sheng Wanyan to be sent down to the countryside.
The family lived in a typical tube-shaped apartment building. Though it had three bedrooms and a small living area, the entire flat was only about fifty square meters.
Her grandparents shared one room, her parents took another, and the final bedroom had been divided into two tiny, private spaces using a partition of red bricks. This gave both children their own privacy, ensuring her brother would still have a place to sleep whenever he returned on leave.
After graduating from high school, the original Sheng Wanyan had remained at home. It wasn’t that she was lazy or refused to go to college—universities had been suspended for years, and secure factory or administrative jobs in the seventies were rarer than gold.
Instead, she had stayed home to care for her aging grandparents and cook for the family, doing her best to ease her parents’ burdens. But the official mandate had arrived. If she refused to go to the countryside, it would be labeled as a lack of political solidarity, a serious offense that could cost both her parents their stable jobs.
The entire household was sick with worry. Life in the rural villages was notoriously brutal, filled with grueling backbreak labor and endless hardships. For a twenty-year-old woman—considered an “old maid” by this era’s standards—going down to the countryside meant she would likely be trapped there for the rest of her life.
The Sheng family didn’t favor sons over daughters; they cherished both of their children equally. The original Sheng Wanyan had been so overwhelmed by the anxiety of her impending departure that she had collapsed from a sudden, severe fever. When she finally woke up, her soul had been replaced by the Sheng Wanyan of 2026.
Sheng Wanyan massaged her aching temples. The names, ages, and faces of the original owner’s family matched her future family perfectly.
She was certain of it: these were her people. Her grandfather’s dying promise had actually come true. Her family had been reunited in another world. She didn’t know where the original soul of this body had gone, but she would have to unravel that mystery slowly.
Though she hadn’t lived through the 1970s herself, her grandfather had told her stories about how difficult it was for the sent-down youth to ever return to the city—unless they waited until the college entrance examinations were reinstated in 1977.
But 1977 was still four years away. She had no intention of enduring four years of grueling agricultural labor. Contributing to rural construction sounded noble in propaganda slogans, but the reality on the ground was a completely different story. She wasn’t looking for unnecessary suffering; rural villages could be just as rife with petty malice, gossip, and schemes as any city. If she went, she would be completely isolated.
She needed to secure a city job to stay. The notice gave her half a month before departure—more than enough time for a woman of her means to find a solution.
“You two stop shouting, you’re going to disturb the child,” an elderly woman’s voice scolded from the kitchen. “Yan’er is still asleep. We still have half a month left, so we’ll find a way.”
Old Madam Sheng walked out carrying a dish, giving her son and daughter-in-law a stern look. They were middle-aged adults, yet they were acting so thoughtlessly, arguing loudly while their daughter was recovering from a fever.
“I’ll go check if she’s awake,” Mother Sheng sighed. She mixed a cup of warm brown sugar water and carried it into the small bedroom. Seeing Sheng Wanyan leaning weakly against the headboard, her face pale, she chided softly, “Look at you, you little brat, you’re finally awake. Are you still dizzy? Drink this brown sugar water.”
Sheng Wanyan looked up at her mother, her eyes instantly stinging with tears. The woman looked exactly like her mother from her past life, only far thinner. She wore a simple gray tunic, a dark cotton-padded jacket, and plain black cloth shoes. Her complexion was slightly sallow from the era’s diet, lacking the elegant, polished look she had maintained in the future.
“What are you staring at? Drink it while it’s warm,” Mother Sheng muttered, bringing the cup to her daughter’s lips.
She wondered if the fever had scrambled the girl’s brain. Why was she looking at her like she was seeing a ghost?
Sheng Wanyan quickly drank the sweet water, her eyes locked firmly on her mother’s face, terrified that if she blinked, the woman would vanish into thin air.
