That blanket was a whisper of luxury against his skin, its weight comforting and its embroidery so intricate it felt like a work of art. No matter how many coins he hoarded in secret, a treasure like this would always be a lifetime out of reach for him.
Suddenly, the door next door groaned open. A man stepped out, a curse already dying on his lips as he spotted the figure lingering in the hallway. He froze for a heartbeat before his voice exploded in the cramped space. “You little brat, so this is where you’ve been! Skulking around in the middle of the night—are you trying to die out here just so the neighbors have something to gossip about? Get inside this instant and account for yourself!”
Spitting out a final “bad luck” [(Huiqi / 晦气): A common Chinese expression used when someone feels a person or event has brought them a streak of spiritual misfortune or ‘bad jinx’], the man turned on his heel and slammed the door shut.
The spill of warm light vanished as the hallway plunged back into a suffocating dimness again.
Hidden in the swallowing shadows, the boy lowered his gaze. Suddenly, the vibrant, exquisite colors of the blanket felt mocking—dazzlingly bright and painfully out of place to him.
On the other hand Xia Zhen let herself wander the desolate riverbank until the sky began to bleed the pale grey of dawn. Only then did she signal Uncle Zhao [(Uncle / Shu-shu): In Chinese culture, it is customary to call elders or long-term staff ‘Uncle’ or ‘Auntie’ as a sign of respect, even if there is no blood relation] to drive her back to the Xia estate.
Before crossing the threshold, Xia Zhen paused. She patted her cheeks to bring up a flush and rubbed her eyes until they were raw and stinging. She took a breath, shedding her exhaustion and replacing it with a mask of fragile despair. With red-rimmed eyes and the haunted look of someone who had spent the night weeping, she stepped into the living room.
Xia Yu the eldest son of Patriach Xia and Xia Zhen’s father was there, draped across the sofa. Even at rest, he exuded the sharp, cold elegance of a man born to rule. Though he was well over forty, the years had been kind to him as ; he possessed the refined, lean look of a man in his thirties. Even without the title of President of Xia Enterprises, his “mature charm” [(Chengshu meili / 成熟魅力): A specific trope in C-drama/novels referring to the magnetic, authoritative aura of a successful older man] would have been enough to turn heads whereever he goes.
He didn’t look up from his documents. “How was the banquet?”
“Fine…” Xia Zhen whispered.
The sound of her small, broken sniffle finally made the workaholic look up. Seeing her tear-stained face, Xia Yu’s brow furrowed, his voice dropping into a tone of heavy authority. “What happened?”
Xia Zhen flinched, shrinking back as if physically struck by her father’s sternness. “Nothing… Dad, I’m fine.”
Smack.
Xia Yu threw his documents onto the marble coffee table. “Regardless of the reason, you are the eldest daughter of the Xia family. Look at yourself. Is this how a lady of your standing behaves—wailing like a commoner?”
His voice wasn’t raised, but the icy edge in it was enough to paralyze any junior. Xia Zhen was no exception. She wiped her eyes frantically, peering at him with the look of a wounded animal as she was naturally beautiful, her suppressed sobs only making her appear more “pitiful and moving” [(Chu chu ke lian / 楚楚可怜): A Chinese idiom for a delicate, fragile beauty that evokes a protective instinct in others].
Xia Yu, however, had no patience for weakness. He stood up, his gaze piercing. “I asked you: what happened at the banquet?”
“At the banquet…” Xia Zhen stammered, her voice trembling. “Song Heng… he didn’t invite me to be his opening dance partner.”
The implication was a slap to the face for her . For years, the world had viewed Xia Zhen and Song Heng as “Green Plum and Bamboo Horse” [(Qingmei Zhu Ma / 青梅竹马): A Chinese idiom for childhood sweethearts who grew up intimately together]. Their families were intertwinedby buisness also . For Song Heng to snub her publicly was a declaration of war against her status.
Xia Yu’s mind raced through the political fallout. When his gaze finally returned to his daughter, his voice was indifferent. “I have invested years in your upbringing. You should know by now: I do not permit my daughter to be a failure.”
Xia Zhen’s head bowed, her knuckles white as she gripped the fabric of her designer skirt. “Dad, I don’t want to fail either… but Song Heng chose Tang Susu. He chose her over me. I feel so… discarded.”
She surreptitiously pinched the soft flesh of her thigh. A fresh, genuine tear splashed onto the polished floor.
Xia Yu’s expression flickered—a rare crack in his stone facade. It took him a long moment to find his voice. “Stop crying.”
He tried, with visible effort, to sand down the jagged edges of his tone. Xia Zhen began wiping her eyes with her hands, but the more she fought it, the more the tears flowed.
“Ever since Tang Susu returned to the Xia family, Grandpa doesn’t look at me anymore,” she sobbed, her voice rising in a crescendo of insecurity. “Everyone is gravitating toward her. Even Song Heng… Dad, tell me the truth. Will you stop loving me too? Will you just replace me with her?”
Xia Yu stared at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. He was a man of logic and ledgers, not emotions. When she was a child, he hadn’t held her when she fell; he had simply stood over her until she stopped.
However, age had granted him one small concession to fatherhood. He reached out, grabbed a box of tissues from the table, and tossed it at her.
The box caught Xia Zhen square in the face.
You old bastard, she screamed internally, this is why nobody likes you!
But on the outside, she remained a picture of fragile grace. She clutched the tissue box to her chest, pulling out one sheet at a time to dab her eyes, looking utterly desolate.
“I have only one daughter,” Xia Yu said stiffly.
Xia Zhen looked up, summoning a flicker of courage to meet his eyes.
His face remained a mask of tension as he had reached the limit of his emotional capacity with that one sentence. He reverted immediately to his businesslike persona. “Song Heng choosing Tang Susu was an anomaly. The Song family likely wasn’t consulted. Do not dwell on it. Song Heng’s fiancée will be you—there is no other option.”
Of course, Xia Zhen thought bitterly. I’m just a chess piece in his merger.
“Dad,” she said suddenly, “I want to transfer schools.”
Xia Yu’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“I can’t bear to see them together. It hurts too much. I want to go to No. 1 High School.”
Xia Yu paused. Xia Zhen had always been cocooned in “International Schools” [(Guoji Xuexiao): Elite, expensive private schools for the wealthy] where the path to an Ivy League education was paved with gold. No. 1 High School was different. It was the city’s top public academy—a “cradle of scholars” known for its brutal “Gaokao” [(National College Entrance Exam): The notoriously difficult exam that determines a student’s entire future in China] success rates.
He sat back down and picked up his papers. “No.”
“But I need to go!”
“It’s too far, and it’s a public institution,” Xia Yu said, his brow darkening. “It is not… easily managed.”
By “managed,” he meant his influence didn’t reach there. He couldn’t make a phone call to excuse her from PE or ensure she had a private lounge.
“I’ll be like everyone else, Dad. No special treatment. Just let me go.”
“I said no.”
“Fine! Then you just want me to stay here and wither away until I want to die?!”
In a fit of calculated rage, she hurled the tissue box back. It struck Xia Yu squarely in the face. The box clattered to the floor, and for the first time in years, the President’s icy composure shattered into pure shock.
“Xia… Zhen!”
“You’re heartless!” Xia Zhen wailed, covering her face and bolting for the stairs before he could recover enough to roar back.
Xia Yu pressed a trembling hand to his chest, drawing a jagged breath as he leaned on his iron-clad self-regulation to steady his nerves. Once the ringing in his ears faded, a single word haunted the silence: “Death.” He tried to dismiss it—surely it was just a child’s melodramatic outburst. He shouldn’t let it unman her. Yet, ten minutes ticked by, and he hadn’t processed a single line of the document in his hands. With a sharp exhale, he cast the papers aside and dialed his driver.
“Mr. Xia? Is something wrong?” Uncle Zhao’s voice was immediate.
“Did the banquet run exceptionally late tonight? Zhenzhen only just returned.”
“No, sir. Miss left quite early, actually.” Uncle Zhao’s voice warmed with a touch of pride as he recounted Xia Zhen’s departure, praising her for being so uncharacteristically helpful to others.
Xia Yu’s eyes widened. He knew his daughter; at her core, she was a mirror of himself. A Xia did not perform “good deeds” unless there was a calculated gain.
“Uncle Zhao,” Xia Yu pressed, his voice tight. “Why did she go to the river?”
“Miss said she was in a dark mood and needed the air. She seemed… melancholic.”
“Did she say anything specific?”
“She mentioned… something about how peaceful it would be to drift freely, like a fallen leaf on the water.”
Fallen leaves? Drifting away?
And she had just screamed about dying.
Xia Yu’s face drained of color. He gripped the phone so hard the casing groaned.
Meanwhile, upstairs, Xia Zhen was sprawled comfortably across her silk sheets. She tapped into a group chat ironically titled “The Plastic Sisters” [(Suluo Jiemei / 塑料姐妹): A popular Chinese internet slang for ‘fake’ female friendships—looks bright and pretty like plastic, but has no real heart]. The screen was a waterfall of faux-sympathy from the city’s wealthiest heiresses.
【Zhenzhen, don’t be sad! Song Heng was probably just curious about what that “Second Young Lady” of yours looked like. That’s why he asked her to dance.】
【Exactly! You’re so elegant and “sensible” [(Dongshi / 懂事): In Chinese culture, this is high praise for a girl who knows her place and doesn’t cause trouble]. How could he not prefer you?】
【It’s definitely not because Tang Susu is prettier or more “moe” [(Meng / 萌): Loanword for ‘cutely charming’]. No way!】
【My fiancé was so worried I’d be bored that he just bought me a cruise ship. Zhenzhen, let’s go out and distract you!】
【Mine insisted on buying me a private island just to escape this heat. You must come with us!】
Xia Zhen watched the conversation veer from “comfort” into a blatant “flexing contest.” A cold smirk played on her lips. She took a quick screenshot of a recent notification and dropped it into the chat like a grenade.
【Waaaaah, I’m so jealous! I don’t have a wonderful fiancé like you guys, and clearly, I’m just not likable. When I’m sad, no one buys me islands. My dad—such a “Straight Man” [(Zhi nan / 直男): Slang for a man who is blunt, lacks romance, and is emotionally oblivious]—only knows how to throw pocket money at me. This kind of “Copper-Stink” [(Tongchou / 铜臭): A literary way to describe the ‘stink’ of vulgar wealth]* is so annoying!*】
The attached screenshot showed a notification from Royal Bank:
Your card ending in 8888 has received a transfer of 9,999,999. Current balance: [A string of zeros long enough to cause a headache].
In penthouses across the city, several young ladies put down their phones and took very deep, very shaky breaths.
God, she’s so annoying!
Xia Zhen felt significantly better. She had never lost a “Palace Battle” [(Gongdou / 宫斗): A reference to the high-stakes power struggles between concubines in historical dramas] in this social circle. It was almost a pity she was transferring; she would miss out on tormenting these adorable rich girls.
As she was about to wash up for bed when her screen suddenly flickered and died. Before she could complain about a virus, the display glowed a vibrant, dreamy pink. A heart-shaped glass jar appeared, containing a single, shimmering star-shaped candy.
Small, peach-colored hearts drifted across a whimsical interface. A dialog box popped up:
【Welcome to the Heartbeat UpUp mobile game!】
【I’m your Newbie Guide, Little Heart!】
A “Chibi” [(Quban / Q版): A cute, big-headed, small-bodied art style] sprite fluttered across the screen, winking at her. Xia Zhen tried to force-close the app, but the phone ignored her commands.
The sprite waved a tiny magic wand. 【The tutorial isn’t over! You aren’t allowed to leave!】
“What on earth…”
The sprite blinked its oversized eyes. 【To compensate you for the Time and Space Administration’s error in dropping you into this “Book World,” we have arrived to grant you a “Cheat Code” [(Jinchizhi / 金手指): Literally ‘Golden Finger,’ a slang term for an overpowered ability or advantage given to a protagonist]!】
Xia Zhen bolted upright as memories of her past life—stepping into a literal hole in the road and waking up here—flooded back. For seventeen years, she had lived without her “Transmigrator” memories. If she hadn’t remembered now, she’d still be a pathetic supporting character chasing after Song Heng!
“I don’t want a cheat code,” she snapped at the screen. “Send me back.”
The sprite waved its wand again. 【Impossible. You are already “Dead” in that world.】
Xia Zhen went quiet. The finality of it stung. “…Fine. What’s the cheat?”
The sprite did a somersault. 【Raise a Boyfriend!】
“I’m sorry, what?”
【Perform good deeds to earn Star Candies. These candies possess “Healing Power”! Use them to nurse “Little White” back to health!】
The screen transitioned. The vibrant pink was replaced by a bleak, lightless room. In the corner, a figure was curled into a ball. It was a boy, no older than six or seven, his skin so pale it was translucent. Most haunting of all was his hair—as white as fresh snow. He was hugging his knees, shivering in a desperate attempt to find warmth.
【Ta-da! This is Little White!】 The sprite hovered over the boy’s head. 【He’s so hungry, so cold, and in so much pain! Quick! Feed him a Star Candy!】
The glass jar in the corner flashed urgently. Xia Zhen, her curiosity piqued, tapped the screen. The jar popped open, and a candy drifted toward the boy, dissolving into a soft white light that merged with his silver hair.
The boy didn’t move.
Xia Zhen tapped a few more times. “Nothing happened. This is useless.”
【Oh, it’s working! But the best surprises are for the player to discover. I have other “Transmigrators” to guide now. Tutorial complete! Have fun playing—bye-bye!】
The screen returned to its normal home page, leaving Xia Zhen staring at the mysterious new icon.