Summary

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The 1960s [Period Drama + Book Transmigration + Military Marriage + Dual Purity + Real and Fake Heiress + System + Planar Trading + Mother-Daughter Dual Transmigration]

After dying from overwork, Ruan Zheng woke up and found she had transmigrated into a period novel as the cannon fodder real heiress.

After eighteen years of suffering in the countryside, she finally returned to the city, only to be schemed against by her biased family. They forced her to marry a disabled fiancé whom the fake heiress had rejected.

After the wedding, she did her utmost to care for her husband and manage the household, yet he insisted on remaining celibate for the sake of the fake heiress.

Her mother-in-law, driven to desperation, kidnapped the original host back to the countryside, intending to use her “simple-minded” younger brother to conceive a child and leave an heir for her son.

In utter despair, the original host struck her head against a wall and died with a heart full of hatred.

When she opened her eyes again, the modern Ruan Zheng had arrived, bringing with her a system and a warehouse full of supplies.

Scumbag man? Kick him! Family property? Seize it! Job? Snatch it! Relatives? Tear into them until the very end! After a clean and decisive divorce, she turned around and married Ji Ang—her scumbag ex-husband’s superior and the “white moonlight” the fake heiress could never obtain.

The scumbag ex and the fake heiress lost their minds, acting out until they were sent to the Great Northwest to plant trees.

The family who once looked down on her for being uncouth and schemed against her finally saw the light, crying and clamoring to compensate her.

Ruan Zheng refused with a cold sneer.

With a warehouse full of supplies, a bright future, a 185cm perfect flight attendant husband, soft and adorable children, and a mother who transmigrated with her to protect her child unconditionally…

Life was so good it was soaring. Who would want to deal with that bunch of blind, mindless, and loathsome fools who couldn’t tell right from wrong?

Novel Items

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System Item
A special item granted by the Plane Management System upon binding. It allows the host to temporarily revive for three days. Within these three days, Ruan Zheng must return to the modern era, liquidate her assets, stockpile initial supplies, and then return to the 1960s to become a supermarket operator.
System
A system that appeared after Ruan Zheng's body collapsed. It offers binding in exchange for granting Resurrection Armor. The system's mission requires the host to return to the modern era, prepare supplies, and go back to the 1960s to become an outstanding supermarket operator to create a better living environment for more people.
Tool
A Swiss Army knife used by Song Zheng to pin a vibrant green snake to a tree trunk while Ruan Zheng was climbing the tree to hide. She noticed it out of the corner of her eye as she left.
Item
A teapot that Ruan Zheng grabbed from the coffee table and smashed into Zheng Xiujie's face during her confrontation at the Zheng family home. The lid fell off mid-air, splattering lukewarm water and tea leaves all over him. It shattered on the floor with a faint trace of blood among the debris.
Food
A cold but soft flatbread sent by Grandma Yao to Yao Qingqing at the dam site, wrapped in cabbage leaves.
Arcane Treasure
A storage dimension provided by the System where Ruan Zheng could store all her purchased goods, electrical appliances, and other items for transport to the 1960s.
Latest Release
DateGroupRelease
2026-08-11shanghai fantasy c10
2026-08-11shanghai fantasy c9
2026-08-11shanghai fantasy c8
2026-08-11shanghai fantasy c7
2026-08-11shanghai fantasy c6
2026-08-11shanghai fantasy c5
2026-08-11shanghai fantasy c4
2026-08-11shanghai fantasy c3
2026-08-11shanghai fantasy c2
2026-08-11shanghai fantasy c1

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Let me just say this—these chapters are set almost entirely in a hospital room, and yet I felt like I was standing in it. The author doesn't do lavish descriptions of the setting, but the details that ARE there hit like photographs. Ruan Zheng cradling the bruised part of her head to SHOW Zheng Jianguo the injury—that visual alone tells you everything. No dialogue needed. The milk tea she rewards herself with after he leaves. The bandages wrapped around her head that Liu Xiangqin notices but doesn't actually ask about. These are the kind of details that make a setting feel lived-in rather than painted. But what really brought the world to life for me was the military compound atmosphere that keeps bleeding into every scene. Liu Xiangqin's demeanor—"adopting the authoritative demeanor she used at the factory"—Song Yao's reputation among the compound aunties, the gossip about Wei Canmou's family losing a chicken that somehow became a spy scandal. This is a world where reputation is currency and a single rumor can destroy careers. The compound isn't just background; it's a character itself, a pressure cooker where everyone is performing for an audience of judgmental neighbors. The hospital ward becomes this strange liminal space where the family's power dynamics are laid bare. Ruan Zheng is literally wounded, vulnerable, bandaged—and yet she's the one holding all the leverage. The physical setting mirrors the emotional one: cold, clinical, sterile, but underneath it all, something festering. I also love how the author uses the System's comedic interjections as a kind of narrative breather. After the tension of the Liu Xiangqin confrontation, we get the System freaking out about data checks and Ruan Zheng crossing her arms and legs like a boss. It's a tonal shift that keeps the pacing from becoming suffocating.
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I need to just get this off my chest — Zheng Xiujie is possibly the most disgusting character I've encountered in a transmigration novel and I've read a LOT of them. The man is paralyzed, yes, but his psychological abuse is what makes him truly vile. He's sitting there telling his guests that his heart and body belong to Song Yao, that he'll never touch Ruan Zheng, and then his mother has already kidnapped Ruan Zheng to "borrow seed" from a mentally disabled man so Zheng Xiujie can have an heir through someone else. And he's OK with this? He's like, "as long as she doesn't fight with A-Yao, I'll make sure she's fed and clothed." Fed and clothed. Like she's a pet. Like she's not a human being who was forced into this marriage. And the absolute audacity when Ruan Zheng shows up — instead of being horrified that his mother tried to assault his wife, he criticizes her appearance and asks her to make him hot water. BRO. The man is delusional to the core. But honestly, what I love most is Ruan Zheng's response. She doesn't just yell — she systematically dismantles his entire self-image. "You're the one taking advantage of me. You're the one who's unworthy of me!" That line hit so hard because it completely flips the power dynamic. For the first time, Zheng Xiujie is the one who's powerless and exposed. Also — Song Zheng. The guy who catches her falling from a tree. Beautiful, calm, offers her his name and tells her to find him at the military compound. I'm already shipping them and we've only known each other for five minutes.
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I need to talk about how each character sounds here because WOW. The author has given every single person a voice so distinct that I could tell who was speaking without looking at the name tags. Liu Xiangqin's dialogue is all commands and deflections. "Hurry up and take care of it." "Can't you be a bit more sensible and take some responsibility?" She never asks a real question—everything is a demand wrapped in the language of concern. Even when she's trying to be gentle with Song Yao, it comes out as instruction. This is a woman who has never had a genuine conversation in her life, and it shows in every syllable. Song Yao is worse, obviously. Her lines are all performative softness: "Sister, please stop arguing with Mom." "I'll talk to her alone later." "Please make sure to take good care of Mom and Dad for me." Every sentence is a trap disguised as empathy. The green tea energy is so thick you could spread it on toast. But Ruan Zheng—oh, Ruan Zheng is where the dialogue really shines. Her lines are short, sharp, and devastating. "If you don't even care about my life or death, then you have no right to be my mother." "And if you're not my mother, you naturally have no right to demand anything from me." She doesn't raise her voice. She doesn't need to. Each sentence is a scalpel. And then there's the System, which provides this hilarious running commentary: "The System was shocked, the System screamed, the System completely failed to understand." It's such a tonal contrast to the heavy family drama that it became my favorite voice in the text. The author's narrative voice itself is worth noting—dry, observant, occasionally sardonic. Lines like "Unfortunately, before she could put on her act, Song Yao spoke first. Damn. A damn green tea bitch." This is the kind of narration that makes you feel like you're reading a friend's thoughts, not a novel.
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Okay, let me just say this — the moment Ruan Zheng opens her eyes in that hospital bed and realizes she's actually IN the novel, I literally sat up in bed. The original plot had her dying on the day of the assault, reduced to a stepping stone for Song Yao's happiness. But this version? She's already planning her next moves while half-asleep. That's not a victim, that's a predator who just realized she has claws. The structure here is so satisfying because it mirrors the classic revenge arc but flips it immediately. Instead of wallowing, she's already thinking three steps ahead. The scene with Zheng Xiujie threatening her is peak plot tension — he's sitting there in his wheelchair, trying to play the benevolent family man, and she just eviscerates him with the truth about her first eighteen years. And the dirt-eating detail? That's the kind of specific, horrifying detail that makes you feel like the author really knows how to make you care. What I love most is how the plot uses the System as a counterpoint to her agency. The System runs calculations and wants her to take the optimal path, but she's already bypassed that entirely by deciding to wait for Zheng Jianguo instead. She's not following a script — she's rewriting it. And that final reveal about Zheng Wanyin's identity being her real bargaining chip? Chef's kiss. She's not just surviving, she's holding the entire family's secrets hostage.
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I need to just quote a few lines because the dialogue in this chapter is absolutely lethal. "Have you ever eaten dirt, Young Master?" — This is the kind of line that stops you cold. It's not dramatic, it's not performative. It's just a factual question that carries the weight of eighteen years of starvation. And then she explains the kaolin clay in clinical detail, like she's giving a science lecture while describing her own childhood trauma. That contrast between clinical delivery and horrific content is what makes her voice so distinctive. "Are the folds in your brain just filled with sewage? You love trash so much, chasing after the stench wherever it goes." — Ye Wentao deserved every word of this. The rhythm is perfect, the imagery is vicious, and it comes from a place of someone who has nothing left to lose and therefore nothing to censor. And Zheng Xiujie's dialogue is equally revealing, just in the opposite direction. "My mother made a mistake, but aren't you at fault too?" This is gaslighting at its most casual and most dangerous. He says it like he's discussing the weather, not like he's trying to manipulate a woman who just survived an attempted murder. The fact that he follows it up with "we're family, and we still have to live under the same roof" makes me physically angry. The author's narrative voice is also doing incredible work here. The line about Ruan Zheng not turning dark "the moment she learned the truth was a testament to her kindness" — that's the narrator stepping in to comment, and it's so perfectly timed. It reframes everything we just heard. And the System's internal voice? [What are you planning to do next?] vs. [Better not say anything.] — the shift from eager assistant to cautious observer is hilarious and tells us everything we need to know about how dangerous Ruan Zheng is becoming.
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Let me just say — this pacing is relentless and I am here for it. Chapter 3 is basically one long shopping montage. Three days, non-stop buying, and the author doesn't let up for a single breath. It's exhausting just reading about it. And that's the point, right? We're supposed to feel the urgency. Three days. Two million yuan (if you count things she can't actually sell). A list that never ends. The credit card maxing out. The System offering to help with a mortgage loan and then immediately refusing when it senses she's about to ask for something illegal. This chapter is a masterclass in building momentum through accumulation. Then Chapter 4 — BAM. Body transmigration. Hospital. Murder attempt. Within the first few paragraphs of the new chapter, someone is trying to kill her. The pacing shift is jarring in the best way. One moment she's happily buying birthday cakes ('Once she arrived, she could eat one cake a year for the rest of her life') and the next she's fighting for her life in a 1960s hospital ward. The structure here is smart because it gives us a breathing room (the shopping) before slamming us into danger. If the murder attempt had come immediately after binding, we'd be in constant high-tension mode and it would be exhausting. Instead, we get the satisfaction of watching her prepare, stock up, and feel like she's ready — only to have reality hit her the moment she arrives. The chapter ends on a cliffhanger of sorts — not a literal one, but the prescription handoff to the elderly woman. She's building social capital, creating allies, and we're left wondering what happens next. The author knows exactly when to pause and when to accelerate.
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