In 2020, Shen Anran had been a name people whispered with admiration. She understood fabric the way others understood language. Texture, cut, proportion—clothing spoke to her, and she answered with skill. She had walked runways, styled celebrities, and watched her bank account grow until the numbers no longer startled her.
Yet now, lying awake on a narrow wooden bed in a rural village of the 1990s, all that brilliance felt painfully distant.
If she wanted to stand up again, if she wanted to shine, fashion was the only path she trusted. Bringing the styles of the 21st century into this era—clean cuts, structured silhouettes, thoughtful tailoring—was something no one here had seen before. But dreams were one thing; reality was another.
Where would she get money for a sewing machine?
How much did one even cost in this time?
And worse—how would she explain that she knew clothing but had never formally "learned" sewing?
She tossed from side to side, the straw mattress creaking beneath her. By the faint moonlight slipping through the window, she stared at the mud-stained wall and felt bitterness rise in her chest.
She regretted it—deeply. Not learning more about life in the 90s when she had the chance. Back then, information had been everywhere. The internet, documentaries, interviews, even casual videos—she had ignored it all. Now, there was nothing. No internet. No phone. Not even a household telephone. And worse than that—no relatives at all.
The millions lying in her 2020 bank account—her money—would now be accessible to her relatives who turned their backs on her the moment she was quarantined with COVID-19. When she needed care, warmth, or even a single phone call, they vanished. And now, in this life, she could touch none of it.
A bitter smile tugged at her lips.
She wiped her eyes quickly. Crying wouldn't feed her mother. It wouldn't buy a sewing machine. It wouldn't change anything.
"I'll work harder," she whispered into the dark. "I'll save every cent. I'll apply to learn at Mrs. Shi's shop. Somehow… I'll make it."
Love? She laughed quietly at the thought. That was a luxury she couldn't afford.
She would leave this village one day.
Morning came too fast.
Before the rooster could crow, a sharp voice cut through the quiet courtyard.
"Still sleeping, hmph!"
Shen Anran jolted awake. Outside the half-open door stood Madam Zheng, arms crossed, eyes sharp with judgment. Behind her, the morning mist clung to the low roofs of the village.
"You spoil this girl too much," Madam Zheng continued loudly, clearly directing her words at Liu Meilan. "That's why it's only boys she dreams of."
Liu Meilan froze. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out. She had never been good at putting people in their place—not just Madam Zheng, but anyone. She lowered her head instinctively, fingers tightening around the hem of her clothes. She wanted to refute but couldn't find the words.
Madam Zheng tilted her head, lips curling,
"What are you thinking of?"
The question was aimed squarely at Liu Meilan.
Before her mother could answer, Shen Anran stepped forward.
"What does what she is thinking have to do with you?" Shen Anran said coolly, rolling her eyes. She hated people like Mrs. Zhang who couldn't mind their business, "And why are you here so early? The rooster hasn't even crowed."
Madam Zheng stared at her, stunned.
Everyone in the village knew Shen Anran—the obedient girl, the quiet one, the girl who never argued.
Liu Meilan felt her breath hitch. Her daughter had spoken back. Good. Good. Liu Meilan realized, a strange warmth spreading through her chest.
Madam Zheng scoffed to hide her surprise.
"Hmph! If not for the fourth son of Mr. Zhang, do you think I'd waste my time coming here?"
Anran's expression stiffened.
The fourth son of Mr. Zhang—the man who had nearly beaten his wife to death. The woman had survived, recovered, and divorced him two months ago. A divorcee.
The audacity.
"What does he want?" Anran asked.
"Yes… what does he want?" Liu Meilan echoed softly, unease creeping into her voice. She already guessed the answer and hated it.
"He proposed," Madam Zheng said with a dry laugh, lifting four fingers proudly. "With the four big things."
Anran laughed—short, sharp, and mocking.
"If he's so capable," she said, "why not marry him to your Shanshan?"
Madam Zheng's face darkened, then quickly smoothed into a forced smile.
"I would have. But he wants only you."
"Really?" Anran replied flatly. "Go back and tell him I don't want him or his four big things."
Madam Zheng snorted.
"As if you have a say. You should be grateful someone is willing to marry you after that disgraceful act of throwing yourself at a married man."
Anran's blood ran cold.
It took her a few seconds to remember. Then the memory hit—clear and sharp. The city girl. The one who stole the man she had liked since childhood. The one who had killed the original owner of this body.
"She is the disgraceful one," Anran said, her voice trembling with restrained fury. "She snatched a man I liked since childhood."
Madam Zheng laughed cruelly.
"Hehehe. Have you looked in the mirror? Compare yourself to a city girl?"
That was the final straw.
Anran grabbed the thick wooden stick by the door and chased Madam Zheng out of the courtyard. The older woman shrieked, fleeing down the path while cursing under her breath.
Only when the noise faded did Anran stop, her hands shaking.
Liu Meilan couldn't help it—she let out a dry laugh, half disbelief, half relief. She stepped forward, gently pulling Anran to sit on the rickety stool in the courtyard and wrapped her arms around her.
"You are my beautiful baby," she said softly. "No matter what."
Warmth spread through Anran's chest. A warmth she had missed desperately when she was sick and alone in quarantine.
"I'll work hard," Anran said firmly. "I'll change our fate."
Liu Meilan only laughed again—soft, dry, skeptical—saying nothing, simply patting her daughter's hand as if to ease the tension.
But Anran's eyes were already fixed on a future far beyond this village.