June 24, 2006.

Midnight.

Moonlight streamed through the cracked old window, faintly illuminating the entire main hall.

A plump girl knelt wearily on a meditation cushion. In front of her stood a worn wooden cabinet, and hanging above it was a faded portrait of the God of Longevity.

On either side of the portrait hung a couplet:

“Blessings fill the world as the lucky star shines.”

“Peace and prosperity grace this household.”

Horizontal scroll: “Auspicious Stars Above.”

The girl remained kneeling, her eyelids drooping lower and lower until she suddenly jerked awake, as though reminded of something important. Unfortunately, her energy only lasted two minutes before exhaustion took over again.

From the west room came silence, and from the east, only the steady snores of her grandparents. Finally, Tan You relaxed. She shifted off the cushion and flopped down clumsily to the side, rubbing her sore knees with both hands.

“Ouch… this is gonna hurt for days,” she muttered, blowing on them. But with her terrible nearsightedness, she couldn’t tell if they looked any different.

Just then, a pale, milk-white sphere of light appeared out of nowhere right in front of her face. In the tiniest voice it asked—hovering so close it nearly bumped her nose:

“Do you wish to bind with the system?”

Tan You blinked, not a hint of fear in her eyes. She only leaned back slightly. “Too close.”

The light obediently drifted back a bit. She squinted at it curiously, her eyes shining with interest. In the same soft monotone she always spoke with, she whispered back, “Bind?”

Her voice carried so little inflection that it almost sounded like agreement. At once, a smaller light shot out from the sphere, twirling into a glowing ring that hovered in the air before her.

Tan You nearly crossed her eyes staring at it. The little sphere spoke again:

“Please check your basic stats and proceed to your first task.”

Like a student following instructions, she said, “Check basic stats.”

A transparent screen opened before her eyes. On the left was her own image; on the right, a list of numbers.

The system’s voice was calm, almost indifferent: “Host, your initial stats are very low.”

Tan You protested at once. “Low stats just mean I’ve got more room to improve. That’s what teachers always say.”

She scanned the list quickly:

* Appearance: 50

* Mental Strength: 50

* Intelligence: 60

* Constitution: 40

* Charisma: 20

(All values are out of 100. The system reserves final interpretation rights.)

After reading them, Tan You sighed. “Wow… my stats really are awful.”

The system remained composed: “With my help, you will grow stronger and become excellent.”

Tan You ignored the [Appearance] score completely. Her gaze locked on [Intelligence]. “System, is my intelligence really that low? Only sixty?”

“Sixty is already passing. Most ordinary people are about the same. And intelligence can be improved…”

Before it could finish, Tan You’s eyes lit up like lanterns. “You mean I can raise my intelligence? Really? How?”

For the first time, the system hesitated. “The system… cannot do that yet.”

Her shoulders drooped. “Then… how can I raise it?” she whispered.

“Host, you don’t need to speak aloud,” the system reminded her gently. “After binding, whatever you think, I can hear.”

“Really?” She tested it in her mind: [System, can you hear me?]

“Yes. Loud and clear.” The little sphere bobbed like it was nodding.

Tan You relaxed completely, a smile tugging at her lips. “That’s great. Now I can talk to you anytime.”

“System, then tell me—how do I gain intelligence?”

The system perked up. “Through the Wish Pool. It holds missions. Complete them, and you’ll earn energy. The more complete the mission, the more energy you receive. Energy can then be spent on the Lottery Wheel, which randomly boosts your stats.”

Tan You’s heart thumped. Tasks → energy → lottery → higher intelligence. If her intelligence went up, maybe science class wouldn’t be such a nightmare anymore.

“How do I do the missions?” she asked. “I can’t leave home. Everyone’s here.”

“During missions, time in your world will pause. It resumes only when you return.” The voice sounded cold, yet Tan You couldn’t shake the feeling the “system” was more like a child.

But she didn’t dwell on it. She was too busy listening intently.

A sudden [ding!] echoed: “Host has triggered a mission. Requirement: Complete your first task within three days. Reward: one Beginner Lottery spin. Failure: system unbinds. Host will perish.”

Tan You froze. “…Perish? What does that mean?”

“It means disappear. Death,” the system replied flatly.

Her breath caught, but she didn’t argue.

The mission screen shifted, revealing a small, shimmering pool filled with glowing spheres of light.

Beside it was a round button. She pressed it casually, and the spheres inside began spinning faster and faster, until they blurred before her eyes.

“System, there are so many missions? If I finish all of them, won’t I get tons of energy? Then I can spin the lottery again and again?”

Her mind raced with possibilities. All she wanted was to raise her intelligence. Beauty didn’t even cross her mind.

“These are only beginner missions,” the system explained. “Once I upgrade, one intermediate mission will be worth ten beginner ones—and the rewards will be far greater.”

Tan You wasn’t greedy. “My stats are too low. Better to start small. System, are beginner missions hard?”

“The first task has appeared.” A small sphere popped out of the pool and floated in front of her.

“Please check the mission content. Reminder: complete it within three days.”

_____

Tan You was always obedient — one command, one action. She quickly finished reading through the mission details. But there was one thing she didn’t understand.

“System, how exactly do I complete this mission?”

The system seemed to pause for a moment before replying:

“When the host is ready, inform me. I will transmit you into the mission world. There, you will take the place of the client and live out a portion of their life, long or short.”

Tan You frowned, trying to interpret it with her limited knowledge.

“So… it’s like being a character in a TV drama? When I become them, I’ll decide how to act?”

“Something like that,” the system confirmed.

She still had doubts. “But you just said it’s not really me traveling there. Then how do I go? And can I come back?”

“Your soul will be transferred into the client’s body. No matter how much time passes in that world, in reality, it will only be an instant.”

Tan You’s eyes widened. “Wait—doesn’t that mean I’ll have unlimited time? Eternal life?”

“In a sense, yes,” the system said coolly. “But a word of caution: if you die in the mission world, your real body will also be affected.”

Tan You nodded seriously. “Got it. But I won’t go now. I’m not ready yet… and it’s not convenient either.”

The system didn’t press her. “That’s fine. Do you have anything else to do in the meantime?”

Tan You lowered her voice, almost embarrassed. “My parents are leaving for C Province tomorrow to work. I want to wait until they’ve gone before I start. And… I want to study the mission carefully first. I want to do it well. I have three days, right? As long as I begin within that time, it’s fine.”

“I understand,” the system said. “Then I’ll wait until you’re ready.”

Tan You smiled faintly. “System, you’re the best. I just want to earn more energy, so I can boost my intelligence faster.”

The little system twitched. On the forums, senior systems often complained about being pressured and exploited by their hosts. Why was *its* host so easy to coax? Whatever it said, she just accepted.

Feeling oddly smug, the system decided—alright, since the host was so obedient, it would work hard to help her too!

The two of them kept talking, and Tan You completely forgot her sleepiness. She treated the mission details like a brand-new toy, flipping back and forth, studying every word.

By five in the morning, she had practically memorized the client’s entire background. After dozens of careful readings, she already had a rough plan of how she might act in that world.

She wanted to discuss her ideas with the system, but whenever it came to missions, it had only one answer:

“Please complete the task independently.”

At the time, Tan You didn’t realize her so-called “heaven-sent” system was practically useless. Maybe because she didn’t know, she simply thought it was normal. If she had to rely on herself, then she would just work harder.

Her mind was still on the mission when she suddenly heard movement from the west room. In a flash, she scrambled back onto the prayer mat and knelt upright.

Her mother, **Cheng Wenhui**, opened the door. Seeing Tan You kneeling properly, she nodded in satisfaction.

“Alright, get up. Wash your face and then go do the laundry.”

Tan You rose immediately, said nothing, and went to the well. With practice ease, she drew water, added washing powder, and began scrubbing clothes. She had done these chores all her life.

In the countryside, children started helping with housework from a young age—feeding chickens and ducks, cooking, washing clothes, cleaning. Tan You had been doing it since she could remember. Resistance was pointless; if she ever refused, she would only be branded lazy.

Meanwhile, Cheng Wenhui busied herself in the kitchen. Summer breakfasts were simple: a big pot of porridge and a few pancakes, enough to last the whole day.

But only if the weather wasn’t too hot. In the summer heat, even breakfast is spoiled by afternoon. The Tan family was desperately poor—no fridge, no washing machine, none of the “luxuries” that other households might have.

Tan You crouched at the well, working through a mountain of laundry—her parents’, her younger sister’s, even yesterday’s unwashed clothes from when she was punished to kneel. Later, once her parents left, she planned to boil water and finally wash herself properly.

By the time she began hanging clothes, Cheng Wenhui had finished cooking. Soon after, Tan Yue, Tan Lin, and her grandparents also woke up.

Breakfast was laid out on a folding table outside. Tan You fetched bowls and chopsticks from the cupboard and served the elders first, before sitting quietly at the table herself.

Only when everyone was seated did Cheng Wenhui announce:

“After breakfast, we’ll leave for C Province. Tan Yue will come with us. We’ll be back before the new school term starts.”

Her gaze swept coldly to Tan You. “You’ll stay home this summer. If the school needs anything, call me.”

Her tone was sharp, her eyes still full of disappointment over Tan You’s exam results.

Tan You only nodded. She rarely spoke at home anyway. No one really wanted to listen to her. Everything she said seemed to be twisted into another reason to scold her.

Cheng Wenhui continued sternly: “You did terribly in the high school entrance exam—just two points short! If you can’t even get into high school, what future do you have? At your age, if you don’t study, what else can you do? Even the factories won’t take you. All that’s left is farm work.”

Her voice grew harsher. “And with your eyesight, you can’t even tell rice shoots from weeds. Besides studying, what else are you good for?”

It was her usual daily lecture. Normally, Tan You found it grating. But after reading the client’s story last night, she strangely took the words to heart.

Of course, she wasn’t the type to argue back. Even if her thoughts had changed, she still only nodded silently.

Cheng Wenhui sighed. “You’re sixteen already. In foreign countries, kids are independent by eighteen. Once you’re eighteen, we won’t be responsible for you anymore.”

Tan You looked up, taking her words seriously. She had that kind of personality—once told something, she believed it to the letter.

Her father, Tan Lin, spoke next: “Your mother is right. In other countries, once they’re adults, kids work and support themselves. That’s how our family will do it too. When you’re eighteen, you’ll earn your own living.”

He added bluntly, “And don’t forget how much money we’ve spent raising you. Even at ten thousand a year, that’s a fortune. When you grow up, you’ll have to pay it back.”

Tan You tightened her grip on her chopsticks but stayed silent.

Her temperament resembled her grandfather, Tan Deming—quiet, expressionless, and hard to read. No matter what storm brewed inside her, no one could see it on her face.

_______

The system suddenly spoke up:

“Host, that’s not right. Parents have the obligation to raise their children. How can they demand repayment?”

Tan You’s spirits lifted a little. “But they’ve always said that. I’m used to it.”

It was the first time someone had stood on her side. Her fondness for the system rose sharply.

She had no intention of arguing with Tan Lin. The shadow he cast on her was too heavy. Growing up under his beatings, she had learned one thing—never contradict him. Let him say whatever he wanted; whether she believed it or not was her own secret.

At the table, the only one happily eating was seven-year-old Tan Yue. She was too young to understand the adults’ words, and as always, she stuck close to her elder sister Tan You.

After breakfast, Cheng Wenhui and Tan Lin began packing. They had rushed back from C Province yesterday upon hearing Tan You’s exam results, just to discuss her high school prospects. Now, with nothing more to say, they were heading back.

Before meeting the system, Tan You had never fully grasped the importance of education. But after seeing the life of her first client, she understood—it was everything for a child from a poor family.

The Tan family owned little, so their luggage was simple. The clothes Tan You had washed in the morning were stuffed directly into plastic bags to be rewashed once they reached C City.

Little Tan Yue cried and clung to Tan You, unwilling to leave her behind. But in the end, a child’s will couldn’t fight against her parents. Tearful and pouting, she was dragged away.

As soon as her parents and sister departed, Tan You hurried into the kitchen. After scrubbing pots and bowls, she boiled a large pot of hot water. Kneeling all night had left her sweaty and uncomfortable—she desperately needed a wash.

Her grandmother said nothing. With a straw hat on her head, the old woman went straight to the rice fields. Tan Deming, the grandfather, stayed behind, lounging in the shade and smoking, as if the world had nothing to do with him.

After hanging out the washed clothes, Tan You could no longer suppress her excitement. What she wanted most now was [energy points]—the key to the lottery, and the chance to boost her [intelligence stat].

Each time people told her she was hopeless at science, it broke her inside.

Back in her west room, Tan Deming only glanced at her and said nothing. He knew she’d been kneeling all night; if she wanted to sleep now, so be it.

Lying on her bed, Tan You touched the glowing ring on her finger.

“System, are you there?”

“I am. Host, do you wish to depart?” The pale-white light sphere appeared before her once more.

“Yes.” Tan You clenched her fists. This would be her first mission, her first step into an unfamiliar world. She was nervous—of course she was—but the thought of earning energy, of one day becoming truly smart, filled her with courage.

Sensing her determination, the system shivered faintly. [If she finishes the mission and finds out I lied… will she hold me accountable?]

Forget it. Delay as long as possible. Future problems could wait.

“Beginning transmission. Host, please stay safe.” A halo of light surrounded the sphere.

“I’ll be careful!” Tan You promised earnestly. “I’ll definitely come back alive!”

The moment the words left her lips, her body fell still on the bed, eyes closed. Her soul, however, was already carried away—into her first mission world.

---

Perhaps because it was her first mission—or perhaps sheer luck—she arrived in the dead of night. Everyone was asleep. Calm and collected, Tan You didn’t rush to rest. Instead, she began sifting through **Han Tingting’s** memories.

Her memory was strong. Faces, voices—once seen or heard, she rarely forgot. And so she quickly pieced together her new identity: she had become Han Tingting at age fifteen.

Fifteen… Tan You sighed softly. This was the turning point. Han Tingting had not yet been forced to leave school. For now, she still had the chance to continue her studies.

But the shadow was looming.

Compulsory nine-year education didn’t always mean much in rural areas. Not every child made it through middle school. Teachers who only cared about grades often pressured weaker students to drop out.

Han Tingting was one of them. Sensitive by nature and performing poorly in class, she drew no teacher’s support. With her family’s struggles weighing her down, her grades had slipped to nearly the bottom.

By the first semester of her second year, her homeroom teacher had already called her mother in—an unspoken message delivered clearly enough: “Don’t bother letting her continue. With results like this, there’s no future in studying anyway.”

Schools wanted better averages. And so, to secure their records, they drove out those who dragged them down. Han Tingting was one such sacrifice.

And what future awaited a fifteen-year-old girl pushed out of school? Factories refused to hire children. Beyond that, only hardship lay ahead.

Remembering Han Tingting’s entire life, Tan You pressed a hand to her chest. Compared to her, she suddenly felt lucky. Her own parents might hurt her with words, but at least they still insisted she study.

Putting those thoughts aside, Tan You quickly drew up her first plan: **make sure Han Tingting wasn’t forced to leave school**. To do that, there was only one path—improve her grades.

Middle school content… Tan You pursed her lips. She had just gone through the high school entrance exam. If she went back to review junior high again—she should manage it, right?

With that thought, she finally drifted off to sleep.

By dawn, rustling noises woke her. Not even six o'clock yet. She sat up in bed, clutching her blanket. Around her, roommates stirred.

This wasn’t a school dormitory, but a local boarding house. Many families near the school had turned their homes into lodgings for students.

A few empty rooms, a handful of beds—no license, no taxes, yet plenty of profit each semester. And so, Han Tingting’s current life began here.

---