Chapter 1: Reincarnated as a Fake Heiress, Sent to the Countryside Overnight

The back of her head throbbed as if someone had struck it with a blunt club, the pain pulsing in sharp waves. Su Yao abruptly opened her eyes amid the jostling and was first met by a pungent scent—a mixture of diesel, sweat, and a faint hint of hay’s rawness. She propped herself up, realizing she was curled up in the bed of a truck. The burlap sacks beneath her were stiff and unforgiving, pressing painfully against her bones.

“Awake?” a coarse voice came from the driver’s seat. The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror, his tone icy. “You’ll have your turn once we arrive. No rush to get up now.”

The truck rattled over a bumpy dirt road, the sacks in the back shifting violently. One rolled toward her; Su Yao reached out to steady it and felt some bran leaking through a seam—it was a grain truck.

Suddenly, her mind exploded with a flood of unfamiliar images: a woman in a polyester shirt slapping money on a table, sharply declaring, “You’re not a true member of the Su family”; a bespectacled man smoking and saying, “The countryside needs a sent-down youth; you’ll make room for Wanwan”; a girl with braided hair smiling at her reflection and sneering, “A fake heiress belongs where she came from.”

Clutching her forehead, Su Yao broke into a cold sweat. She remembered now—she was a freshly minted PhD in Food Science. After a sleepless night revising her thesis, she had blacked out, only to awaken in 1976, inhabiting the body of another girl named Su Yao. The real heiress had been found, and she, the impostor, had become superfluous—shoved onto a truck bound for the countryside overnight, without a single possession.

A low whimper brought her back to the present. She looked down to see three children huddled in a corner of the truck bed. The eldest boy was no more than five, so thin his ribs were visible beneath his faded, patched jacket. He held the two younger ones protectively. Catching Su Yao’s gaze, he lifted his head, his dark eyes filled with suspicion, the corners of his mouth tight like a small wolf guarding its food.

The little girl in his arms looked about three, her cheeks reddened from the cold, a tear clinging to her nose. Her crooked pigtails framed her face. The other boy, around four years old, kept his head lowered, clutching the older boy’s sleeve tightly, his shoulders trembling.

Who were they? None of these children existed in the original owner’s memories.

The truck abruptly slowed, the driver slammed on the brakes, and everyone in the back pitched forward. Su Yao steadied a sack that nearly rolled toward the wheels and heard the driver shout hoarsely, “Red Flag Brigade! Get off!”

Before she could steady herself, the driver poked his head out of the cab and barked at her, “The Su family already told the brigade secretary—these three freeloaders are your responsibility! Don’t think you can ditch them!”

Su Yao was stunned. Freeloaders?

She glanced at the three children again. The eldest had already gathered his siblings and was climbing down. His feet hit the ground but he stumbled, clutching his younger siblings fiercely. He glared at her—beyond suspicion, there was a hint of undeniable fear.

She then noticed a wooden sign hung on an old locust tree at the village entrance, painted in red: “Red Flag Brigade,” alongside a roughly drawn five-pointed star. The wind stirred the bare branches, whistling mournfully, like crying.

Taking a deep breath, Su Yao was about to move when her sleeve was gently tugged. Looking down, she saw the smallest girl, her tear-streaked lashes fluttering as she lifted her face with a soft, nasal voice: “Sister… I’m hungry.”

Su Yao’s heart clenched. The child’s face was stiff with cold, her lips cracked, her tiny hand gripping the edge of Su Yao’s coat with surprising strength. Those black eyes, clear as mountain spring water, brimmed with fear and yet summoned the courage to ask for food—starvation, no doubt.

“What’s your name?” Su Yao crouched down, softening her voice.

The girl pressed her lips tight and said nothing.

“She’s Shihan,” the eldest boy pulled his sister behind him and stepped forward like a protective mother hen. “I’m Xingchen, and that’s Yuxuan.” He lifted his chin proudly, his childish voice trying to sound grown-up.

Lu Xingchen? Lu Yuxuan? Lu Shihan?

Su Yao searched her mind but found no record of these names. In the original memories, the Su family never mentioned any children.

“What’s your connection to the Su family?” she asked.

Lu Xingchen tightened his lips and shielded his siblings closer but remained silent.

The driver had already taken off, raising clouds of dust that engulfed them. Su Yao coughed, looking toward the village. The dirt road was flanked by low adobe houses with chimneys sending wisps of smoke into the cold air. Occasionally, a dog barked. Along the distant ridges, someone in a padded jacket gathered firewood as the north wind whipped dry grass fragments across their face, stinging sharply.

Is this where she was to stay?

“Sister,” Lu Shihan tugged her sleeve again, her voice softer still. “I’m cold.”

Only then did Su Yao notice all three children wore no winter shoes—just worn cloth slippers with toes exposed. Lu Xingchen’s heels were cracked and bleeding, leaving bloody footprints on the muddy ground.

She took off her thickest coat and knelt to drape it over Shihan. The little girl stiffened but didn’t pull away, her wide eyes fixed on Su Yao, her lashes like delicate fans.

“Let’s find a place to settle first,” Su Yao said, rising and heading toward the village. After a few steps, she glanced back. The children stood where she had left them, timidly watching her as if afraid she would run off.

Her heart melted, and she beckoned, “Come on, don’t just stand there.”

Lu Xingchen hesitated but then pulled his siblings along. The three followed closely, neither too near nor far, like wild kittens newly taken in.

Passing a house, the door creaked open. A woman with a blue headscarf peered out and shouted inside, “Look, the fake Su heiress really showed up!”

Another head appeared at a window, scrutinizing Su Yao and the children with a sneer. “And she’s brought three freeloaders. This is going to be tough.”

“I heard she’s used to city comforts. Let’s see how long she lasts.”

The murmurs were low but each word pierced Su Yao’s ears. She didn’t look back, quickening her pace.

Suddenly, Lu Xingchen stopped, grabbed a small stone from the ground, and threw it at the window. It missed but startled those inside.

“Don’t talk bad about my mother!” he shouted, his voice trembling.

Su Yao was stunned. Mother?

The window slammed shut. Lu Xingchen’s face flushed. He hurriedly pulled his siblings after him, avoiding her gaze, muttering, “I…I was lying.”

Su Yao said nothing, but something struck her deeply. She recalled the cold, unfeeling Su family—the original owner’s birth parents hadn’t even seen her off when she was pushed onto the truck. Perhaps these three mysterious children would be the only threads of connection she had in this strange era.

At the brigade office, a middle-aged man wearing a military cap was registering arrivals. Su Yao explained her identity. The man glanced at the roster, ticking an entry. “Understood. Your room is at the east end of the village, next to Widow Wang’s place.” He nodded toward the children. “Are these the three the Su family mentioned?”

Su Yao nodded.

“All right,” the man said, pulling a brass key from a drawer. “It’s an adobe house, a bit drafty, so you’ll have to patch it up yourself. Rations will be issued at the sent-down youth standard. As for the children… you’ll have to figure that out on your own.”

Su Yao took the key; the cold metal chilled her fingers and sank into her heart. She thanked the man and turned toward the village’s eastern edge. The children followed, now closer. Lu Yuxuan picked up a twig and scratched marks in the dirt. Lu Shihan clutched the corner of Su Yao’s coat tightly.

The house was truly dilapidated. The courtyard wall had partially collapsed; the wooden door’s paint was all chipped away, and the rusty lock hardly turned. Su Yao inserted the key and, after some effort, managed to open the door with a creak, sending up a cloud of dust.

Inside was worse. A single main room with a dirt kang (heated bed) that took up half the space. The mat was riddled with holes, exposing straw beneath. Thick spiderwebs clung to the corners. One table leg was missing, propped up with a stone. The kitchen had only a battered iron pot with a cracked rim, and the water jar was empty.

As Lu Shihan stepped in, she stumbled and nearly fell. Lu Xingchen rushed to steady her but lost his footing, hitting his knee on the edge of the kang with a dull thud. He bit his lip, making no sound, but his eyes reddened.

Su Yao’s heart ached. She knelt to examine his knee, but he shrank back, whispering, “I’m fine.”

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

All three children looked up simultaneously; their eyes lit briefly before dropping again, as if afraid to be refused.

Su Yao exhaled deeply and stood, brushing the dust from her clothes. “Wait here. I’ll borrow some firewood and water to boil some hot water.”

As she moved to leave, Lu Xingchen suddenly grabbed her pant leg. Looking up, his dark eyes reflected the light filtering through the leaky roof. Softly, he said, “I know where to find firewood. I’ll go fetch it.”

Lu Yuxuan nodded. “I can carry water.”

Shihan raised her small hand. “I…I can make the fire.”

Su Yao stared at these children who needed care themselves, yet still wanted to help. Her throat tightened. She knelt and gently patted each of their heads. “No need. Stay inside. I’ll be back soon.”

She stepped outside and glanced back before closing the door. The three children stood side by side by the kang, their small figures fragile in the empty room. Shihan tiptoed to carefully fold the coat Su Yao had given her, placing it in the cleanest corner.

The north wind howled, rattling the papered windows. Su Yao clenched the brass key in her hand; the cold metal steadied her. Her doctorate, thesis, and past life—all belonged to another lifetime. Now, she was Su Yao, a sent-down youth in 1976, responsible for three children of unknown origin, striving to survive in the Red Flag Brigade.

She did not know what the future held or why these children had been entrusted to her. But seeing their hopeful, timid faces silently waiting by the door, Su Yao resolved that no matter how hard it got, she would endure. At the very least, she would not let that shy voice calling “Sister” turn into disappointment.

Turning toward the village well, her steps were steadier than before.