This uncle—I initially resented him deeply when I heard he’d use our house as collateral to pay my debts.

But later, all I felt was profound pity.

When family’s in crisis, the first thing on his mind was money. Such a man only deserves sympathy.

I’d once heard: *In this world, being pitied is sadder than being looked down on.*

“Understood. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

In my original world, Mom passed away during my senior year of high school.

Since even the news here matches that world exactly, this tragedy should too.

Notably, back then, Dad never called to tell me Mom was critically ill. He’d just said, “Study hard,” that morning before leaving. I’d wondered why he came home so late on February 6th.

What’s it like knowing exactly when a loved one will die… yet being powerless to stop it?

The cruelest irony? My mother was a nurse.

“Fifth Hospital.”

I dashed out in my school uniform and flagged a taxi.

Sunlight stung my eyes.

February’s chill was already softening.

This body’s vision was sharp—no years of strain like my old, nearsighted self. I hadn’t adjusted yet.

Fifth Hospital was barely a ten-minute walk from home. But whether for my sister’s sake or my own, I had to get there fastest.

“Keep the change.”

I tossed a ten-yuan note at the meter—7.5 yuan fare plus 1 yuan fuel surcharge—and jumped out.

Truth was, I was terrified.

Terrified Mom might leave me earlier in this world.

Terrified her illness might worsen because I was born a girl.

Most terrified this was all just a dream.

Aplastic anemia—a form of chronic leukemia. Sufferers’ bodies fail to produce blood cells, triggering endless complications. Immunity plummets without white blood cells and platelets. One careless breath could bring infection… or even cancer.

My sister had visited Mom’s ward before. Guided by muscle memory, I climbed to the third floor. But the nurses at the station said she’d been rushed to surgery.

*Surgery?*

I’d never recalled Mom having surgery that day. Why hadn’t Dad told me?

This was a blank spot in both my memories and my sister’s.

Given her timid nature, she probably wouldn’t come after the uncle’s scolding.

Yes—my sister was fragile. She dreaded facing this, especially after failing her last exam. She couldn’t bear to see Mom.

*“If I can only show up useless, I might as well be dead,”* she’d thought.

But now *I* wore her body. I *had* to make her proud. Or her sacrifice meant nothing.

If this curse was my fate… I’d shatter it with my own hands.

I sprinted to the fifth-floor waiting room. Dad sat slumped in a chair, head bowed. Relatives—including the uncle—murmured comfort nearby.

I approached them.

“Dad.”

My soft voice echoed in the empty room.

He lifted his head.

This face—haunting my dreams after his death in my world.

After he died, I’d graduated into a nightmare: job rejections, sleeping on streets, swallowing pride to smile at strangers while handing out flyers. All to repay millions in debt.

While classmates whined to parents or became NEETs, I’d forced smiles for every passerby, pitching discounts for some new dead-end job. Their stares held pity, mockery, disdain.

Now—the person I’d longed for when exhausted, the one I thought gone forever—stood before me.

“…”

Under my gaze, Dad rose from his chair.

Then slapped me hard across the face.

***Crack!***

The sound shattered the room’s silence, snapping back the tears welling in my eyes.

Heads turned. Other families stared.

The world spun. Unprepared, I staggered, ears ringing.

“You finally show up?”

Dad’s face flushed crimson, veins throbbing on his forehead. As he raised his hand again, a relative yanked him back. “Calm down! Breathe!”

“Get out!” Dad roared, straining against their grip, finger jabbing at me. “Why come? To kill your mother with your grades?”

“Easy, Yi Yao just worries about her mom—”

“Worry? She *wants* Li Juan dead!”

Through blurred vision, he broke free and kicked me. I didn’t dodge. The icy floor hit my back.

“You cry? What good is crying?! Will tears heal your mother? Fix your grades? Do you want me dead too?!”

His shouts drew every eye in the room. Even nurses in the hallway pointed and whispered.

“I’m sorry.”

I pressed a hand to my swollen cheek and slowly stood.

“Sorry?!”

Dad kicked me again—***clang!***—sending me crashing under a table. My head cracked against the corner. Blood streamed down my forehead.

“Yi Yao!”

A relative rushed over. “Doctor! Quick!”

“I’m fine.”

I pushed them away and stood a second time.

“I was wrong. If this calms you down, Father…”

*Courtesy. Integrity. Perseverance. Self-control. Indomitable spirit.* The five tenets of taekwondo.

*Heh…*

*Heh heh…*

*Yi Yao… I finally understand your heart.*

So different genders, different pasts—could twist lives this far apart?

So grades mattered *this* much to a father?

*My* father—in that world—never hit or scolded me. He’d comforted me when I erred.

“Leave.”

“What are you even doing here?”

“How many times? No distractions from studying. Deaf?”

“Go to your room. Don’t you dare step out tonight.”

As if to sear it deeper, memories flooded me: every time my sister’s father had beaten her, cursed her.

Something inside me shattered.

My apology seemed to cool Dad’s rage slightly. He snorted and turned away. The same relative guided me for a quick bandage. When we returned, the “SURGERY IN PROGRESS” light above the operating room had gone dark.

Dad rushed to the surgeon, face drawn. “Doctor? How is she?”

“Stable. But she’s weak—needs rest. Send the others home.”

Nurses wheeled Mom’s bed past us.

“But stay vigilant,” the doctor added, hands in his coat pockets. His glasses caught the sunlight, fracturing it into faint rainbows. “We only removed the diseased organ. Infection could strike anytime. Prepare yourselves.”

*Prepare.* He meant money for emergencies.

I knew our savings were draining. Dad could borrow 200,000 yuan from relatives—buying Mom three more years. After that? We’d lose her when we couldn’t pay the bills.

“Oh… good. Good.”

Dad’s expression twisted—relief tangled with dread.

“You all go home. I’ll stay with Xiao Juan.”

He brushed past me without a glance.

“Dad.”

I stopped him.

“I’m sorry.”

His only reply was a cold, dismissive laugh.

“Give me time. I’ll make you proud.”

“Proud? I’ll pray to every god if you crack the top ten in class.”

He strode toward Mom’s room, sneering.

“Fine. Next month’s exam—if I’m not first in the grade, I’ll leave this house myself.”

No holding back now.

Grades weren’t my real battle. Money was.

“Take care of Mom.”

My voice didn’t reach him. He’d vanished around the corner before I finished.

“Alright, off you go,” relatives murmured, passing me.

“*Pfft*—top of the grade? Did that head injury scramble her brains?”

“My son studies day and night and’s only second in class. *Her*? First? Don’t make me laugh.”

“Raising a daughter just drags the whole family down.”

“Seriously. Even if she marries off later, good grades are bragging rights. Useless girl *and* useless student? What’s the point?”

“Shh! Nurses’ll report you for sexism…”

The relatives who’d once doted on me now wore strangers’ faces.

So cold. So silent.

This was Yi Yao’s world…

A world without hope. Without warmth. Pure, suffocating black.

I swallowed my tears, took a deep breath, and headed for the stairs.

Words were useless now.

My sister’s grades *were* terrible.

They hadn’t lied. They hadn’t erred.

Only actions would prove them wrong.

On the second floor, I spotted a familiar figure smoking gloomily by the stairwell.

“Floral Snake.”

I approached. “What happened?”

Floral Snake—a member of the Black Dragon Society, the little gang Yi Yao ran with here. They called him that for his serpentine eyes and flashy floral shirts.

“Boss’s wife.”

He crushed his cigarette. “Brother Liang got jumped.”

Liang Zhenyi, nicknamed Lao Liang, was a member of the Black Dragon Society. He attended Class 1, Grade 9 at Shangjing City No. 2 Middle School. In another timeline, he’d even been my roommate.

“What’s going on?”

I was shocked to run into Liang Zhenyi here. I’d never expected the usually honest, down-to-earth guy to have been part of such an organization fifteen years ago.

“Follow me.”

Without a word, Floral Snake gestured for me to enter a hospital room.

Several boys squatted inside. Seeing me, they all shouted in unison, “Sister-in-law!”

The guy on the bed had his right leg in a cast, his face etched with worry.

“When we were gaming at the internet cafe earlier, Lao Liang clashed with some guys at the next table,” Floral Snake explained, noticing my grim expression. “They beat him like this. We couldn’t reach Dragon Brother—his phone was off—so we brought him here first.”

I stayed silent.

“If those little bastards hadn’t ganged up on me, I wouldn’t have given them a second thought,” Lao Liang grumbled from the bed, fuming.

“What kind of win is picking on someone alone? Normally, they’d be kneeling before Dragon Brother, calling him ‘Daddy’!”

“A bunch of immature brats, pah!”

“Playing a game like they’re gods. In the end, they needed metal rods. If they faced me in-game, I’d one-shot them.”

“…”

His endless complaints finally made me pull my phone from my pocket and hand it over.

Liang Zhenyi looked up, puzzled. “What for?”

“Take a selfie,” I said calmly. “Post it on QQ Zone or WeChat Moments, begging for likes. Or better, confront that guy head-on. What good is whining here? Do you want everyone to know you’re just a coward hiding behind others?”

Liang Zhenyi froze, stunned. “A selfie? What do you take me for?”

I took back my phone and stood up from the bed.

“I call you a coward because I see you as a brother.”