Liang Sheng’s life underwent a complete upheaval. The path of her existence drifted further and further from the future her mother had meticulously planned. She skipped class.

At one a.m., she was found shivering uncontrollably on a park bench, running a high fever.

Zhao Xin remained unchanged. Tapping Liang Sheng’s forehead, she spoke with frustration and disappointment: “You used to be so obedient—whatever I asked, you’d do without question. Why are you so rebellious now?”

Liang Sheng lay calmly in bed, her back turned to her mother, maintaining silence. Zhao Xin sighed. Uncharacteristically, she didn’t scold or flare up this time.

Had she changed? No.

Day after day, life continued as before.

Only now, Liang Sheng seemed more sensible, more compliant.

Zhao Xin felt deeply gratified. *She knew* her daughter would eventually grow up.

After graduation, flipping through an old photo album by chance, she saw a little girl flashing a V-sign at the camera.

Tears blurred her vision. Staring at her former self’s bright, cheerful smile, her hand fell limply. She felt she’d never smile like that again.

Everything had fallen back onto the path Zhao Xin laid out:

Study. Eat. Sleep.

If a pig’s day is just eating and sleeping, Liang Sheng’s was that—plus studying.

Time rewound to childhood. Zhao Xin was fiercely competitive, comparing everything to others’. Naturally, Liang Sheng became the constant benchmark.

Grades, manners, popularity, social skills, talents—even height. Liang Sheng was utterly speechless.

Before transmigration, she stood at merely 158 cm. She’d always told herself: “I’m not short—this tiny body holds immense wisdom. You ordinary folks could never grasp it.”

Thanks to an early growth spurt, she hit 152 cm by age nine—the tallest girl in class. But pride faded fast; by junior high, everyone towered over her.

As a child, Liang Sheng was lively and sweet, greeting everyone with a smile, loving to run and jump. But Zhao Xin, insecure and anxious, forbade her from playing with energetic kids. Each time Liang Sheng disobeyed, she was harshly scolded.

Zhao Xin handpicked quiet, well-behaved girls for her to play with. Finding it dull, Liang Sheng protested—and Zhao Xin slapped her hard across the face.

The blow broke the skin inside her mouth against her teeth. She gulped down several mouthfuls of blood. Zhao Xin glared. “If you hadn’t pestered me, would I have hit you?”

Later, remorseful, she bought treats to soothe her. Classic slap-then-sweetness.

Liang Sheng could only sigh. Every bite stung. The snacks sat untouched—she could only stare longingly. Saliva streamed as she forced down a few bites, nearly crying from the pain.

Zhao Xin wasn’t cruel—just hot-tempered.

Once, at her mother’s small grocery store, six-year-old Liang Sheng clung sobbing to Zhao Xin’s clothes, refusing kindergarten. A crowd gathered. Irritated, Zhao Xin urged her husband—still not divorced then—to take her.

But Liang Huqiu was neglect incarnate: child, family, wife—he cared for none. Only his own revelry mattered.

He lit a cigarette slowly, exhaled smoke, then kicked Liang Sheng’s rear without warning. Casually pointing the cigarette at her: “Go. Get to school yourself.”

Naively, she clung to his leg. “Dad… are you going out to play with women again?”

Liang Huqiu’s face darkened. He shot Zhao Xin a look. “Did *you* teach her that?”

Zhao Xin sneered. “Hmph. With your despicable character, she *should* know what you are.”

Veins bulged on his forehead. He kicked Liang Sheng away. Too cowardly to confront Zhao Xin, he took it out on his daughter.

He roared, finger jabbing: “You little brat! Say that again and I’ll break your legs!”

Liang Sheng shuddered, nodded hastily, bit her lip—but tears streamed down anyway.

“Always crying over nothing! What will you ever amount to?” Zhao Xin muttered impatiently.

“You’re just like your father—a good-for-nothing!” Her words stabbed Liang Huqiu, though aimed at her daughter.

Liang Huqiu stood, pointing back. “Stop badmouthing me in front of her! How’s she supposed to see me?!”

The fight ignited. Zhao Xin ignored onlookers and erupted.

Tension peaked. Liang Sheng wailed, tears flooding, chaos swirling.

“Stop crying! Annoying!” Liang Huqiu, frazzled by noise and prying eyes, snapped. Her crying was the final straw—he’d “discipline” her.

All bluster, no backbone.

He strode forward with fake solemnity.

But Liang Sheng was only six. Terrified by the uproar, she shook off his hand, crying louder: “Bad dad! You’re all bad people!”

Humiliated by stares, he ignored her struggles and yanked her arm.

*Sizzle—*

“AAAAH!” She screamed, thrashing wildly.

He’d pressed the burning cigarette butt into her tender arm. A blistered wound oozed blood.

“What are you DOING?!” Zhao Xin’s eyes flashed red. She might scold her daughter—but no one else hurt her.

She kicked his head. The 180-cm man crumpled humiliatingly. But Liang Huqiu, a bully who preyed only on the weak, dared not retaliate.

“Wah… Mom, my arm hurts…”

No matter how unreasonable, Zhao Xin was still a mother. She scooped Liang Sheng up, heading home to clean the wound.

Over her shoulder, a venomous glare: “You just wait. Burn my daughter? I’ll make you pay when we get home.”

Liang Huqiu felt a flicker of fear. He couldn’t explain why he’d acted so rashly—pressing that cigarette into his daughter’s skin in blind anger.