Josephine Whitmore had crossed over.

Dropped straight into the year 1970, she’d become the one nobody in the family cared about.

The original girl worked herself to the bone at home, taking on every chore while the younger siblings lived easy. She was the only one slogging like an ox, yet she’d never even had a full meal.

To them, she was nothing more than a mule pulling a millstone—never once treated like an actual person.

Many times, the original girl couldn’t help wondering if she’d even been born to them.

When Josephine arrived in this world, she was lying out in the wilderness.

A torn straw mat was thrown over her, and she could still hear wolves howling somewhere close.

She pushed herself up, feeling a chill on her scalp and a sharp sting from the gash on her head.

Then a wave of dizziness struck, and all the original girl’s memories poured right into her mind.

Same name, same body—no wonder her chest tightened; she felt the girl’s misery like it was her own.

In her old world, she’d grown up an orphan, raised more by the charity of kind folks at the welfare home than anything else.

She never expected that crossing over would land her in the same kind of fate—no real family ties, no one to rely on.

She longed for warmth, sure, but since she’d never had it, she wasn’t about to beg for it now.

Given this second chance, she’d carry the original girl’s regrets with her and live properly for the both of them.

And since the Whitmore family already assumed the original girl was dead, she figured she might as well vanish for real.

Luckily, the original girl had already been registered to go to the countryside as an educated youth. The assignment notice and the train ticket were still with her—tucked away in her room.

Tomorrow morning, once the Whitmores all headed out, Josephine would slip back in and take everything that belonged to her.

After that, the sky would be wide and open, and she could go wherever she pleased.

Thinking that way, the pain from her head wound didn’t feel quite so sharp anymore.

Her stomach kept growling nonstop. She had gone too long without eating, and with all that blood she’d lost, her body was about ready to give out.

A low, dragging wolf howl rose from somewhere up the slope, making it clear the mountain was no place to linger.

Josephine pushed herself up at once, wobbling as she groped her way toward the village. At least the wild animals up here usually didn’t dare come down there. It was the only place that might still count as safe.

She hadn’t managed more than a few steps before her foot caught on a tree root. She pitched forward hard, landing flat on the ground. The wound she’d barely gotten to stop bleeding started seeping again, warm and sticky.

The fall wasn’t small either—her skull throbbed so hard it felt like the pain was drilling inward.

She strained to lift her head, but the scene in front of her had completely changed.

It wasn’t the pitch‑black wilderness anymore. She was lying in front of the gate of a familiar little courtyard house.

“No way.”

“This place…”

Wasn’t this the same home she had in her previous life?

The one she’d emptied her bank account for, buying that single‑family courtyard on the edge of the city? It had been secondhand, and she’d only managed it because prices had crashed at the time. She’d gritted her teeth and bought herself a place to settle down.

Had she somehow gone back to the modern world? Or… had the house come here with her?

She looked around carefully. The neighboring homes were gone—completely gone.

Then it clicked.

It wasn’t her going anywhere.

The space had followed her.

Luckily, having a place she could call home calmed her nerves a bit.

She stepped inside and headed straight for the kitchen, quickly digging out something to eat. The furniture she had bought back then was all still there, and the fridge and freezer were sitting just where she remembered. Both were stuffed with food, exactly the way she had left them.

She cooked herself a bowl of hot noodles, filled her stomach, then took a long, much‑needed shower. Afterward, she changed into clean clothes and dabbed medicine on the cut on her forehead.

While washing up, she had noticed it—scars everywhere on the original girl’s body, big and small. All left by that so‑called family.

Stretching out on the familiar bed, she finally felt her nerves settle.

When she woke again, it was already late the next morning.

She stepped out of the space, checked her bearings, and quietly made her way back to the original girl’s home. The parents were at work, and the younger siblings were either at school or wandering outside. Perfect—no one was around.

She went to the spot where the key was usually hidden, slipped past the neighbors’ line of sight, and eased herself into the house.

"You wouldn’t let her live in peace. Don’t blame me for giving it back to you," she muttered.

Times were rough, and people had to watch every word and every move. And with her heading to the countryside as a sent‑down youth, she needed supplies—a lot of them.

They lived in a tube‑shaped apartment building; if not for the fear of burning the whole place down and dragging the neighbors into trouble, Josephine Whitmore would’ve loved nothing more than to torch the whole place for some peace of mind.

But there were plenty of other ways to handle things. Her eyes swept around, and before another second passed, she started stuffing every item she could see straight into her space.

Chairs, stools, pots, pans, clothes, quilts, even the old broom and dustpan—anything she could lift, she took.

She didn’t leave a single thing behind.

Even the piles of dry firewood stacked neatly by the stove disappeared into her space.

She even scooped up the bundle of straw tossed in the corner.

When she finally stood in the middle of the now bare, echoing room, she felt a surge of satisfaction and was ready to slip away.

But just as she stepped to the doorway, she paused.

“These door panels are pretty sturdy… perfect for firewood.”

So she went back and took down every door panel in the rooms.

Only then did she feel truly relieved.

Luckily, no one was wandering around outside at this hour, so Josephine Whitmore walked out of the long, narrow building without a hitch.

She pulled out the train ticket the original girl had hidden away—today’s date matched exactly.

“Damn Whitmore family… even on her last day, they wouldn’t spare her.”

“They didn’t prepare a single thing for her trip down to the countryside, and they still managed to beat their own daughter to death.”

“With parents like that, the poor girl must’ve used up all her luck in eight lifetimes.”

Her train wasn’t until two in the afternoon.

Since she still had time, she decided to swing by the black market.

But the moment she stepped in, chaos erupted around her.

“The Red Armband’s here! Run!”

At that shout, everyone—vendors and buyers alike—took off like rabbits.

Some stall owners were in such a panic they abandoned their goods entirely.

Josephine Whitmore jumped in fright. She had never seen chaos like this before, though the original girl's memories did hold a few blurry scenes of similar messes. She hurried to find the narrow footpath the original owner used to bolt from danger and squeezed out with the crowd.

"Don’t just stand there. Split up and go after them." A sharp, commanding male voice barked from behind. Josephine glanced back and caught sight of a stern‑faced young man.

Their eyes met for a split second—and the man suddenly charged in her direction.

"Oh, come on!"

Her heart flew right up to her throat, and she sprinted even faster. But she knew full well that with her flimsy stamina, there was no way she could outrun a guy like that. If she kept this up, she’d be caught sooner or later.

So the moment she slipped past a corner, Josephine dove straight into her space.

She hurriedly felt her face. The green scarf was still there. Only then did she finally breathe out. Everything had been a blur earlier, and she’d made sure to cover up—there was no way he saw her clearly.

After that scare, she had zero intention of staying in the black market any longer. She headed straight for the train station.

It took her nearly an hour on foot. By the time she reached the station, there were still two hours left before the train left. She sat down on a long bench in the waiting area, clutching the small bundle in her arms like it was her lifeline.

She hadn’t even caught her breath yet when someone suddenly tapped her shoulder.

"Comrade, why are you shaking like that?"

A deep, authoritative voice cut into her ears. Josephine jerked her head around on instinct—and saw a face that looked disturbingly similar to the man who’d chased her earlier.

"Nothing."

She blurted the word out, hugged her bundle tighter, and scooted to another spot.

But the man followed her—still staring straight at her.

Josephine felt a chill creep up her spine. Could this really be the same guy from before?