"Grandpa! I can't marry him, I just can't! If you force me to marry that butcher, Aaron Blackwood, I'd rather die!"

Lorraine Hartwell was practically screaming, her voice sharp enough to rattle the windows. "Grandpa, please! Let me switch with Mimiya Hartwell! I want to marry the educated youth, Jonathan Dell!"

Inside the Hartwell Homestead, her wailing echoed through the main hall, buzzing in everyone's ears.

Mr. Hartwell slammed his cane down. "What on earth are you pulling now? Marriage isn't some toy you swap around! Both families' betrothal gifts were accepted, the wedding dates all set, and now you come crying about changing partners? How do you expect our family to hold its head up in Hartwell Homestead?"

His chest heaved with anger, and he broke into a fit of coughing.

Right then, outside the doorway, Mimiya Hartwell—who had been listening quietly—let out a small, cold chuckle. She pushed the door open and stepped in at an unhurried pace.

She walked straight to her grandfather, gently patting his back to ease his breath. "Grandpa, don’t get worked up. I agree to the switch."

If Lorraine insisted on chasing that scumbag, then fine—she’d let her have him.

Lorraine’s crying stopped instantly. Her head snapped up, and even with tear streaks, a wide smile burst across her face. She knew it—she had gambled right. This fool, Mimiya, was just as easy to trick as in their last life.

The reason Lorraine was dead set on swapping husbands was simple—she had lived through this all once before.

In her previous life, she had been engaged to Aaron Blackwood, the village butcher. She was known all over the village for her beauty—fair skin, soft features, and a pretty figure—and she had always looked down on Aaron’s rough, big-built appearance, convinced he didn’t deserve her.

But the Blackwood family lived decently, and among the few choices she had, Aaron’s household was the best she could get.

She had comforted herself: fine, maybe she wouldn’t be wealthy after marrying him, but at least she’d never have to worry about having meat on the table.

Who knew that shortly after the wedding, Aaron would fall off a cliff while hunting in the mountains and die on the spot, leaving her a widow before she’d even settled into the marriage.

What suffocated Lorraine even more was that while she was still mourning her dead husband, word came that the cousin she always looked down on—fat, dark‑skinned Mimiya—had somehow become the wife of a state‑owned factory director.

Lorraine had always been the beauty of the village. Mimiya? She had grown up chubby and sunburnt, a plain, clumsy village girl who never outshone Lorraine in anything.

Back then, Lorraine even mocked her for marrying a penniless educated youth.

But before long, that broke, poor Jonathan Dell suddenly turned into the director of a national factory. And Mimiya? She lived a life others could only envy.

Why? Every time Lorraine thought about it, bitterness twisted in her chest like a burning knot.

She’d always been the pretty one, the girl everyone praised the moment they laid eyes on her. So why on earth was her life worse than Mimiya Hartwell’s, that plain, parentless girl nobody looked at twice?

But now—finally—heaven had thrown her a lifeline. She had actually come back to life!

This time, she swore she wouldn’t be as clueless as before.

That short‑lived Aaron Blackwood? Let that chubby Mimiya marry him and become a young widow!

As for Jonathan Dell, *she*, Lorraine Hartwell, was the one who ought to be the factory director’s wife. She’d march into the city with her head high and live the kind of life everyone envied.

What she didn’t know was that Mimiya Hartwell had also gotten a second chance.

Watching Lorraine beam with excitement, Mimiya couldn’t stop a faint, mocking curl from lifting her lips.

Did Lorraine honestly think that Jonathan Dell was some sort of decent man?

In her last life, outsiders all felt jealous that a “dark, pudgy village girl” like her had landed Jonathan Dell and followed him into a good life, becoming the director’s wife. They envied her to pieces.

But only she knew the truth—that marriage had been nothing but slow torture.

Jonathan’s college admission, every step of his climb to becoming factory director… all of it was because of her.

Because she had the spring.

She’d stumbled upon a strange space, and inside it was a pool of water. Anyone who drank from that spring became healthier, sharper, quicker.

And back then, Jonathan had seemed hardworking, ambitious even. So she’d snuck him that spring water when no one else was around.

After drinking it, he’d suddenly started remembering everything better, as if someone had flipped a switch in his head. With that boost, he pushed his way into university.

Later, she dug up all sorts of treasures from the space, used them to smooth things over for him, whispered ideas and plans to him, helped him rise step by step until he reached the director’s chair.

And what did she get in return?

Once Jonathan had power, he didn’t so much as remember a single thing she’d done for him. Instead, he turned up his nose, acting like she, a village girl, wasn’t fit to stand beside him.

And soon enough, he’d found someone else outside.

Worse still—it wasn’t even a woman.

You heard that right. It was a man.

Jonathan Dell had actually been into men all along.

After they got married, he never so much as touched her, always muttering something about being “not well in that area,” claiming his body had problems.

Back then, the clueless Mimiya Hartwell actually believed him. She even snuck things out of her space to help him—tonics, herbs, whatever she could find. It wasn’t until much later that she realized the truth: Jonathan wasn’t “not well.” He was only “not well” in front, but in the back… he was plenty capable.

And Jonathan didn’t just fool around behind her back. He got himself a man, did all sorts of filthy things with him, and the two of them slowly poisoned her—killed her—then told everyone she’d died from an illness.

What made it worse was that Jonathan turned her death into some kind of act. Played the grieving widower, swore he’d never marry again. Folks actually felt sorry for him. Even the city leaders treated him differently, and his career just kept climbing.

So after rebirth, Mimiya Hartwell had no intention of letting her life get tangled with that scumbag again.

Sure, she was still puzzled about why Lorraine Hartwell—who was always so stuck-up—suddenly wanted to switch marriage partners with her. But honestly, she didn’t feel like digging into it. She only had one thought in her heart: she could marry anybody, as long as it wasn’t Jonathan Dell, that bastard.

Mr. Hartwell held his anger down, the old man’s cloudy eyes scanning Mimiya over and over.

He had picked her up from outside all those years ago and raised her himself. But aside from him, no one in the Hartwell family ever treated Mimiya like she belonged.

His son, daughter‑in‑law, grandkids—every one of them shoved the dirtiest, hardest chores onto her. Behind closed doors, they bullied her even more.

“Mimiya…” Mr. Hartwell’s voice was firm yet pained. “You really want to switch the engagement? Did they force you?”

Mimiya shook her head, her gaze calm. “Grandpa, I mean it. I think Aaron Blackwood is a decent guy. Honest, grounded. He’s got real skill as a butcher. If I marry him, at least I won’t be short on pork.”

The moment those words fell, Lorraine Hartwell almost burst out laughing on the side.

What an idiot. This girl, greedy for food as always—just for some pork, she’d throw away the chance to marry a man who’d become a factory director one day?

Absolutely ridiculous.

In Lorraine’s eyes, Mimiya was just a chubby, slow-witted girl who couldn’t talk right and didn’t know better.

In her last life, Lorraine hadn’t seen Jonathan’s potential, dismissed him as a broke city youth. But now, reborn, she intended to cling to that promising man for dear life.

No way would she let that fool Mimiya get ahead.

Let the stupid girl go marry Aaron Blackwood—that short‑lived butcher.

Once Aaron died like last time, Mimiya would be stuck a widow, living pitifully all alone.

Seeing Mimiya Hartwell agree to swap the engagements, Beatrice Morrison’s grin nearly split her face. She was scared the girl might change her mind, so she rubbed her hands together and hurried out with a bright, eager voice. "Since Mimiya nodded, then it’s settled! I’ll head over to the Blackwood place and the Dell place right now and get the match switched."

She had barely turned to leave when a calm voice drifted from behind her.

"Auntie, hold on a second."

Beatrice paused mid‑step.

"Since Lorraine Hartwell and I are switching fiancés, shouldn’t the bride price money from both families switch back to the way it should be?"

The moment those words came out of Mimiya Hartwell’s mouth, the smile on Beatrice Morrison’s face collapsed like wet paper. She froze, slowly twisted her head around, and stared at Mimiya as if she wanted to peel the flesh right off her bones.

Jonathan Dell, that so‑called educated youth from the city, didn’t have two coins to rub together. Last time around, when Mimiya was young and clueless, she’d only cared about marrying a scholar who looked respectable. The Dell family had tossed out ten yuan just for show, and she’d foolishly walked right into it.

But Aaron Blackwood was a different story. He was the production team’s butcher—straightforward, generous, and always with money on hand. He’d given a full one hundred yuan as the bride price.

Stack the two side by side and the gap was like a slap: one was ten times the other. Asking Lorraine’s family to spit back that shiny one hundred yuan now? They’d rather cough up blood.

And sure enough, Beatrice Morrison exploded right there. Her eyes went round, and she shouted so loudly the windows could’ve rattled. "Swap what bride price?! No way! That hundred yuan from the Blackwoods was already used for your cousin’s wedding. There isn’t a single cent left!"