June, 1968.

Harbor City, the Hartwell residence.

"Vivian, aren’t you usually all high and mighty? Well, here’s your big chance. Get on your knees and beg me. Maybe—just maybe—I’ll think about marrying you. Otherwise, with that frail body of yours, once you’re sent off to that offshore island, you won’t last a few days. Think it through."

Jeffrey Kingsley’s smug voice boomed right above her. That was the moment Vivian Hartwell finally snapped to it—she had actually fallen into a novel.

It was that era story she’d skimmed before, something titled *The Reborn Capital Heiress Was Just Cannon Fodder*. And now she was the sickly original heroine.

According to the book, after the whole Hartwell Clan got sent down to the island, the transmigrated heroine, Tina Hartwell, stole her golden finger, emptied out all her family assets, and even took away the man who was supposed to be her future husband.

Worse still, she lost her reputation, and in the end was forced to marry some local thug. She died at twenty‑one—worn down and miserable.

Just thinking about that ending made Vivian shiver.

No way. Since she’d landed here, she wasn’t about to walk straight into that same dead end.

But the timing couldn’t have been worse. Today was exactly the day the Hartwell Clan was being investigated and raided.

And the person leading the charge was none other than the original Vivian’s fiancé, Jeffrey Kingsley.

He was standing right in front of her now, demanding she kneel and knock her head on the floor.

If she hadn’t read the book and known Jeffrey and Tina had long been sneaking around, she might’ve really tried to use him to dodge the exile for now. Because all this talk of marriage was nothing but his way of humiliating the original Vivian—he’d never planned to marry her.

But kneel to him? Over her dead body.

Jeffrey Kingsley watched Vivian Hartwell keep her head down without saying a word, and his patience snapped.

"Vivian, your health is lousy, fine, I get it. But what now? Your ears go bad too? I’m talking to you—can’t hear me, is that it? Hurry up and get on your knees, knock your head on the ground a few times, and bark a couple times for me. Maybe if I’m in a good mood, I’ll still let you marry into the Kingsley Clan."

The goons behind him burst out laughing, all smug and loud.

"Vivian, you really still think you’re some fancy Hartwell miss? Let me tell you, the Hartwell Clan is done for! Mr. Kingsley telling you to kneel is doing you a favor. Don’t be stupid—better kneel while you still can!"

Before the words finished echoing, two men with red armbands rushed up and grabbed Vivian’s arms, trying to force her down in front of Jeffrey.

Vivian tried to shake them off, but her arms felt like wet noodles—no strength at all.

This body really was falling apart.

And with things the way they were now, there was no way she could fight these people head‑on. With the Hartwell Clan branded as capitalist sympathizers, even stray cats and dogs on the street probably thought they could take a bite out of them.

But kneel? Not a chance.

Vivian’s eyes flicked, and an idea came to her.

She suddenly clutched her chest with both hands, her whole face twisting in pain. Her voice came out weak and broken as she collapsed onto the ground.

"I… I can’t… I think I’m dying…"

With her face pale as paper and her lips drained of all color, she actually looked terrifying.

Sure enough, the two men who had been holding her down jumped back like she was contagious, shaking their hands fast.

"Not our fault! We barely touched her—we didn’t do anything!"

Even Jeffrey Kingsley frowned. He probed with the tip of his shoe and nudged Vivian Hartwell, careful not to use any real force.

"Vivian, I’m warning you. Don’t you dare play dead on me.

You think this little act can get you off the hook?

Keep dreaming."

Vivian didn’t bother to look at any of them. She stayed facedown on the ground, breathing shallowly on purpose, as if she could pass out any second.

But she burned every second of this into her memory. One day, she was going to settle this score with interest.

Especially with the Kingsley Clan.

Maybe others didn’t know the inside story, but she had read it all in the original plot. Of course she knew why the Hartwell Clan fell so fast—because the Kingsleys pushed hard from behind.

Sure, the Kingsleys looked friendly on the surface, pretending to be close with both the Hartwell Clan and her mother’s Whitmore Clan.

But deep down, they’d been eyeing the two families’ assets for years.

The only reason they ever agreed to an engagement with a sickly girl like her was the money behind her and the Whitmore side.

But neither family was stupid, and both had men who kept watch.

So the Kingsleys started scheming.

Once the chance for a house raid came, they wanted to swallow both families’ wealth in one go.

She etched that hatred into her bones. She would repay it—every bit.

Jeffrey Kingsley still thought he had a bright future waiting. Afraid that Vivian might really die on him, he finally let go and turned to the armband-wearing men who came along.

"Move! Start the search! Drag these Hartwell capitalists to People’s Square for public struggle!

Hurry up!"

It was his first time leading a raid, a task his father personally handed him.

As long as he pulled it off, a formal spot in the Revolutionary Committee would be his for the taking.

He couldn’t afford to mess this up.

The red‑armband crowd stormed through the old house like a pack of wolves, banging open cupboards and prying at every lock they saw.

In no time, the big living room was cleared out, leaving only the Hartwell Clan and Jeffrey Kingsley behind.

Jeffrey shot a disgusted glance at Vivian Hartwell, who was curled on the floor barely breathing, then turned and walked up to Tina Hartwell.

“Tina, will you marry me? If you say yes, I’ll go back right now and talk to my dad. You won’t have to go to the labor camp with everyone else.”

His tone was miles gentler than when he’d spoken to his actual fiancée just moments ago.

But Tina wasn’t having any of it. Her face went cold.

“No. I’d rather go.”

“Tina Hartwell, don’t push your luck!”

Hearing that reply, Vivian felt her heart plunge. Her fingers moved on their own, brushing the smooth white jade bead at her neck.

If Tina was talking like that, then she’d already crossed over.

And in the book, the first thing the time‑travelling heroine did was refuse Jeffrey’s proposal, cutting all ties with the Kingsley Clan.

And the next step… was taking her golden cheat.

Vivian’s hand tightened. The cool bead dug hard into her palm.

This was a keepsake from her grandmother’s side of the family, the Whitmore Clan. She’d been sickly since she was little, so her grandfather had given her the jade bead to keep her safe.

No one knew that this plain‑looking bead hid a secret—inside was a strange little space that kept water out and stored things like magic.

As long as she still had this cheat, even if she ended up exiled on some miserable island, she’d survive.

The book said Tina Hartwell snagged this very bead from the original Vivian, hauled off everything valuable from the house, and lived like a queen on that island.

She was already late. At this point, getting sent down was pretty much a done deal.

Even so, if she wanted to stay alive, she had to keep this thing safe no matter what.

Thinking of that, she hurried to a spot where no one could see her, curled her body up a little, and bit her fingertip hard before pressing the blood onto the white jade bead.

She remembered Tina Hartwell doing this in the book, and nothing strange had happened then.

The bead absorbed the drop of blood in an instant and slipped straight into her body, leaving the red string empty.

Good—she’d bet on the right thing.

Looked like the space had opened for real.

Vivian Hartwell closed her eyes and focused. In her mind, a dusty, grayish place appeared—about the size of a school field.

She reached out and tossed the beaded curtain beside her into the space. A moment later, she saw it hanging there in the air, perfectly still.

So that was it—this space could keep water out and store things, but the ground couldn’t grow a single sprout.

A small wave of disappointment washed through her.

If only she had a patch of land.

Then she could build her own little house, plant whatever she wanted, eat whatever she liked.

In her last life, she’d been an orphan, raised in an orphanage from start to finish. If she hadn’t been decent at studying and gotten into a medical university, she would’ve ended up working in some factory long ago.

Even then, tuition and living costs still crushed her like a mountain, so she’d worked herself half‑dead at night jobs just to survive—until she really did die from exhaustion and landed here.