Li Shuying sat in silence for a long while.Her heart gradually quieted, though her chest still trembled with the remnants of grief. She wiped her face with the corner of her sleeve, drawing in several long, unsteady breaths. In this life, tears had solved nothing. They never had.
After a moment, she reached into the pocket of her worn cotton jacket and took out an old smartphone.
The phone had been given to her by the distant relative who arranged this small apartment for her after her release from prison. At first, she had not known how to use it. Her fingers were stiff; her eyesight poor. But slowly, patiently, she learned.
And then she discovered the farming game.
It had been wildly popular online at the time, simple, bright, full of green fields and golden harvests. A world far removed from accusations and betrayal. A world where seeds grew obediently, animals thrived, and effort was always rewarded.
It became her quiet refuge.
Now she was at Level 60.
With familiar movements, she harvested her ripe crops, golden wheat swaying on the tiny screen before being neatly collected. She fed the chickens, pigs, rabbits, cows, sheeps and ducks in the poultry section, their animated bodies bobbing cheerfully. She entered the shop and purchased new seeds, then a few young animals to raise. Coins chimed softly as transactions completed.
In that digital field, she was not a criminal.
She was a landlord.
After playing for some time, she closed the application and carefully slipped the phone back into her pocket. Her expression had returned to its usual dull calm.
Ignoring the cluster of gossiping women in the park, she slowly rose from the bench and began walking toward her building.
Behind her, the whispers resumed like the buzzing of flies.
"Humph. Who does she think she is? Ignoring us like that?"
"Exactly. It's her good fortune that we even speak about her."
Their voices were not quiet.
But Li Shuying was already some distance away. Even if she had heard every word clearly, she would not have turned around. At her age, dignity was often nothing more than silent endurance.
Step by slow step, she made her way toward the building entrance. The paint on the exterior walls was peeling; the metal railings rusted. It was an old unit from another era, much like herself.
Just as she was approaching the lift lobby, her phone suddenly vibrated violently in her pocket.
One notification.
Then another.
Then a rapid series of alerts.
Startled, she stopped and pulled out the phone.
The screen lit up.
Player00016 attacked your farm…
Player00016 stole all your harvest…
Player00016 stole all your poultry…
Player00016 opened your warehouse…
The notifications kept appearing, one after another, accompanied by sharp alert tones.
"What?" she muttered under her breath, her brows knitting together. "Someone attacked my farm?"
She was well aware of how the game worked. Players could randomly invade other farms to steal produce and level up faster. She herself had attempted it a few times in the past, though rarely. It was risky. If the farm owner logged in during the theft, not only could they reclaim their goods, they could retaliate and empty the attacker's coins entirely.
She had never dared to take such risks often.
Now, seeing her own farm under siege, a flicker of unexpected excitement rose in her chest.
Quickly, she reopened the game, standing right outside the building.
The bright farm interface loaded.
Her warehouse inventory count was plummeting in real time.
The attacker had already wiped out the harvested crops and was now nearly finished emptying her seed storage.
"Ah!" she gasped softly, panic creeping into her voice. "Too fast…"
Her fingers trembled as she prepared to activate the counterattack feature.
At that exact moment, a sharp shout pierced the air.
"Hey! Old woman—watch out! The flowerpot is falling!"
The same women from the park.
Li Shuying looked up instinctively, confusion clouding her features.
Above her—several floors high—a large clay flowerpot tilted over the balcony railing.
For a fraction of a second, time seemed to slow.
The pot detached.
It fell.
Straight toward her.
Her mind was still half inside the glowing farmland on her screen. In reflex, she raised both hands over her head—still clutching the phone—as if that thin device could shield her from fate.
But she was seventy-eight.
Her bones were brittle. Her strength long gone.
The heavy flowerpot struck her head with a dull, sickening sound.
The world exploded into white.
Warm liquid streamed down her forehead. Blood splattered against the concrete ground, stark and vivid against the grey.
Her phone slipped from her grasp, the screen still flashing with the words:
Warehouse Cleared.
Her vision darkened rapidly, the sky above her fragmenting into blurred patches of light and shadow.
The last thing she felt was the cold ground against her cheek.
Then...
Nothing.
After what felt like an eternity drifting in unconsciousness, Li Shuying slowly opened her eyes.
She saw nothing.
No sky. No earth. No horizon.
Only darkness—thick and boundless, like ink poured across heaven and earth. It was so utterly black that she could not even see her own body. When she raised her hand before her face, there was not the faintest outline.
Instinctively, she reached up to touch her head.
Smooth.
Uninjured.
No blood. No swelling. No pain.
Her fingers trembled.
But she remembered clearly—the crushing impact, the warmth of blood running down her temple, the cold ground against her cheek.
How could there be nothing?
"Is anyone here?" she called out cautiously, her voice echoing strangely in the void. "Can you hear me?"
Silence answered her.
An oppressive, endless silence.
Then she froze.
"My voice…"
It was not hoarse. Not brittle. Not the dry, aging voice of a seventy-eight-year-old woman.
It was soft.
Clear.
Young.
Her heartbeat quickened.
Where was she?
Was this the underworld? The path to Huangquan? The road toward Naihe Bridge, where souls drank Meng Po's soup and forgot their past lives?
She swallowed and began walking.
Her steps were slow and cautious, her hands extended before her as though she might collide with invisible walls. Perhaps there would be light ahead. Perhaps a lantern. Perhaps the bridge.
But she walked for what felt like a long time, and the darkness did not thin.
No river.
No bridge.
No ferryman.
Only endless void.
At last, exhausted, she sank down.
"Will I be trapped here forever?" she whispered.
A wave of despair surged through her.
"Why is Heaven so cruel to me?" Her voice broke. "My life was already so difficult… I thought death would be the end of suffering. But this… this is even more brutal."
Tears slid silently down her cheeks.
"In life, I endured humiliation. In death, I am imprisoned in darkness."
She covered her face and began to cry.
Loudly.
Hysterically.
The sound of her sobs echoed in the emptiness, swallowed almost immediately by the void.
After a long while, when her tears had nearly dried and her chest burned from weeping, she lifted her head again.
And this time—
She saw it.
A faint glow in the distance.
Soft. Golden. Flickering.
"What is that?" she murmured.
Hope and fear tangled within her chest.
She rose to her feet and ran toward it.
As she approached, the light grew brighter.
It was a book.
Floating midair.
Radiating a gentle golden glow, as though suspended by invisible hands.
Li Shuying stopped a few steps away, staring.
"Why… is there a book here?"
She moved closer and read the title engraved on the cover:
Rebirth Queen: The World Is Mine
"What a strange name…" she muttered.
With cautious fingers, she reached out and took the book.
It was solid.
Warm.
Real.
She opened it.
It was a novel.
Confusion creased her brow. Why would a novel appear here, in this boundless darkness after her death?
Driven by an uneasy suspicion, she flipped to the synopsis.
And froze.
Female Lead: Zhao Hongmei.
Her breath caught in her throat.
"No…"
Her fingers began to tremble as she turned to the first page.
The more she read, the colder her limbs became.
Every detail.
Every scheme.
Every death.
Recorded clearly in black ink.
Her father's denunciation and execution—planned.
Her eldest brother manipulated, lured away under the pretense of opportunity in Beijing, then killed en route—planned.
Her pregnant mother sold away with her step-grandmother's collusion—planned.
Her second brother entangled with a woman deliberately arranged beside him, leading to his downfall—planned.
Her third brother pushed into crippling debt until he threw himself into the river—planned.
And she—
Sold into the mountains to an old widower.
Her entire family, one by one, reduced to stepping stones.
The foundation beneath Zhao Hongmei's rise.
Yet within the novel, Zhao Hongmei was portrayed as destined for greatness. Favored by fortune. Every scheme succeeded effortlessly, as though the goddess of luck smiled exclusively upon her. No matter how ruthless her methods, the outcome always turned in her favor.
Men—young and old, powerful and ordinary—fell in love with her without exception. Even after marrying a prominent and influential man in the capital, she maintained admirers like stars circling the moon. Her husband himself was merely the most outstanding among them.
A heroine?
Than suddenly she remembered Zhao Homgmei's parting words, "I am the heroine of this world."
She Knew she was Blessed by Heaven?
Li Shuying's hands tightened around the pages.
"But why?" she whispered.
The book meticulously described what Zhao Hongmei had done—
But never why.
There was no reason.
No deep grievance.
No blood feud.
Her family had simply existed in the wrong narrative space.
They were obstacles.
Disposable characters meant to clear the path for the female lead.
Her breathing grew uneven.
A tremor ran through her entire body.
"So this is it?" she whispered hoarsely. "My whole life… just ink on paper?"
Her anger began to rise—slow at first, then violently.
Her father's last red-rimmed eyes.
Her brothers' silent departures.
Her mother's helpless disappearance.
All of it reduced to plot devices.
Her teeth clenched so tightly that her jaw ached. Her fingers shook uncontrollably, nearly tearing the pages.
"I don't accept this!"
Her voice rang through the darkness.
She did not envy Zhao Hongmei's fortune.
She did not covet her status as the female lead.
She mourned only her family.
They had lived, breathed, struggled—
And were sacrificed without reason.
Tears streamed down her face again, hot and furious.
"Heaven has eyes, they say," she laughed bitterly. "But whose side do those eyes watch?"
Her heart felt as though it were being crushed.
If this was destiny—
Then destiny was unjust.
Her strength drained from her limbs.
The book slipped from her trembling hands.
The golden glow flickered.
And in the endless darkness, overwhelmed by grief, fury, and disbelief—
Li Shuying fainted once more.