Emily Willis slowly opened her eyes.

What she saw first was an old cotton mosquito net, yellowed and patched in places. Above it, the wooden beams of the ceiling were clearly visible, with spots of sunlight spilling through the gaps in the tiles.

Her head throbbed as she pressed her fingers against her scalp, recalling the memories that had merged during her unconscious state. She felt a mix of relief and resignation.

Well, here we go again—another world jump.

Yeah, she’d been through this before. Like they say, the first time is strange, but the second time you kind of get used to it.

It had all started with a so-called “Life Assistance System” that had dragged her into these crazy book worlds.

That system had come from an old black jade pendant nobody paid any attention to. Her grandmother had insisted she keep it before passing. She’d worn it for years without noticing anything strange.

Until that night in grad school when she went stargazing for the Leonid meteor shower, caught the rain on the way back, got a fever, and after a few days, the pendant vanished.

In its place? A glitchy voice in her head claiming to come from some advanced civilization—with one job: to help her “manage life.”

Before she could even figure out what was going on, bam—she was thrown into one novel world after another, always as the worst kind of side character.

So far, two stories down.

First one? Set in the chaotic republican era. She was still reeling from the whole experience and clueless on what to do. Missed all the system’s weird mission prompts and ended up just like the book said—killed off early in a tragic death. Painful, terrifying—she could still feel the chill just thinking about it.

Second time, she landed in a famine-stricken ancient time, as a poor farmer girl. That time she used what she’d learned. She avoided the main characters like the plague and kept her nose down to stay alive. Growing crops with help from the system’s farming guides, she scraped by and even lived a somewhat peaceful old age.

She did mess her body up though—barefoot in snow once during an escape and wound up with all sorts of lasting issues, including infertility. Gossip spread like wildfire, and no one wanted to marry her—not that she minded.

So, when she realized her time was running out, she gave away everything: donated land and orchards to a local charity and stashed a bunch of supplies in the system warehouse.

Now here she was, third book world.

Still hadn’t figured out why this was happening or when it would end. Was it like a level-clearance game? Get through a few of these worlds and she could go home? Or was she stuck hopscotching through books forever?

No one told her anything.

That flaky, buggy “life helper” system just kept popping in with new tasks and rewards with zero explanation.

Honestly, if she could rate it? One star—tops.

The tiny silver lining this time? At least it wasn’t another era of war or disaster. This was a retro setting straight out of an '80s novel.

Sure, still far from her own time, but at least she wouldn’t have to flee famine again.

The downside? Her role was still trashy: the kind of character readers and characters alike couldn’t stand—the leading lady’s awful sister-in-law.

The book was called “Cool Stepmom of the Eighties.” The main girl, Catherine Scott, had top scores in high school and could've made it to college. But after her older brother got injured on the job, her parents—very traditional, only cared about their son—married her off to Alec Willis, the oldest son of the Willis family, whose first wife had died. Her bride price of five hundred bucks went straight into getting her disabled brother a new wife.

Catherine moved in and didn’t take any nonsense. First thing she did? Cut off her in-laws from barreling into her business, took full control of Alec’s wages and benefits. Next, she dealt with the sister-in-law from hell—Emily’s original character—by getting her locked up in a labor camp.

Then Catherine took the two little kids and left to join her husband in the city. Strong, pretty, and independent—yeah, once she was out of that house, her life really took off.Her bold and straightforward nature had not only captivated Alec Willis but also changed the way he treated his family. No matter how many letters the old folks sent asking for help—like pulling some strings to get his sister out of the reform farm early—he always acted like he hadn’t seen them. If anything, it just made him think his parents didn’t know what was what. Aside from wiring back a bit of money every year, he rarely went home again.

After getting thrown into the farm by her own sister-in-law, the so-called awful little sister-in-law spent ten long years doing hard labor. When she finally got out, she came back to find her parents gray-haired, stooped over, and clearly down on their luck. Furious, she stormed into her brother’s workplace, demanding he divorce his wife.

At the time, Alec had already become a key figure at the office, and Catherine Scott had been leading the literary performance troupe for years. The couple had no patience for her nonsense. One played nice, the other tough, but together they shut her down so hard the whole workplace learned about her shady past.

Even after ten years of reformation, she was still in her mid-twenties—technically a young woman—but the way all those aunties in the compound looked at her like she was contagious, she couldn’t take it. She lost it, threw her bowl down, and charged at the female lead, screaming.

Catherine fought back.

During the scuffle, a broken shard of porcelain got stuck in her neck and hit an artery. She died on the spot before anyone could help.

"..."

Thinking about that part, Emily Willis shivered.

She was that “awful” little sister-in-law now.

Ten years in the farm, just to die like that? Brutal hardly even starts to describe it!

Luckily, she’d arrived early—well before the main events of the original plot kicked off.

For now, her brother’s first wife was still alive.

If she could manage to stay out of trouble and keep her head down, perhaps Helen Willis wouldn’t be tormented to death.

If Helen lived, Catherine wouldn’t get the chance to marry her brother, and all the bad stuff afterward wouldn’t happen.

Having figured this out, Emily pressed a hand to her fuzzy head and tried to sit up from the bed.

Just then, angry yelling came from outside the wooden lattice window.

“You heartless lazy cow! Your sister-in-law’s passed out in bed, and you’ve got the nerve to sneak off and eat wild veggie dumplings?”

“No, Mom, those were for Timothy,” Helen replied, her voice muffled but calm. “He’s got mouth sores. The old blind woman at the end of the village said dandelion water might help, so I picked some and made these for him…”

“Save your lies! Little kids don’t get real sickness—he was probably just playing too rough. Get moving! Chop that whole pile of wood before you eat—you hear me?”

“I’m going,” Helen mumbled.

She shoved the dumplings into her dumbfounded son’s arms and rushed off to the backyard to split logs.

But Mrs. Willis wasn’t done; her scolding kept echoing.

Emily scrambled out of bed.

She didn’t plan on making waves, but who could stop her so-called mother from doing just that?

If Helen got worked to death and the plot got back on track, what was she supposed to do—cry over fate?

And honestly, Helen wasn’t at all like the lazy and scheming woman her mother painted her as.

Lazy? Please. That woman was all hustle.

She got up before dawn, cooked porridge in the big pot, fired up the coal stove to boil water, fed the chickens, cleaned out their coop, washed everyone’s laundry in the river, and hung it up—all before she even went out to pick weeds.

By the time the elders got up, they had fresh hot porridge and warm boiled water waiting. A daughter-in-law like that was a rare find.

And calling her greedy or sly? Just nonsense.

Yet there was her mom, yelling at her at the crack of dawn, and sending her off to chop wood on an empty stomach.

And not just a little firewood either—it was a whole massive stack they'd gotten during the village’s land handouts.

Some of it was ancient tree stumps—tougher than nails. Even a strong young man like her brother would need two or three hours to get through it, let alone a slim woman like Helen.

Emily stood in front of the mirror, slipping on a neatly ironed floral shirt.

No doubt about it—Helen had picked it out for her.

Even the cup of warm brown sugar water on her nightstand must’ve been made with the first boiled water of the day, just for her.

Little things, maybe, but a bunch of those little gestures added up—hard not to feel moved.

Even if it weren’t about protecting her own neck, losing someone like Helen wasn’t something she could stomach.