After Jia Li discovered the truth behind her scores, it felt like the sky had collapsed and the ground had betrayed her. The path she had so painstakingly paved—every sleepless night, every sacrifice—was casually erased by the whims of someone born luckier.
She tried everything to expose the injustice. Letters. Appeals. Meetings with higher-ups. But the richest man in the city—Wang Junguang—had more reach than she could ever have imagined. His wealth could silence mouths and close doors before they were even opened. No one was willing to offend him—not for some poor girl with no pedigree and no name.
When college admission time came, she was left with no choice but to pick a third-tier university in a remote city. Her dreams of studying at Shanghai University, walking its elite halls, and building a future that would make her mother proud were shattered.
But Jia Li didn't give up. Not yet. After graduation, she returned home with a degree in information systems and a blueprint for a tech startup—simple, scalable, and innovative. She knocked on every door she could find, from banks to angel investors to government innovation grants.
Yet it felt like no matter where she turned, something or someone was always one step ahead, pulling strings, quietly slamming the gates shut before she could enter.
Investors ghosted her. Promising contracts fell through at the last minute. Word got around that she was "difficult to work with," "untrustworthy," "not a team player."
She didn't understand until a former classmate, now in PR, called her one night and hesitated before saying:
"That Wang Meilin… she casually told people she didn't like you. Just once. Said you were 'bitter' and 'jealous.' You know how people are—everyone wants to stay in her good graces."
Jia Li was speechless.
All her suffering—all of it—had stemmed from an offhand comment. A girl she barely spoke to. A sentence born from malice or boredom, it didn't matter.
She had fought so hard. For nothing.
Eventually, Jia Li stopped trying.
She found a mid-tier marketing job in a second-tier county—nothing flashy, just enough to survive. She stopped reading tech blogs. Stopped watching the news. There was no longer that fierce glow in her eyes, no spark of conquest. She was efficient, quiet, invisible—like a paper doll placed at the corner of a desk and forgotten.
Her mother, growing worried as the years passed, began arranging blind dates with increasing urgency. Jia Li, ever obedient, showed up to each one, dressed modestly, hair neat, light makeup just enough to be presentable. But the results were always the same. She would see it—the flicker of disinterest in their eyes the moment they laid eyes on her. She had the romantic initiative of a dead fish, as one ex once cruelly joked. Her mother arranged blind date after blind date, each one more humiliating than the last. Some smiled politely through the meal. Others, bolder, didn't bother to hide their disdain.
One of these men was named Li Wei. He called himself an "entrepreneur," though all he really ran was a mildly successful stationery supply shop his uncle gave him.
He leaned back in the booth with the smugness of someone who thought he was doing her a favor. He gave her a quick once-over before grunting:
"So, you're how old again? Twenty-nine?"
"Twenty-seven," she replied calmly, her soup gone cold.
"Tch. So past the best years, huh? Not much time left for kids. You don't own property, do you?"
Jia Li blinked slowly. "No. Not yet."
He nodded as if confirming a diagnosis.
"Alright, I'll be honest with you. You're not much to look at, and I already got offers from two families with prettier daughters. But if your family can provide at least a 300,000 yuan dowry and cover the wedding costs, I'll consider it. Fair?"
There was a long silence.
Jia Li looked at the man, not just angry but also empty. She could hardly recognize herself anymore. Was this what her life had been reduced to? Not even a person, just a transaction with depreciating value?
She stood up quietly, picked up her coat, and looked him in the eye.
"You wouldn't be worth a packet of instant noodles, even if my dowry came with a house in Beijing."
Then she walked out, never once looking back.
Jia Li lived her life in obscurity. The once bright girl who had dreamed of changing her stars was now a woman dulled by reality. She never married—not for lack of trying. There had been a few flickers of romance over the years, but they all fizzled out before anything lasting could blossom.
Still, life crawled on. She worked in a mid-tier marketing firm in a forgotten county, blending into beige office walls and water cooler chatter. On some nights, she'd go for drinks with colleagues, laughing hollowly at jokes she barely heard. She was surviving, not living.
One evening, drained from overtime and missing her usual bus, Jia Li decided to take a shortcut home through a quieter, more deserted route. The streetlights flickered above her, and the road stretched out like an empty scroll.
Then came the blinding headlights.
A car barreled down the road, and before she could react—bang.
The world became red. Blood red. Pain seared through her body as her vision blurred.
Voices rang in her ears. Panic. Shock. But one voice cut through the haze like a jagged blade.
She knew that voice.
Even in the grave, she would recognize that voice.
Wang Meilin.
The woman who stole her future, who walked through life with effortless privilege while Jia Li struggled for every breath.
There was a man with her—his voice deep and steady.
"Oh my God! I-I hit someone! What do I do?" Meilin gasped, clearly trembling.
"Calm down," the man said, his tone smooth, unfazed. "It's late. There are no cameras here. Just breathe. I'll handle it."
"Should we call the police? What if she dies?!"
"We'll take her to the hospital. That's enough. You're not at fault—she dashed out. Just stay calm."
There was a pause. Then she heard Meilin sniffle.
"You're always protecting me..."
"Always will," he replied, his voice dripping with affection. "Don't worry, no one will hurt you. I won't let them."
Through her pain and dizziness, Jia Li almost spat blood in fury.
You hit me and you're the one crying?!
The dog couple's tender moment felt like a slap across the face.
Her vision blinked in and out. Shadows moved. Hands lifted her limp body.
Somehow, she ended up in a blindingly bright operating room. Doctors and nurses worked frantically around her.
Machines beeped. Scalpel. Suction. More blood. A voice called out vitals. Someone shouted for anesthesia.
But Jia Li's mind was no longer tethered to the present.
Her life flashed before her.
The lonely nights with textbooks as her only companions.
Her mother—always tired, always supportive, always hopeful.
Every time Jia Li saw her mother's worn-out face, something twisted in her chest.
She felt like a failure.
All those years, all that effort, and what did it amount to? Suppressed, discarded, forgotten.
She remembered how she smiled at her mother each morning, pretending to be okay. How she tried to laugh and tell jokes, just to make the old woman worry less.
But inside?
She was depressed.
The last image that flashed before her eyes was her mother's face. Weary. Loving. Waiting.
And then—
Darkness.
That was how Jia Li's story ended.
Not with a triumph. Not with justice.
But with silence.
A quiet casualty of privilege, cruelty, and indifference.