A Silk-Draped Rebirth
Jia Lan opened her eyes to a ceiling painted with floral vines and inlaid with carved wooden trim. The light filtered through sheer embroidered curtains, casting soft shadows on a room that smelled faintly of jasmine and camphorwood.
It didn't look familiar.
"…I'm alive?"
Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. She sat up abruptly, only to be met with a wave of dizziness and the cool brush of silk against her skin.
Wait—silk?
She looked down. Pale lilac nightwear, trimmed in lace, clung gently to her limbs. The sheets beneath her were satin, tucked neatly with practiced hands. A single glance around confirmed her suspicion: this wasn't a hospital bed or some dingy dormitory. This was money.
The room was large—lavishly large. Polished rosewood furniture gleamed in the morning sun. A hand-painted folding screen stood near the corner, blocking a chaise lounge upholstered in rich velvet. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stood proudly, filled with neatly arranged hardbacks and magazines—some foreign, some local. The dressing table held several tiny glass bottles, all embossed in French. Dior. Guerlain. Chanel.
"Imported skincare?" Jia Lan murmured, wide-eyed. "In the 70s?"
Then it hit her like a truck—or rather, a memory truck.
She had died in her own world—an overworked, over-caffeinated 21-year-old city girl trying to get her life together. A cracked sidewalk, a snapped heel, and a poorly timed delivery van had ended things too quickly. But apparently, fate had a flair for dramatics, because instead of eternal rest, she had transmigrated.
Not just into any book, but into the plot of a familiar 1970s rebirth novel—the kind where the hardworking rural heroine clawed her way up the social ladder, armed with grit, national exams, and a face scrubbed clean with saltwater. And the antagonist?
None other than the infamous Jia Lan.
A spoiled urban heiress. Beautiful, pampered, petty. Hated by all and protected by even more. The sort of girl who wore heeled leather boots to ration lineups and asked her housekeeper to fetch freshly imported shampoo from Hong Kong.
"Oh my god," she muttered, staring at her reflection in the tall bronze mirror. "I'm the villainess with a three-piece skincare routine in a socialist country."
She was gorgeous. Slender and soft-skinned, with doe eyes, a delicate nose, and lips as rosy as a freshly steamed bun. Her hair, long and shiny, fell down her back in perfect waves. No wonder the female lead resented her. If someone this pretty cut in line for soap coupons, you'd resent her too.
A soft chime interrupted her spiral.
> Ding! Welcome to the Daily Check-In System!
First Location Detected: "Urban Elite Courtyard Residence"
Reward Unlocked: ✨ Skin Like Porcelain — Graceful Glow (Permanent)
Jia Lan blinked. A translucent blue screen floated mid-air, shimmering faintly.
A system?
She raised a brow.
"I died, reincarnated into a book, and now I have a cheat system? What am I, a walking trope?"
Still, she couldn't complain. She glanced at her arm—smooth, luminous, not a hint of a blemish. The system's reward had already kicked in. She even smelled faintly of osmanthus.
"Well," she said dryly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, "at least I'm not ugly."
A knock interrupted her thoughts. The carved wooden door creaked open.
"Miss Jia Lan," came a soft voice. "Old Madam said breakfast is ready. Shall I bring it here?"
A maid, no older than seventeen, stepped into view. She wore a pressed navy uniform and looked like she'd stepped out of a revolutionary propaganda poster—except her wide eyes were full of subtle admiration.
"Uh—no, I'll come out in a bit," Jia Lan replied, instinctively adopting a spoiled-but-polite tone. Her memories reminded her: the Jia family servants were loyal and well-compensated. They'd never tolerate rudeness from outsiders, but they expected her to act like a lady. Spoiled, yes. Rude, no.
"Very good, Miss." The girl bowed slightly and left, closing the door with practiced ease.
Jia Lan leaned back.
Okay. Deep breath.
Let's recap:
She had transmigrated into a wealthy city heiress in 1976.
The Gaokao (national college entrance exam) wouldn't be reinstated until 1977.
She was the designated villainess in the book, fated to get face-slapped by the FL multiple times.
But—she had a system.
And imported lotion.
She smirked.
"Well then," she murmured. "Let's enjoy this silk-draped life."
Still, she'd have to tread carefully. Even in luxury, this was a precarious decade. One misstep—especially one involving showing off too much glamour—could bring unwanted scrutiny. And Jia Lan wasn't stupid. She'd watched enough period dramas to know that the wind of politics blew harder than any curling iron.
The key? Keep her head down. Use her system wisely. Don't act too flashy—unless her hair needed to be.
She glanced at the mirror again and gave herself a wink.
"New world, new me. But I'll survive this era in style."