From young, Gu Jia Li's mother had instilled in her the belief that anyone could reach their goals as long as they worked hard enough. And so she did. She toiled tirelessly every night during her school days.
Romance had long been disillusioned, thanks to her no-good, deadbeat father, so she poured all her energy into taking first position in every exam. When she saw the results, she felt a deep sense of gratification.
"It'll all be worth it in the end," she said, as she stayed up countless nights revising in preparation for her college entrance exam.
Though Jia Li was used to disappearing into the background—overlooked in crowds, passed over in group photos—her grades had always been the one thing she could hold up like a mirror and see something valuable staring back. She knew she wasn't the kind of girl people noticed.
And her background? Humble at best. Her mother worked double shifts at a textile factory. Her father had left them with nothing but overdue bills and broken promises. Jia Li knew what it meant to calculate bus fares down to the yuan, and to eat plain rice with pickled vegetables for a week straight, . She'd seen them, the rich daughters of government officials. Glossy hair, sleek cars, the scent of expensive perfume trailing behind them in the hallways.
Jia Li never hated them. Not really. Yes, she envied them—but never with bitterness. She understood that they were simply playing the hand they'd been dealt, just as she was. She had no illusions about how the world worked.
But if they were born into privilege, then she would earn her way out of obscurity. Her grades were her ticket. Her shield. Her one undeniable, unassailable proof that she mattered. In a world that praised beauty and background, she had carved out her worth in sheer excellence. And with every exam she topped, with every stunned expression from a teacher who hadn't expected much from "the quiet one," She built a staircase, one that would take her far beyond this life, far beyond her beginnings.
Eventually, the college exams came. Jia Li smiled the morning of the Gaokao, nerves twisting in her stomach like silk threads pulled too tight. Her school had drilled past questions into her mind like mantras, and now, it was time. She arrived at the testing center early, her ID card clutched in one hand, her black-ink pens in the other.
She poured her soul onto the page, ink flowing like every sleepless night come to life. By the time it ended, the silence was deafening. Some students cried. Others laughed in relief. Jia Li just stood there, breathing in the thick summer air, knowing she had given it everything. Whatever happened next, she had earned it.
The wait for results felt like wading through wet cement—slow, suffocating, impossible to escape. Every day, Jia Li refreshed the portal with trembling fingers, hoping to see the confirmation of everything she'd sacrificed for. On the morning the Gaokao scores were finally released, she bolted upright in bed before the sun even rose. Her heart pounded as she typed in her credentials. The page loaded. Then froze. Then came crashing down on her like a landslide. 483.
Her eyes blinked. Once. Twice. She refreshed. She logged out. Logged back in. 483. Her knees buckled. That number was far too low for Shanghai University. Even Beijing Normal or Fudan was now a ghost. She barely qualified for a third-tier university in a smaller province—a place she hadn't even considered in her backup list.
When her mother came in, Jia Li didn't even need to say it. The look on her face said it all. Her mother tried to force a smile, to speak optimism into the air, but her eyes betrayed her. The disappointment wasn't loud—it was a quiet, restrained sorrow that cut deeper than any words.
Then the news broke. The local papers, the school bulletin board, even WeChat threads were all abuzz. "Top Scorer of the Province: Wang Meilin, daughter of City's Richest Tycoon, Earns Highest Gaokao Score with Full Marks in Math and Chinese."
Jia Li's breath caught in her throat. Meilin? The same girl who used to copy homework at the last minute, who skipped after-school lessons to flirt behind the gymnasium? The one whose average scores had consistently floated around the bottom 30% of their class? At first, Jia Li thought it must be a mistake—maybe a different Meilin. But the photo said otherwise. It was her. Smiling beneath the gold banner of academic excellence. University scouts from Tsinghua, Peking, even Ivy League schools were sending her offers.
Jia Li felt sick. Not with envy—but with something darker. A gnawing sense that everything was not as it seemed. She couldn't let it go. First, she approached her teachers, asking them gently if there had been a mistake. Then the school administrator. Then the examination bureau. She filed polite inquiries. Then formal complaints. Then desperate letters. But every reply was the same: "The scores have been verified." "There is no error." "Please refrain from further contact." It was like throwing stones into still water—each effort disappeared without a ripple.
Eventually, a friend of her cousin who worked as a low-level assistant in the provincial education office whispered to her one night, "If you're that determined, find Mr. Lu. He's in charge of Gaokao script handling in our district."
She found him one rainy afternoon outside a government archive building, smoking by a rusted bicycle. She approached quietly, introduced herself, and asked him if he'd be willing to review the original scripts. Not to accuse—just to verify. Mr. Lu's eyes darkened. He pulled her aside and spoke in a voice so low she could barely hear.
"Miss Gu listen to me. These decisions are already made before the ink dries. Quietly go to university. Live your life. Don't poke where you don't belong."
His words fell like bricks in her stomach.
Jia Li walked home in the rain that night, drenched and shaking.
"So all my hard work was for what?" Her voice barely made a sound in the storm.
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.. But 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 had fought so hard. For nothing. Eventually, Jia Li stopped trying. She found a low-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?"
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."
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.
Still, life crawled on. 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 Lin'er. 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 the haze of pain and dizziness, Jia Li's mind swirled between rage and disbelief.
You fucking hit me, and you're the one crying?!
The syrupy tone between the man and Wang Meilin felt like a slap across the face — the kind of scene that would've been romantic if it weren't happening over her broken body.
Her vision tunneled. The streetlights above bled into long streaks of gold and white. Every sound seemed far away — the shuffle of feet, the hum of the engine, the trembling panic in Meilin's voice. Then, beneath it all, another sound emerged.
At first, she thought it was her heartbeat slowing. But no… it was too regular. Too precise.
"Detection of a suitable host…"
"Detection of a suitable host… Initiating synchronization…"
The voice was faint, mechanical, and cold, like it came from somewhere deep inside her skull.
A soft chime rang out — sharp enough to slice through the fog in her mind.
"System binding: 10%… 20%… 40%… 85%… 100% complete."
"Binding successful. Congratulations, Host! You have now been bonded to the Amorous and Seductive Beauty System! I am your assigned navigator — System 419~"
The words echoed in the dark as her body went weightless. The cold asphalt beneath her vanished. So did the pain. So did the night.
When her eyes opened again, there was nothing. No city, no stars, no road — just an endless expanse of blinding white.