"Jian Dan, have you arrived in Jingdu? How are you? What's the situation there?"
Du Yanran's languid voice drifted through the phone.
Standing by the second-floor window, Jian Dan gazed down at the garden below, where a gardener trimmed the hedges. She answered absently: "Yes, we landed safely at noon. I just met Father. He's... kind. He never abandoned Mother and me. Their marriage was political, and it was Mother who sought the divorce. So no, I wasn't cast out like some unwanted weed."
These were the exact words she'd uttered in her past life—only back then, they'd been fed to her by Zhao Mufeng. This time, she was the one reciting them, cutting off his rehearsed performance before it began.
"That's a relief! I was so worried."
Du Yanran's exhale was audible. Clearly, events still aligned with their previous timeline—except now, she'd stolen Jian Dan's heavenly opportunity. Satisfied that nothing had veered off course, she hurriedly ended the call.
Fingers tracing the magnolia pendant at her throat—her prize—Du Yanran smirked. After claiming it from Jian Dan, she'd bound it as her own. The merged jewelry had transformed into this exquisite jade blossom: a top-grade defensive treasure.
Its spatial pocket held an acre of spirit fields brimming with herbs, alongside a rejuvenating spring. The water alone had purged years of bodily impurities. "Just wait until I begin cultivating," she thought.
She'd gambled correctly. This was the crux of Jian Dan's destined fortune. In their past life, her lone magnolia earring had only granted invisibility—a lifesaver in crises. Now, with the complete set, its powers multiplied: defense, farming, and concealment. "This time, nothing will stop my ascent."
Pride swelled in her chest—conveniently ignoring that this "fortune" was stolen. Debts, after all, come due.
Even in her past life's climax, after ascending to the upper realm, a single sweep of that ethereal man's sleeve had shattered her body. Only the earring's protection had preserved a wisp of her soul, fleeing to the mortal world to heal. Upon awakening, she'd found herself back before her cultivation began.
"This time, I'll seize every advantage." Hence her preemptive strike against Jian Dan.
Clutching the pendant, Du Yanran's eyes gleamed with ambition. First, the spirit spring to cleanse her body; then, Qi refining. With Jian Dan seemingly on script in Jingdu, she could focus wholly on cultivation. Time was scarce, and qi on Earth nearly nonexistent. Every moment counted.
That evening, Jian Dan attended the Zhao family dinner—a modest gathering of five.
At the table's head sat Zhao Mufeng, flanked by his second wife, Qian Yi, and their two children. Jian Dan occupied the seat of honor to his right.
"Jian Dan, this is your Aunt Qian Yi—'Aunt Qian' is fine. And these are your younger siblings, Zhao Zihan and Zhao Ziyu."
Turning to the trio, he added: "This is Jian Dan. She's lived with my former wife until recently, when Jian Rou passed. As my flesh and blood, it's only right she return home. Her mother was frail; having a child brought her comfort. But now, we're reunited as a family. I expect you all to get along."
His meaningful glance at Jian Dan demanded acknowledgment. She obliged, voice even: "Aunt Qian, Zihan, Ziyu—it's lovely to meet you."
Their reactions varied.
Qian Yi, the lady of the house, wore a form-fitting cheongsam embroidered with crimson peonies—hardly the matronly image of a mother of two. Her delicate features—willow-leaf brows, phoenix eyes, rosebud lips—exuded deliberate charm.
"We're thrilled you're home, Jian Dan," she simpered, fan fluttering. "Your father's hopeless with girls' matters, so come to me for anything. Ziyu's always lamented lacking a sister to confide in!"
"Welcome home."
Zhao Zihan's greeting was ice. This was the same "younger brother" who'd spied on her from the window earlier.
Dressed in a white shirt and beige slacks, he radiated casual elegance. But Jian Dan's spiritual sense had already revealed the truth: his bone age marked twenty years—older than her. Even "little sister" Ziyu matched her own eighteen.
"So the lies weren't just one or two last time."