In the 1980s, a female university student was a beacon of hope for the future, a “golden phoenix” in the eyes of her family. On the other hand, a woman with a ruined reputation, no skills, and no prospects would be lucky to marry a widower or an old bachelor, providing no benefit to her family.
It was the difference between clouds and mud.
No wonder the Whitaker family was so practical and self-serving—human nature, plain and simple.
For their benefit, the Whitaker family had unanimously sided with Whitaker Rosalie. The original “Whitaker Scarlett” had died without ever understanding why. She had encouraged the man she liked to take the college entrance exams, even helping him borrow books from her cousin Rosalie to study. She had personally sent him to the county for his exams.
There was no sign of trouble until the acceptance letter arrived, and suddenly, he was publicly Rosalie’s boyfriend.
Was it because she, Scarlett, wasn’t good enough for Walter Janson?
From a long-term perspective, choosing Rosalie made sense. A university student pairing with another university student was a match made in heaven.
But why did they have to step on “Whitaker Scarlett” on their way out?
The malicious rumors that spread across villages destroyed her reputation. Scarlett had sought out Walter Janson to confront him, only to find Rosalie in his room instead. Rosalie, calm and composed, had used a few carefully chosen words to send Scarlett away, leaving her speechless.
On her way home, Scarlett had run into the delinquent from the neighboring village—the same man who had been pestering her before. This time, he’d gone further, tearing her sleeve in public.
Walter Janson and Rosalie had shown up together at that moment. Walter, looking at Scarlett with evident disappointment, didn’t even wait for her explanation. Instead, he took Rosalie’s hand and walked away.
Were the rumors started by the delinquent? It was a crackdown year; a simple accusation could have him executed!
It didn’t matter now. Since Scarlett had been reborn in this body, she would find out the truth about what the original “Whitaker Scarlett” never could—and she would seek justice.
By the riverbank, the decrepit old house came into view.
The fence gate hung askew, barely standing, with no lock on the door. Holes pockmarked the walls and roof. Elizabeth clutched the bag of sweet potatoes tightly, her expression lost and uncertain.
This wasn’t a place fit for shelter from the elements.
“Scarlett, listen to your mother’s advice—”
Scarlett clutched her head. “Mom, my wound hurts again!”
The word “Mom” rolled off her tongue more naturally now. True to form, Elizabeth immediately shifted her focus. “Your wound’s opened? Let me see!”
The door had no lock, and the inside was a mess. The bed was nothing but a bare frame. Elizabeth urged Scarlett to eat the steamed egg quickly before it spoiled.
The egg was cold and had a fishy smell, but Scarlett didn’t like eating alone. After finishing half, she pushed the rest toward her mother.
“You eat the rest. It’ll go bad by tomorrow.”
Elizabeth held the enamel cup, her emotions complicated. This was a first—her daughter had never done anything like this before. Scarlett’s head injury seemed to have made her more considerate.
Elizabeth felt a mix of relief and sorrow.
“Your father will be back in a couple of days,” she murmured.
At the mention of her husband, Elizabeth instinctively shrank, her fear ingrained deep in her bones.
