Summary

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Su Nuannuan, a brilliant but socially anxious hypersonic stealth aircraft researcher, is assassinated in her laboratory and transmigrates into the body of a villainous supporting character in a 1970s Chinese period novel. She awakens in a chaotic guesthouse in Haishi City in July 1975, entangled in a compromising position with two men: Ji Xiao, a regiment commander, and Lu Mingyuan, a powerful figure from the capital. A mechanical entity known as the Succubus 007 System binds to her, threatening immediate erasure if she fails to survive. The original host had been drugged and sought to trap Ji Xiao into marriage to ruin the Ji family, but Su Nuannuan uses the system’s escape route to jump from a second-story window, leaving the two men to face the pursuing Red Guards alone.

After escaping, Su Nuannuan returns to the Ji family home, where she has lived as an abused adopted daughter for eight years under the cruel care of Mother Ji and her biological daughter, Ji Xue. The original owner was starved, beaten, and forced into servitude while Ji Xue was doted upon. Su Nuannuan confronts this reality by revealing the scars of her abuse to the gathered neighbors and family. When Mother Ji attempts to feign a heart attack to manipulate the crowd, Su Nuannuan threatens her with a brooch pin, forcing the truth into the open. Ji Xiao, initially dismissive and protective of his mother, begins to waver as he witnesses the physical evidence of years of torture. He carries the unconscious Su Nuannuan to her dilapidated room, haunted by the scent of the woman he shared the night with, whom he now realizes is his adopted sister.

The core conflict intensifies as Su Nuannuan refuses to remain a victim. She demands justice and compensation from the Ji family, specifically targeting Father Ji, a high-ranking official whose reputation is paramount. Ji Xiao, guilt-ridden and confused by his attraction to Su Nuannuan, attempts to buy her silence by offering to take her as a military dependent to an island post. Su Nuannuan counters by demanding one thousand yuan and food stamps in exchange for her cooperation, while also forcing Ji Xiao into a public agreement that implies a future marriage to secure her safety. The System issues mandatory tasks to aid her survival, including a humiliating public hug and a series of kisses with Ji Xiao to accumulate Luck Points, which she converts into health and physical enhancements.

As Su Nuannuan undergoes a physical transformation, shedding her scrawny appearance for a more delicate beauty, her relationship with Ji Xiao shifts from hostility to a complex, tense dynamic. She manipulates the family’s secrets, exposing Mother Ji’s hypocrisy and Ji Xue’s malice. The narrative follows her strategic navigation of the rigid social hierarchy of the 1970s, using the System’s rewards to strengthen her body and mind. She faces the threat of being sent to the countryside, a death sentence in all but name, and instead turns the tables on her abusers. The story traces her journey from a desperate fugitive to a calculated survivor who intends to dismantle the Ji family’s false morality while securing her own independence and power in a hostile era.

Novel Items

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System
A higher-dimensional system bound to Su Nuannuan. It can detect danger, plan escape routes, reward Beauty Points and Health Points for harvesting Children of Fortune, and punish with electric shocks. It has a glowing screen interface that displays stats and a ten-meter radius view.
Skill
A skill from the beginner's gift pack that allows free control of all bones and muscles in the body. Su Nuannuan chose this skill to squeeze her entire body into a small bamboo basket to hide from the Red Armbands. After activation, her joints made crisp cracking sounds as her body shrank into the container.
Skill
A skill from the beginner's gift pack that makes the eyes bright as stars and enhances vision tenfold. Su Nuannuan did not choose this skill.
Skill
A skill from the beginner's gift pack that grants the Host a natural body fragrance with added allure. Su Nuannuan did not choose this skill.
Accessory
Worn by members of the Ideology Committee who patrol the streets cracking down on black market activities and taking people for reformation. They are feared by residents and cause Zhang Shulan to hide Su Xiaoyin when they pass by.
Item
A small green booklet containing Lu Mingyuan's work identification from the GE Committee in the capital. When Brother Hui saw the bold black characters inside, he nearly collapsed in fear, realizing the high status of the person he was trying to arrest.
Latest Release
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2026-08-11shanghai fantasy c13
2026-08-11shanghai fantasy c12
2026-08-11shanghai fantasy c11
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Let's talk about what Su Nuannuan is actually risking here, because it's more than you might think at first glance. On the surface, she's just trying to get her pension and household registration back from the Ji family. Simple, right? Wrong. She's a woman in the 1970s with no family, no status, and a system that can electrocute her if she fails a task. The stakes are literally life and death, wrapped in a package that looks like a petty revenge plot. When she threatens to expose Mrs. Ji if she doesn't get what she wants in four days, she's not bluffing—she's calculated exactly what will hurt them most. Take away their money, their coupons, their control over her identity, and watch them suffocate. But the real conflict isn't external. It's the war happening inside Ji Xiao's head. He's torn between duty and desire, between the woman he's supposed to marry and this sharp-tongued girl who kisses him like she's collecting currency. Every time he tells himself she's wrong, his body betrays him. Every time he gets angry at her, he's also terrified of how much he wants her. The bite mark on his neck is a physical symbol of this conflict—something he can't hide, can't explain away, and can't undo. And then there's the mystery of the two men from last night. Su Nuannuan has no idea which one she was with, and the System refuses to tell her. This is the ticking clock under everything—because if she finds out it was Ji Xiao, if she realizes she's been kissing the same man she was intimate with, the entire dynamic shifts. The conflict just got a whole lot more complicated. The author keeps raising the stakes with every chapter. Money, reputation, survival, identity, desire, mystery—it's all layered on top of each other, and nothing feels resolved. I'm invested.
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"You kissed me, so I have to kiss you back to make it even." I am not okay. I am genuinely not okay right now. This girl walked into that car, deliberately didn't fasten her seatbelt, waited until Ji Xiao leaned over to buckle her in, and then—then—pressed her lips against his like it was just some transactional thing. Like she was returning a library book. "Here, your kiss back. You're welcome." And Ji Xiao? Oh, poor, flustered, internally-screaming Ji Xiao. His arms felt like lead. His heart was probably doing backflips. He's literally fighting with himself the whole time—every rational part of his brain is screaming that she's not the woman from last night, she's the wrong person, this is wrong—while his body is just... melting. And then she kisses him five more times in a row, collecting Luck Points like they're Pokémon cards, and he can't push her away. CAN'T. PUSH. HER. AWAY. The worst part is the subtext dripping from every line. She's using him for points, sure, but the way the narrative describes her—"her burning gaze falling on his lips," "a faint trace of a smile flickered in her calm eyes"—there's something there beneath the calculation. And he's not innocent either. He's remembering that kiss from the car, his throat going dry, heat spreading through his body. The tension between them is so thick you could cut it with a knife, and neither of them is even aware of what's actually happening. Also can we talk about how she literally calls him out on his neck bite mark? "Next time you sneak a bite, remember to wipe your mouth clean." I fell out of my chair. She sees it. She KNOWS. And he tries to play it off as a mosquito bite while fumbling with the gears three times. The man cannot drive to save his life right now.
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Okay, first of all—20 Physique Points for staying overnight with Ji Xiao, and a Level 3 electric shock as punishment for failure? The system is absolutely deranged. I love it. It's like the universe's most passive-aggressive matchmaker. But here's what actually got me: Su Nuannuan's entire arc in these chapters is a masterclass in strategic patience. She's not just surviving, she's playing 4D chess while everyone else is still learning how the pieces move. The pension confrontation, the four-day ultimatum, the calculated kisses to farm Luck Points—she's methodically dismantling the Ji family from the inside while pretending to be a helpless little girl. And the best part? Ji Xiao has no idea he's being played. He thinks he's the one in control, but every time he leans in, she's already three steps ahead. The reveal about the bite mark on his neck? That's the kind of detail that makes you sit up and go 'wait, WHAT?' One moment she's thinking he's one of two mysterious men from that night, and the next—boom, physical evidence that she might have been intimate with him too. The plot is threading these revelations so carefully that I couldn't look away. Is she really after just the Luck Points, or is there something else driving her? And what happens when Ji Xiao finally figures out she's been using him this whole time?
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The restaurant scene is one of the most vivid snapshots of this era I've ever read in a novel. Let me just say this: the prices on that blackboard tell you everything you need to know about the world. Stir-fried vegetables: 30 cents. Rice: 30 cents per half jin, but you also need grain coupons. A worker makes thirty-six yuan a month. Su Nuannuan asks for one thousand yuan. Do the math. This isn't just a number—this is an impossible sum that the narrator makes you feel in your bones. The state-run restaurant itself—empty at eight in the morning, one attendant who doesn't even bother looking up, the smell of a place that serves people who matter and people who don't. Chef Wang's plump hand pushing aside the kitchen curtain, his smile that dies the second he sees who's behind Ji Xiao. That single detail—his expression turning odd—says everything about how this girl is perceived. She's not just poor; she's *notorious*. The manic episodes, the biting. The world has already written her story before she opens her mouth. And then the supply and marketing cooperative—absolute chaos. Meat sold out again. People shouting. The salesperson's flat, exhausted voice. Su Nuannuan's panic attack in the car, fingers digging into the seat, cold sweat breaking out. The contrast between the noisy crowd outside and the suffocating silence inside the car? Perfect. You can feel her heart racing. The image of Ji Xiao coming back with paper bags, ears flushed red because it's the first time he's ever bought clothes for a woman—that scene is so specific and human. The author doesn't need a thousand words. Just one man walking fast, slightly unsteady, trying not to be seen. And then Su Nuannuan looking at his thin lips and calculating how many kisses equal one health point. The world feels real because the details are so grounded. Food stamps. Grain coupons. Military dependents. This isn't just backdrop—it's the cage she's trying to survive inside.
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There's this one moment that's been haunting me since I finished reading. Su Nuannuan sits down to a meal and eats like her life depends on it—because it does. The narration is almost clinical: "Chopsticks moved swiftly across the table, the only sound the crisp clinking of utensils against bowls." No dialogue, no inner monologue. Just the sound of someone eating. And then Ji Xiao does something that completely recontextualizes everything. He takes her leftover dishes and pours them into his own bowl. Not a word. Just... eats what she left. The author writes it like a whirlwind sweeping away remnants. This man, a Regiment Commander, someone with power and status, finishes the food of the girl his family abused for eight years. I keep coming back to the orphan parallel the text draws: "In her previous life, she had been an orphan, never knowing where her next meal would come from, growing up hungry. In this life, she was also an orphan. Though she had a place to stay, she had never eaten a full meal in her life." Two lives. Two forms of hunger. The first was poverty; the second was something worse—having a roof but being starved anyway. The Ji family gave her a place to exist but never let her live. Eight years of being a "free servant." The food at that state-run restaurant isn't just food—it's the first time in her combined lifetimes that someone is *serving* her instead of making her serve. And the system's physical transformations? The chest developing, the skin clearing, the brown spots vanishing—that's not just a beauty upgrade. It's the body reclaiming itself. The original host's body was a site of neglect, and now every point she earns is a small act of resurrection. She's not just surviving; she's becoming someone the world can't ignore. The kiss scene is grotesque and hilarious and tragic all at once—she's counting kisses like currency, treating his lips like an ATM. But underneath the comedy, it's about agency. She's using the only tool she has to buy her freedom. What does that say about a world where a woman's body is the only thing she can trade?
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"Don't argue with fools; don't fight with villains over right and wrong. Where's the money?" I need to just sit with this line for a moment. That is the most Su Nuannuan sentence ever written. She gets harassed by a random old woman, doesn't even engage, just deflects and pivots straight to business. The man walks up, asks about the confrontation, and her immediate response is "Where's the money?" She doesn't care about justice. She doesn't care about the drama. She cares about the thousand yuan in her pocket and the pension she's about to claim. This is a woman who has been through two lifetimes of suffering and has zero patience for nonsense. And Ji Xiao's dialogue? Perfect. "Stop. Apologize." Two words. That's it. He doesn't explain, he doesn't negotiate, he just commands and the old woman scrambles away. His voice is sharp, authoritative, but there's this underlying current of flustered confusion whenever he's talking to Su Nuannuan about anything personal. "You're so fierce with me. Why do you turn into a mute quail when you see outsiders?" He's genuinely confused by her, and that confusion is adorable. The banter between them is where the writing truly shines though. Her: "Weren't you the one who started it? Don't worry, I won't hold you responsible." His immediate reaction—veins bulging, voice cold, calling her shameless—shows exactly how much she gets under his skin. And then her parting shot about his neck mark? "Next time you sneak a bite, remember to wipe your mouth clean." She just dismantled his entire composure in one sentence. The dialogue never feels forced. Each character has a distinct voice, and the subtext is always louder than the actual words. That's skilled writing.
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