The faint, broken sobs of a little girl kept drifting into Le Qing’s ears. Standing just a door away, her hand trembled slightly on the doorknob, and she felt like she should go out and cry with her.
She wondered how, after living a dutiful and honest life for over twenty years, she had ended up transmigrating into the role of a vicious supporting character in a novel.
This was a story about genius twins and their wealthy stepmother. Years ago, the twins’ mother had fled while pregnant, gave birth, and then passed away from illness. On her deathbed, she entrusted her two children and a substantial sum of child support to her younger sister. But who could have guessed this sister would turn out to be heartless? Not only did she squander every penny of the support money, but she also abused the twins, subjecting them to beatings and constant scolding.
The children, starving and poorly clothed, had no choice but to rely on their clever little minds to earn money and survive—all while trying to find their biological father.
Miraculously, the twins managed to hold on until the domineering CEO finally tracked them down. But the younger sister, greedy and shameless, even set her sights on the CEO, scheming to become the twins’ stepmother.
Unfortunately for her, the CEO was cold-hearted and meticulous in settling scores. Not only did he force her to return every cent of the child support, but he also found ways to blind her, cripple her limbs, and ultimately send her to prison. The outcome was predictable—she died a miserable death in jail not long after.
And of all people, Le Qing had transmigrated into this wretched sister.
She had just checked her bank balance earlier—great. At this point, forget squandering money; she couldn’t even afford next month’s utilities.
What kind of luck was this? The original owner spent all the money, and now she was left to deal with the fallout. Not a single day of luxury, but every bit of the blame. Was she some kind of cosmic joke?
Outside the door, the crying gradually weakened until it faded entirely. Unable to resist, Le Qing opened the door.
A tiny, frail little girl—likely Le An, the younger of the twins—was curled up beside the sofa, barely three years old. Her small head drooped weakly, her hair tangled and unkempt, her face pale. Her half-closed eyes were swollen from crying.
Truly the child of protagonists. Even though Le Qing wasn’t fond of kids, she couldn’t bring herself to dislike such a beautiful little one.
She couldn’t fathom how a child so small could possibly go out and earn money to survive.
Her thoughts were tangled, unsure what to say or do, so she lingered in the doorway without approaching.
Sensing movement, little Le An hugged herself tighter, flinching away from the carpet. Her aunt always said she and her brother were too dirty to touch it. But she missed her brother so much, and she was so, so hungry.
No matter how hard she tried to endure, her instincts won out—tears silently rolled down her cheeks.
Seeing her aunt hadn’t come closer, she whispered a plea, “Auntie… I’ll eat less from now on. Can you… can you bring my brother back?”
Too weak from hunger, her voice was barely audible.
Le Qing only caught the word “auntie.” She walked to the sofa and bent down slightly. “What did you say?”
Le An flinched, but for her brother’s sake, she mustered the courage to look up. “I said…”
Her whisper-thin voice trailed off, her tearful, fearful yet strikingly clear eyes filled with confusion.
But Le Qing noticed something was wrong. Having lived alone for so long, she had plenty of life experience and knew how to take care of herself—and others. The child’s breathing was too hot, her eyes too red.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Dislike aside, the child was still young. Since she had taken over the aunt’s body, she couldn’t just ignore her.
As she spoke, Le Qing’s hand reached for the child’s forehead—burning.
“You have a fever.” She frowned, hesitating only a moment before scooping the child up. “Where’s the first-aid kit?”
Le An remained dazed, unresponsive.
Realizing she was dealing with a three-year-old, Le Qing mentally scolded herself. She had planned to take the child to her room first, but when she pushed open the other door, a blast of cold air made her shiver.
Unlike the aunt’s well-furnished walk-in closet of a room, this one was barren. The child had no wardrobe—just a few neatly folded clothes in the corner. The bed had only a thin blanket, and there was no air conditioning. No wonder she had a fever.
Le Qing decided the original owner’s eyes being gouged out wasn’t entirely unjustified.
She turned and carried the child back to her own room, bundling her in thick blankets.
Le An squirmed slightly.
Le Qing pinned the blankets down. “Stay still.”
She didn’t have the patience to soften her tone, so it came out a bit harsh.
Le An froze, but fear crept into her voice. “I’m… dirty.”
“…”
Le Qing didn’t respond. She wasn’t good at comforting kids anyway.
After scouring the house, she found nothing but alcohol and cosmetics. With no other choice, she used the pitiful hundred-something yuan left in her account to order medicine. While waiting for the delivery, she fetched a basin of water to wipe the child down.
Perhaps because she’d been ignored earlier, the child stayed silent now, not uttering a word—just staring at her with red, swollen eyes. Le Qing preferred it this way; less hassle.
But little Le An was terrified inside. Her aunt… didn’t seem like her aunt anymore.
The old aunt had always looked at her and her brother with nothing but disgust and curses. She never let them touch the carpet, let alone carried them or allowed them into her room.
This new aunt barely spoke, but so far, she hadn’t thought a single hateful thing about her. It was so strange.
Though young, Le An had always been able to see people’s truest thoughts in their eyes—a secret her brother told her to keep. So she had hidden it carefully all this time.
Never had she imagined she’d see a different side of her aunt.
With her brother gone, Le An didn’t dare speak, staying perfectly still.
But her empty, starving stomach betrayed her—a loud growl echoed in the quiet room.
Le Qing, who had been sitting nearby planning her next steps, heard it. When she turned, she saw the child desperately sucking in her stomach under the blankets.
As if that would stop the hunger.
“Hungry?”
Le An pressed her lips together and shook her head hard.
“I don’t like kids who lie.” Le Qing stood and walked out, pausing at the door to add, “Stay put.”
The fridge was empty—no surprise the original owner couldn’t cook.
Then again, if she could, she wouldn’t have blown through all the money the twins’ mother left behind.
With a sick child at home, Le Qing couldn’t leave. Luckily, the kitchen had basic seasonings, a few eggs, and a pack of noodles—still within expiry. She quickly boiled a simple bowl of egg noodles.
When she returned to the room, the threatened child hadn’t moved an inch—only her eyes followed Le Qing’s movements.
Amused, Le Qing lifted the bundled-up child and brought the noodles to her lips. “Blow on it until it’s cool enough to eat.”
Le An stared at her for a long time. After confirming there wasn’t a trace of resentment in this aunt’s heart, she finally gave in, clamping her tiny mouth around the chopsticks and devouring the entire bite.
She was just too hungry. She hadn’t eaten a thing since her brother left.
She took a bite but immediately burned her mouth. Afraid of being scolded by her aunt if she spat it out, she stubbornly forced herself to swallow.
The next second, a slender hand held out a tissue in front of her, and her aunt tapped her cheek lightly with chopsticks. "Spit it out."
Le An reflexively opened her mouth, and all the noodles landed on the tissue.
Without changing her expression, Le Qing folded the tissue and tossed it into the trash. Then she looked up at the child. "What did I just say?"
What had she said?
What had Le Qing said?
Le An couldn’t remember at all and could only stare back helplessly.
After a few seconds, Le Qing sighed in resignation, blowing on the noodles to cool them before holding them to the child’s mouth. "Are you kids even capable of taking care of yourselves?"
Those books must have been lying.
This kid didn’t seem particularly bright—what kind of "genius twins" were they supposed to be?
Le An didn’t understand. Right now, her little head was filled only with the aroma of that delicious bowl of noodles. She’d never known her aunt could cook, let alone make something this tasty.
She wanted to eat every last bite.
Le Qing had never seen a child eat so well—no fussing, no mess, no food smeared all over their face and hands like those other kids who even dogs avoided. In the end, the child even held the bowl herself.
When the doorbell rang, Le Qing assumed it was the medicine and stood up. "Hold onto this. I’ll feed you when I get back."
The child nodded obediently.
But when Le Qing returned with the medicine, she found the bowl placed neatly on the bedside table, half the noodles untouched.
Maybe she was full—being sick could kill an appetite.
Le Qing didn’t think much of it. After securing the thermometer under the child’s arm, she poured a glass of water, blowing on it first to cool it down, worried the kid might gulp it down recklessly again.
As she blew, she noticed something odd—the child kept stealing glances at the half-eaten noodles, hesitant.
Le Qing asked, "Still hungry?"
The child shook her head hurriedly.
Kids this age couldn’t hide anything. Le Qing set the water glass aside and opened the medicine box, speaking softly. "I told you I don’t like children who lie."
Sure enough, Le An panicked, fidgeting as she struggled to explain. Finally, with a little strength back from eating, she lowered her head and whispered, "If I eat less… can you bring my brother home?"
Bring him home?
Le Qing paused, confused.
Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen the other child around. Le Qing had only just transmigrated here and was still figuring things out. Between the sick child and her own disorientation, she hadn’t had time to wonder—she’d assumed the other kid was out earning money, just like in the novel.
As she considered this, her phone buzzed with a notification.
The screen lit up, and her eyes caught the message—a bank transfer notification, followed by several zeros.
"…"
After a brief moment of suffocating silence, she remembered.
The original owner had spent every last penny. Used to a lavish lifestyle, she couldn’t bear the sudden financial freefall—so she’d turned to the children.
She’d sold one of them for temporary comfort.
Oh no. This was bad. Really bad.
