"Zijin, although you're our biological daughter, we've raised Xiaoxuan for fifteen years. We're deeply attached to her. She was raised in luxury, unlike you, who grew up in the countryside. So yes, the title of the Ying family's heiress still belongs to her. It's unfair, but you're kind—we know you won't mind. Rest assured, you won't lack anything you're entitled to."
"What? You want to go too? Are you kidding? They want a real socialite. You can't even play a single piano piece. You'll just embarrass yourself."
Faces blurred in a haze. Disdainful stares. Whispers of rejection.
Moments later, Ying Zijin opened her eyes.
A sterile white hospital room greeted her, the scent of antiseptics lingering in the air.
"Oh, look who's awake," a sarcastic voice came from above. "We thought you were dead. Don't move—if the IV comes loose, you'll be the one paying for it."
A hand pressed down on her arm, supposedly adjusting the IV. In reality, the fingers dug harshly into her wound, nails piercing skin.
Ying Zijin's expression didn't shift. In one swift motion, she flipped the woman's hand and pinned it against the bedside cabinet.
The nurse shrieked in pain. "Are you crazy?!"
"Zijin!" another young woman rushed over. "She's Dr. Lu. She's not trying to hurt you."
The girl turned her head. Her face, pale and sickly, lacked vitality. But her features were striking—those rare phoenix eyes shimmered as they turned, bright and bewitching.
Even in weakness, her gaze could draw someone in like a siren's call.
"Do you feel any discomfort?" the woman asked softly.
Zijin stayed silent but released her grip.
Dr. Lu backed away, rubbing her wrist. "What an ungrateful brat."
Ying Zijin lifted her eyes, still misty from sleep. Her voice was low, hoarse, and cold.
"Sorry, I just woke up. Thought a dog was biting me."
"You—!"
"That's enough," the woman interrupted. "She already apologized. Let's not argue."
She turned to Zijin, guilt on her face. "I'm sorry. If it weren't for my condition, you wouldn't have had to donate blood again. I didn't mean for you to pass out."
"She deserves it," Dr. Lu sneered. "She's just an adopted stray your family took in. Yet you're going out of your way to get her medical help? You don't even treat your real niece this well."
The woman sighed. "Zijin has suffered too much. How can she compare to Xiaoxuan?"
"She can't compare," Dr. Lu scoffed. "My brother said she's second-to-last in the elite class. Entered through money, I bet. Meanwhile, Xiaoxuan is second in the whole grade. What a joke."
"She was top of her class in her old school," the woman defended.
"In a rural town. Probably couldn't even get into a community college."
Their exchange didn't faze Ying Zijin.
She glanced at the woman, a name surfacing in her mind—Ying Luowei.
Her aunt. Age 25. Shanghai's top socialite. A famous pianist across the country.
Ying Luowei had hemophilia. One cut, and she could bleed endlessly. Worse, her blood type was Rh-null—extremely rare and nearly impossible to match. No cure to this day.
Ying Zijin glanced at her own frail arm, blood vessels clearly visible.
"Tsk."
She hadn't died.
This was Earth, the place she'd visited before.
Her name was still Ying Zijin, but she was no longer the peerless Seer of the Spirit Realm—the one whose fortune-telling could determine life or death in a single glance.
Now, she was just an unwanted foster child of the Ying family.
A living, breathing blood bag for Ying Luowei.
This time, she collapsed after days of forced blood draws.