Chapter Eight: Treasure or Trash?

When Xia emerged from the space, only a few minutes had passed. Her mother Lin entered the room with a plate of sliced pears. Seeing her daughter sitting obediently at the desk, a stack of scratch paper before her, Lin’s mother was quite satisfied, assuming her daughter was diligently studying.

Lin’s mother herself had barely attended school, able to count the characters she recognized on one hand. In this small street, the women were always comparing themselves to one another, and literacy was a crucial aspect of that competition. Never having had the chance to read or write was her greatest lifelong regret, so she kept a strict watch over Lin Xia and her brother Lin Hui. But where there is oppression, there is always resistance. While the siblings dared not disobey their mother outwardly, in private it was a different story. Otherwise, how could they have ended up barely getting into a third-rate university?

Though the Lin family could not claim brilliance, they were far from foolish.

Lin’s mother soon left Xia’s room. At this moment, Xia held a pear cube with a toothpick in her right hand, bringing it to her lips, while her left index finger was raised before her eyes, staring intently at the faint imprint of a ring.

Was this truly a spatial ring? The thought was still unbelievable, even more astonishing than her rebirth. She wanted to return to that place she’d just been, but the prospect of not being able to come back out after finally escaping unsettled her.

Yet, if she didn’t go now, she’d have to go eventually—otherwise the matter would forever remain a thorn in her heart.

Circling these thoughts, she finished the plate of pears but hadn’t settled on a decision, and fatigue crept in. She yawned and mused, “Let it be—if I can’t decide today, tomorrow will do just as well.” She laughed at herself—how was it that, having lived again, she’d become her own worst worry? Tidying up a bit, she turned off the lamp and went to bed.

In the darkness, a faint moss-green mark flickered in the air, then vanished without a trace.

Because of the space, Xia slept fitfully that night—one moment dreaming of her past life, the next of the harsh words from a potential suitor’s parents, and then of a novel’s magical farmland dimension.

When she woke with a start, she was drenched in sweat. She showered, and upon returning to her room, found it was only five in the morning.

Sitting at her desk under the lamplight, she examined her left index finger in surprise—the faint green mark was gone.

Xia stared at her finger for a long time, then gritted her teeth in determination. She had to go inside and see for herself, or she’d never find peace.

But how was she to enter?

The first time had been by accident—perhaps the ring had absorbed her blood and recognized her, drawing her in. But now, what should she do?

She racked her brain, recalling that when she’d wanted out, calling to the space produced no response; only when she silently thought, “I want to leave,” did she exit. Perhaps all she needed was to recite her wish inwardly.

With that thought, Xia closed her eyes and silently repeated: “I want to go in.”

Sure enough, her vision blurred, and she found herself in that enclosed room again.

She glanced at the pool of water not far away, still unable to muster the courage to approach. What if something emerged from its depths? The very thought made the room feel eerier, and she quickly thought, “I want to leave.”

Her vision flickered, and she was back in her room, seated in the same position as before, as if she’d never left.

Xia was delighted, as though she’d stumbled upon an entertaining toy—entering and exiting in the blink of an eye. Had anyone seen her, appearing and disappearing in an instant, they’d surely think the place was haunted.

From outside her window, she’d have looked like a ghost—sitting at her desk, vanishing and reappearing at intervals.

She sat, pondering her index finger. As thrilling as this sudden space was, why did it feel so unlike those in the novels? Other people’s spatial dimensions resembled online farm games—mountains, rivers, fields, and a cottage. All right, it wasn’t about the cottage or the hot spring, but those spaces allowed for farming, eating free fruit, and harvesting high-quality, abundant, organic vegetables.

But what on earth could hers do? A sealed space, a pool of cold water—who knew how long it had been there, whether it was drinkable, the eerie white light chilling her to the bone.

She toyed with her finger and sighed deeply. Others’ spaces were perpetually springlike, “farmer’s spring, a patch of fields.” Hers was perennially cold and damp, just a few dozen square feet and a pool of water—utterly dispiriting.

So much for getting rich by farming; she’d have to find another way to earn money.

Thinking of making money, Xia scratched her hay-like hair. She was only thirteen—how could she possibly earn a living? If only she’d known about her rebirth in her previous life, she could have memorized a few lottery numbers and bought tickets now.

Unfortunately, she was a typical homebody—her time spent online, browsing forums and watching movies, paying no attention to anything else. Sports or traditional lotteries were all nonsense to her. Start a business? The idea barely entered her mind before she dismissed it.

Who was she kidding? Helping her parents was one thing, but starting a business alone—with no capital, no energy, and, most crucially, no relevant skills from her past life—was impossible. How could mere rebirth make her a business prodigy?

Absurd.

She considered several options, dismissing each in turn—too naïve, too unrealistic.

She’d pulled out several strands of hair in frustration but still couldn’t find a solution.

Flopping onto her bed, limbs splayed, she sighed inwardly. Why did other people’s rebirths come with endless opportunities—either company presidents or heirs to great fortunes—while her life was no different from before?

No—that wasn’t quite true. She had been reborn, and she had a useless space.

Still, having something was better than nothing. Xia consoled herself. At least she had years more experience than a real thirteen-year-old; she was sure she’d find a way to change her family’s circumstances.

Clenching her small fists, she stared at the ceiling, her eyes shining with resolve.

After a poor night’s sleep and rising so early, Xia soon drifted off again, lying in bed.

When the alarm clock rang once more, she rolled over in annoyance and muttered, “So annoying, can’t a person get some proper rest?”

The clock persisted in its duty, and at last, Xia relented. Hair a mess, feet slipped into slippers, eyes still closed, she shuffled toward the bathroom.