When I was seven, my brother sold me to human traffickers to save himself. Years later, I finally made it back home, only to find my parents had "replaced" me with a new daughter. She was draped in designer clothes and jewelry. When she saw me, she covered her nose, looking at me like I was trash. "Where did this beggar come from? She stinks. Does she have diseases?" With just one sentence, my parents' eyes changed. My brother looked at me with pure disgust. "Why did you come back to ruin our happy life? For money?" That's when I realized: the fake daughter had become the real one, and I was just a stumbling block. In the end, my brother helped the fake daughter torture me to death while my parents watched and did nothing. When I opened my eyes again, I was five years old. This time, I chose to save myself. Evil brother? Biased parents? You can all go to hell together! 1 "This is my brother. Boys are worth more money. I promise I won't call the police." I shoved my brother hard towards the trafficker, then turned and ran on my little legs. The greasy middle-aged man grabbed my brother and dragged him toward a beat-up van. My brother was only seven, still just a kid. He struggled and screamed, "Sissy, save me! Save me!" His eyes were full of fear and begging. The orange soda in his hand spilled all over his clothes. Snot and tears smeared his face. The trafficker looked satisfied. He picked up my brother, threw him in the van, and drove off. The broken license plate rattled against the bumper as they sped away. "Save you? In your dreams." I turned and ran toward the convenience store. Colorful lollipops and sticky rice cakes—sweet and delicious. I bought some to calm my nerves. I ate while walking home. My parents had just returned from work. Seeing me alone, they asked, "Where's your brother?" I sucked on my lollipop and said in a sweet, childish voice, "Didn't brother come home first? Mommy, Daddy, do you want some rice cake?" My parents immediately started searching the neighborhood. They checked with the neighbors we knew, but found no trace of him. Now they panicked and called the police. In an era without surveillance cameras everywhere, finding a trafficker was like finding a needle in a haystack. Even the police found it strange: "Your neighborhood has the best security in the area. How could there be traffickers? Security didn't see anyone suspicious enter or leave. Have you offended anyone recently? Could this be revenge?" Or maybe they just flashed their wealth too much and got targeted. Mom sat on the floor, devastated. Dad cried his heart out. I sat on a chair, swinging my little legs, watching them with wide, unblinking eyes. Look at them, so heartbroken. So why, in my past life, did they watch me die with such indifference? Right. My brother's life matters. My life doesn't. Fine. Then let's all not live. 2 That night, missing person flyers plastered every street and alley. The TV news broadcasted my brother's disappearance, offering a $50,000 reward. In an era where the average annual salary was a few hundred bucks, $50,000 was an astronomical sum. I wondered if my brother was even worth $50,000. Would the traffickers send him back for the money? But once the flyers went up, I knew there was zero chance of him returning. Compared to $50,000, life was more important to those criminals. Six months passed. New cases piled up, and my brother's case went cold. Thinking back to my past life, my brother pushed me toward the traffickers and ran away. I was just learning from him. We are siblings, after all. The same blood runs in our veins. I started using my wits. I often came up with money-making ideas to divert my parents' attention, helping them slowly move on from the grief of losing their son. Dad rubbed my head happily: "Our little Mona is the family's lucky star! You've helped us earn so much money." I giggled. "Daddy, on TV, lots of rich people have houses with swimming pools and garages. So fancy." "Mommy, Daddy, let's move to a big house too! If we live around rich people, maybe we can make even more money!" "Like they say, your circle determines your income." My parents were shocked by my words. They immediately decided to buy a villa. They had made enough money to afford a new house anyway. But more importantly, they thought: if my brother ever came back, he might find this place. I needed to cut off that hope completely. I needed to erase the memory of my brother from their minds. "Mona is right. Nothing is more important than your social circle." The next day, my parents went house hunting. After asking around, they spent a fortune on a luxury hilltop villa. Our neighbors were all VIPs and big shots in the city. I carried Mom's homemade cookies and visited our neighbors one by one. I was sensible and cute, so I quickly got familiar with them. My parents got quite a few projects through these connections. Even if the profits were thin, they built good relationships. Seeing the timing was right, I spoke up: "Mom, Dad, why don't you adopt a brother? You're always busy with work and have no time for me. I'm lonely and want someone to play with." Why a brother? To completely replace my biological brother's position in my parents' hearts. To prevent a scenario where he returns and my sexist parents give him all the credit for my hard work. I wasn't letting that happen. Now, my status in my parents' hearts was unshakable. They would agree to whatever I said. 3 You can't choose your parents, no matter how useless they are. But a brother? That's different. If I could choose, I was going to pick one to my liking. Stupid ones were out; they'd mess things up. Ugly ones were out; looking at them would be annoying. Besides being kind-hearted, the most important thing was a good personality. I didn't want another ungrateful wolf for a brother. We visited every orphanage in the city. Finally, I found one that didn't disappoint. The hint of ruthlessness in his eyes satisfied me. Having seen monsters in human skin in my past life, I knew his type would be hard to control later. I had to cultivate feelings from a young age. "Here~ have some candy." I took a White Rabbit creamy candy from my pocket and placed it in his slender hand. I said in a soft, sweet voice, "If you eat this candy, you'll be my brother." "I have lots of toys and snacks at home. If you like them, I'll share half with you. How about it, brother? Will you come home with me?" No little boy could refuse such a cute little girl. He was no exception. He carefully took the candy but didn't dare touch my hand, as if afraid of dirtying it. I reached out and grabbed his hand, showing him off to my parents happily. "Daddy, Mommy, I found the brother I like." He was clean and good-looking. My parents were satisfied. They asked a few symbolic questions and found him articulate and polite—a rare well-behaved child. So they agreed to my request. ... "From now on, your name is Star." Looking at his beautiful eyes that shone like stars, I announced loudly. He nodded in agreement. The room opposite mine was given to him. My parents had planned to save it for my biological brother, but now it was put to good use. At dinner, he sat in Dad's lower seat—where my brother used to sit. Slowly, he truly replaced my brother's position. My parents got used to taking him out, attending events together, and privately referring to him as "our son." Star was extremely uncomfortable with this change at first, but with my encouragement, he became outgoing and confident. Perhaps the impression of our first meeting was too strong. He truly treated me like a sister to be protected. Every night before bed, he would tell me fairy tales and coax me to sleep. He would quietly eat the food I didn't like from my bowl. Even if I accidentally bumped into something, he would immediately look pained, wishing he could take the hurt for me. 4 In the blink of an eye, high school arrived. Wrapped in love, Star began to shine. The moment he stepped into school, he caused quite a stir. We were in the same class. Both he and my parents hoped this would better protect me. An old acquaintance from my past life appeared—the fake daughter who tortured me to death, Crystal. She looked delicate and fragile. Every frown and smile carried a "pity me" vibe. Especially her big, watery eyes; it was hard not to feel sympathy for her at a glance. "Star, look at twelve o'clock. What do you think of that girl?" Star followed my gaze and saw Crystal in her pale yellow floral dress, long hair flowing. He didn't understand my meaning. After thinking for a moment, he said, "I don't know. Maybe the type most boys like?" Not just boys. My brother was obsessed with her type. For her, he helped torture his own sister. I licked my lips. "Is she your type too?" A flash of disgust crossed his eyes, but his face remained relaxed. "I don't like her." I chuckled. "Then what type do you like?" He looked down at me, raising an eyebrow. "Must be the arrogant, willful, unreasonable type." Me: "..." Crystal was my classmate, but she didn't test in. She was admitted under a special quota for underprivileged students. Every year, the elite private school accepted a few poor students to show off their "equal education" philosophy. But in reality, these students were usually bullied. After all, the classmates were either heirs or trust fund babies. In my past life, with my brother protecting her, she lorded over everyone. But now, my brother was gone. Let's see how she acts tough now. The first class usually involved self-introductions. Everyone went up generously, without stage fright. Given their backgrounds, they weren't afraid of such scenes. When it was Crystal's turn, her face flushed. She twisted and turned, looking reluctant. "I... I'm too shy." The teacher smiled. "It's okay, it's everyone's first time. Just relax. Let's give her a warm round of applause." Applause filled the room. Star saw I didn't react, so he didn't clap either. After three rounds of applause, everyone was getting impatient, but Crystal still hadn't gone up. She bit her lip tightly, face red, tears falling from her eyes. Really, you can't polish a turd. 5 After this incident, everyone distanced themselves from Crystal. They found her off-putting. "Crying at the drop of a hat. People might think we bullied her. Disgusting." "Exactly. She wasted so much time, I didn't even have time to go to the bathroom during the break. Annoying." "When we pick seats this afternoon, don't sit with her. Bad luck will affect my aura." Everyone chatted freely. Crystal heard every word and ran to tell the teacher. This behavior might work in a normal school, but in an elite private school, it was just humiliating herself. "Student Crystal's situation is special. I hope everyone can be more tolerant." "Is there anyone willing to sit with Crystal? She's timid. If we look out for her, I believe she'll get used to the school environment quickly." The teacher waited, but no one raised their hand. Instead, sneers filled the room. The teacher coughed lightly. "How about this? Crystal, who do you want to sit with?" Suddenly, Crystal wasn't shy anymore. She pointed at Star. "I want to sit with Brother Star." ... That "Brother Star" was called out so coquettishly, people would think they knew each other. The boys jeered, and the girls rolled their eyes in disdain. The teacher nodded. "Okay then. Star, you sit with Crystal and take good care of her." Star immediately stood up and refused. "Sorry, Teacher. I'm allergic to tears." The classroom went silent, then erupted in laughter. I curled my lips. He has a way with words. The teacher frowned, realizing it was a flat refusal. But Star was the heir to the Ran Corporation in name; no one could afford to offend him. The teacher had to find a more easygoing girl to sit with Crystal. ... After class, Crystal went straight to Star. She acted pitiful. "Brother Star, I didn't mean to make things difficult for you just now. I just felt you were very kind, like I've seen you somewhere before." No wonder my stupid brother in my past life was wrapped around her finger. Her tricks came in waves. On stage, she resolutely chose to satisfy a boy's vanity. If that didn't work, she'd lower her posture in private and play the emotional card. An ordinary boy would have been easily taken down. Too bad she met the oil-and-salt-proof Star. "Are you a pigeon? Cooing 'brother' all the time?" Crystal's eyes reddened with tears. She bit her lip lightly. "Does Brother Star misunderstand me? Or did you hear someone say bad things about me? Although I grew up poor and everyone looks down on me, I just want to make friends. I don't want to be lonely." Star snorted with laughter. "Then you should make friends with girls?" Crystal blurted out, "Girls are too much trouble. I prefer playing with boys. No schemes, comfortable to be around."
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