1 When the city’s richest man came to the orphanage to find his long-lost daughter, I threw myself at his feet. My best friend—the real heiress—silently pressed the family locket into my hand. She knew the truth: in our last life, she’d died mysteriously within a month of joining that family. I’d later discovered why. The fake heiress, Vivi, had a Pain Transference System—every "injury" she suffered was diverted to my friend. To avenge her, I’d jumped from a tower, dragging Vivi with me. Now, reborn, I faced Vivi’s smirk as she whispered, “Sister, welcome home.” I smiled back. “Good to be back, little sister.” What she didn’t know? I feel no pain—and I brought a Hundred-Fold Rebound System. This time, I’d be the one facing her. … “Sister, you’re finally back.” The moment Vivi Blackwell looked at me, her eyes filled with tears and her voice trembled. “Dad talks about you all the time. I… I’ve been so eager to meet you.” Arthur Blackwell, now my father in name, stood by, a mixture of awkwardness and pity for Vivi on his face. He patted my shoulder, his tone gentle. “You two are sisters now. You must get along.” I nodded, saying nothing. Get along with an enemy who wanted me dead at every turn? Sure. I’d be happy to dance on her grave. The atmosphere at dinner was… delicate. Mr. Blackwell tried his best to liven things up, constantly piling food onto my plate and asking about my life at the orphanage. I answered concisely, my attention fixed on Vivi, who sat opposite me. She didn't disappoint. A tureen of steaming hot consommé had just been served. As soon as the maid placed it beside her, Vivi’s arm “slipped,” her elbow knocking precisely against the edge of the bowl. “Ah!” With a delicate cry, the scalding soup splashed across the back of her hand. In the instant Mr. Blackwell and the staff shot up in alarm, I saw a fleeting, triumphant sneer flash across Vivi's lips. Her eyes were locked on me, gleaming with venomous anticipation. Here we go. In our last life, a bowl of soup just like this one was the beginning of my friend’s nightmare, the first wave of transferred agony. I knew she was waiting, expecting me to scream from the searing pain she was now channeling my way. But she was about to be disappointed. One second. Two. Three. Nothing. I was born without a sense of pain. Her system was useless against me. Instead, a cold, mechanical voice echoed in my mind. [Malicious attack detected.] [Hundred-Fold Rebound System activated.] The scene she’d envisioned—me screaming in agony—never happened. Instead, it was Vivi whose triumphant face twisted into a mask of pure horror, her delicate features contorting in pain. A shriek, so shrill it barely sounded human, ripped from her throat. “AAAAAAH—” This scream was a hundred times more genuine than her first theatrical cry. Everyone froze, stunned by her sudden outburst. The hand that had been splashed with soup was turning a furious, angry red before our eyes. Blisters, shiny and taut, erupted across her skin as if she’d been branded with a hot iron. “Vivi! What’s wrong?” Mr. Blackwell, horrified, reached for her hand but recoiled from the astonishing heat. “It hurts! It hurts so much! Dad! My hand feels like it’s going to fall off!” Vivi wailed, tears and snot streaming down her face as she slid from her chair. She thrashed on the floor, all traces of her prim and proper heiress persona gone. I immediately stood up, my face a perfect picture of confusion and panic, and rushed to her side. “Vivi, what’s happening? It was just a little splash of soup! Why does it hurt so much?” As I spoke, I looked at Mr. Blackwell with feigned helplessness. “Dad, call a doctor!” Mr. Blackwell stared at his wailing daughter on the floor, then at me. For the first time, a flicker of doubt and scrutiny entered his eyes. He was right to be confused. It was just a splash of soup. Even if it stung, who would react by writhing in agony on the ground? I knelt beside her, a cold smile hidden behind my worried expression as I watched her pain-twisted face. This is only the beginning. Vivi, in this life, every “gift” you try to give me, I will return a hundred times over. The show has just begun. 2 The family doctor was called for Vivi’s hand. After hours of examination, he could only conclude that she was “overly sensitive” or having an “extreme allergic reaction.” After all, besides the frightening patch of red, swollen blisters, there was no sign of any deeper tissue damage. He prescribed some burn cream, offered a few words of advice, and left with his medical bag. For the first time, Mr. Blackwell looked at his daughter with a gaze full of incomprehension and exhaustion. Vivi, however, lay in her bed and glared at me with eyes full of poison. She didn’t believe it. She refused to believe her system had failed. In her mind, last night was a fluke. A one-time accident. The next morning, I came downstairs feeling refreshed and ready for breakfast. As I reached the top of the grand staircase, I saw Vivi waiting for me. She wore a silk nightgown, her face pale. She leaned against the banister, the very picture of frail beauty. When she saw me, a flash of hatred and certainty flickered in her wide eyes. “Good morning, sister.” She offered me a weak smile. I smiled back. “Morning.” Just as I moved to walk past her, she timed it perfectly. Her foot “accidentally” twisted. With a short, sharp gasp, she threw herself headfirst down the stairs. She even made sure to nudge me with her elbow, ensuring I had a clear view of her “accidental” fall. In that instant, I felt a wave of malicious energy, far stronger than the soup incident, surge toward me. It was an invisible net, woven with the projected agony of falling, of impact, of breaking bones, and it was meant to engulf me. In Vivi’s script, I should have been the one screaming as I tumbled down the stairs, ending in a bloody heap at the bottom while she stood safely at the top. However, the moment that energy touched my body, it hit an invisible wall. It was instantly absorbed, compressed, and then, with even greater ferocity, reflected. The cold, mechanical voice in my head spoke again. [Lethal physical attack detected.] [Hundred-Fold Rebound System activated.] I stood perfectly still at the top of the stairs, not a single thread of my clothing disturbed. But Vivi, who had already “fallen” halfway down, seemed to hang suspended in mid-air for a bizarre, unnatural moment. Then, a scream a hundred times more piercing than the night before—a sound that could shatter eardrums—erupted from the depths of her throat. “AAAAAAAHHH!!!” It was a sound of pure, unadulterated agony and utter disbelief, as if, in that one second, she had truly experienced the sensation of rolling down a dozen stairs, of every single bone in her body snapping. Her body went limp like a marionette with its strings cut, and she crashed heavily onto the carpet at the bottom of the staircase. She lay twisted in a horribly unnatural position, convulsed violently a few times, and then her head lolled to the side. She was out cold. The maids downstairs, terrified by the sudden chaos, screamed and rushed over. Startled by the commotion, Mr. Blackwell burst out of his study. When he saw Vivi lying motionless on the floor and me standing unharmed at the top of the stairs, he froze. I immediately adopted a look of sheer panic and scrambled down the steps. “Vivi! Vivi, what happened! Wake up!” I shook her, my voice thick with tears. “Dad! Call an ambulance! Vivi fell down the stairs!” Mr. Blackwell rushed over. He first checked Vivi’s breathing and, confirming she was only unconscious, let out a small sigh of relief. But he didn't immediately call for an ambulance. Instead, he slowly stood up, lifted his head, and looked at me with an incredibly complex expression. The confusion from last night was gone. In its place was a deep, undisguised suspicion. He was silent for a full ten seconds, the entire hall deathly quiet. Then, in a voice as cold as ice, he asked me, word by word: “She fell. Why were you still standing at the top?” 3 Mr. Blackwell’s voice was like a block of ice crashing against my heart. But my face couldn't show a single crack. I let out a violent shiver, tears instantly welling in my eyes. My body began to tremble uncontrollably, as if his accusation had shattered my courage. “I… I was scared stiff, Dad.” My voice, thick with sobs, was a complete wreck. “She… she just fell, straight down. I tried to grab her, but I couldn't reach… It was too fast, everything happened too fast…” As I spoke, I crawled the rest of the way down the stairs on my hands and knees. I threw myself next to Vivi, crying my heart out. “Vivi, don’t scare me! Wake up!” My acting skills, honed over a lifetime of needing to pretend in my past life, were flawless. Mr. Blackwell looked at me, the suspicion in his eyes not lessening, but he didn't press further. He was a businessman; he wouldn’t jump to conclusions without concrete evidence. He simply scowled and had the butler call an ambulance. Vivi was still unconscious when they carried her away. A heavy gloom settled over the Blackwell estate. That afternoon, the hospital called. Mr. Blackwell put it on speakerphone, and I sat opposite him, listening quietly. “Mr. Blackwell, we’ve conducted a full-body examination on Miss Vivi, including a CT scan and an MRI. Her bones, internal organs, brain… there’s absolutely no damage.” The doctor’s voice was filled with bewilderment. “No damage? Then why did she pass out from the pain?” Mr. Blackwell’s brow was furrowed into a deep knot. “Well… physiologically, we can’t find a cause. After she woke up, she was extremely agitated, insisting that her entire body was in agony, but even a pain pump had minimal effect. After a consultation with a neurologist, the preliminary diagnosis is… it might be a psychosomatic episode.” “Meaning… the pain is psychological. A powerful delusion.” Psychosomatic. I almost laughed out loud. The diagnosis was the perfect cover story, tailor-made for me. Mr. Blackwell hung up the phone and was silent for a long time. He stared out the window, his expression dark and terrifying. A perfectly healthy daughter, repeatedly experiencing exaggerated, dramatic pain from “accidents,” now diagnosed with a psychological condition. The strangeness of it all was enough to make any sane person deeply suspicious. And I seized this golden opportunity. I had to find the system’s conduit. The torment my friend, Valerie, had endured in our past life couldn't have been created from thin air. Such power, defying all scientific reason, had to have a physical object at its core. My mind raced, replaying every detail I could remember about Vivi. What was it that she almost never took off? A piece of clothing? Jewelry? Or… It hit me like a lightning bolt. 4 A necklace. A platinum necklace, seemingly simple, that I had never once seen her remove. Whether she was at a gala, lounging at home, or even bathing, that necklace was always clasped around her neck. In my past life, I’d dismissed it as a favorite piece of jewelry. Now, I realized it was very likely the source of all her evil. I had to be sure. I walked over to Mr. Blackwell, my face a mask of carefully crafted worry and guilt. “Dad, I want to go to the hospital to see my sister. No matter what, this happened right in front of me. I… I just can’t feel at ease.” Mr. Blackwell gave me a complicated look but eventually nodded. “Go. Have the driver take you.” In the VIP suite, Vivi was lying in bed. She’d probably been given a sedative and was sleeping soundly. The pristine white sheets made her small face look even more pale and pitiful. I told the maid to wait outside and went in alone. First, I checked her handbag on the nightstand. Just cosmetics and a phone. Nothing unusual. I looked through the clothes she’d changed out of. Nothing there, either. Finally, my gaze fell upon her neck. The platinum chain rested quietly against her collarbone. The pendant was a unique, small teardrop, glinting coldly in the soft hospital light. That was it. I took a deep breath and slowly reached out, pretending to adjust the corner of her blanket. My fingertips crept cautiously toward the teardrop pendant. I had to know what its secret was. Just as my finger was about to touch the cold metal, something happened.
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