I abruptly pulled my hit novel from publication right as it reached the climax. The internet exploded with outrage, but I ignored it all. Instead, I dragged two rising stars—one from the music industry and one from the art world—off to a mountain villa. We spent our days hiking, relaxing, and playing poker. But back home, the so-called "genius heiress" was panicking. Our simultaneous hiatuses and the lackluster work she was now putting out were drawing heavy criticism online. In our past life, the three of us were crucified for plagiarism. We were buried under a landslide of cyberbullying and massive lawsuits. My parents disowned me, my reputation was destroyed, and debt collectors eventually drove me to my death. Her suitors, eager to please her, poisoned the singer's voice and severed the tendons in the artist's hands. We tried to clear our names, but no matter how brilliant our work was, it could always be traced back to something the "genius heiress" had published just days before. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. It was the night before her rise to fame. 1 Staring at my computer screen, I saw that my novel was nearing its end. In my past life, this story had racked up millions of views as soon as I published it. It was even adapted into a blockbuster movie, a household name. But this time, I wasn't going to follow the original plot. I paused and sighed. Relying on my memories, I counted down the seconds and searched the web. Sure enough, at 6:03 PM, a novel appeared on an obscure website. My hands trembled as I clicked on it. Even knowing what I would find, my heart still skipped a beat. The content was eerily similar to mine, released exactly three days before I planned to publish my chapters. It was complete, save for the ending. My heart sank. If I followed the path of my previous life and published this book, I would be stepping into an abyss. "Is the ending done?" my editor messaged. "Check for typos and upload it ASAP. I can't wait for it to go live!" Even through the text, I could feel her excitement. In my past life, we both had such high hopes for this book, eagerly awaiting its explosion in popularity. "Sorry, babe, I need to make major changes to this book," I typed, a bitter smile on my lips. "But it's already perfect..." she replied, confused. "Trust me, I can make it even better." I smiled, a new plot already forming in my mind. I looked at the screen, right-clicked on the original file, and sent it to the recycling bin. I am Sarah Shen, the fake daughter of the Shen family, switched at birth. When the real daughter, Serena Shen, returned, I didn't cling to my position. I was ready to return to my rightful place as agreed. But my parents, sentimental about our years together, kept me. The reason was simple: I had brought them honor over the years. More importantly, when their business failed, I used my writing savings and scholarships to help them pull through. I was known as the genius girl of the Shen family, the pride of our social circle. I never expected that the real daughter, brought back from the outside, would accuse me of plagiarism at the height of my glory. She projected comparison charts in front of everyone, tearfully accusing me of stealing her work. The characters, the main plot—everything coincidentally matched hers. Instantly, reporters swarmed me like sharks smelling blood. 2 Her novel had been published three days before mine. Although it wasn't popular and the writing was immature, the plot and characters were nearly identical to mine. "I was abandoned and never received the education my sister did." "But sister, this is my hard work, written stroke by stroke." "You have fans, resources. You've occupied the nest for so long and gained so much glory." "I'm nobody, but you can't just suck my blood like this." The abuse was overwhelming. "She's so shameless! Stealing someone's parents wasn't enough; she has to steal their work too." "Just because her sister has no connections or resources, she deserves to be bullied like this?" "Evil capitalism! Thank god Serena is the real daughter! She kicked an iron plate this time!" "I support Serena! Take down this plagiarist!" The internet was filled with crusades against me. I sighed. Because of this book, I fell into a trap of self-proof. But no matter how I tried to prove myself, she was always one step ahead. I tried to build story after story, but traces of them could always be found in her posts from three days prior. It was as if she could predict my every move. "Our Serena is a true talent. She can write, sing, and paint." "It's obvious who's real and who's fake." Later, I discovered her online portfolio wasn't limited to literature. It extended to music and art. Rising music star Ryan Luo's new album "Stardust" and art prodigy Lily Jiang's painting "Sunflowers" both bore striking resemblances to songs Serena casually recorded and doodles she posted on Instagram—always published exactly three days before their official releases. Those three days were enough to leave us defenseless. Overnight, Serena became a genius girl. Everyone believed our works were derivatives of hers. We were splashed with dirty water we could never wash off. My parents and brother kicked me out, leaving me to fend for myself. 3 Massive compensation demands and overwhelming slander drove me to the rooftop. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day before my deadline. This time, I wouldn't make the same mistake. I deleted the original content and wrote a new draft. I constructed the story again, making it even more compelling. But when I reached the ending, I hesitated. Before I could even write it, Serena published another new book online. The serialized content, apart from slight differences in writing style and character names, followed my new plot almost exactly. And her update schedule mirrored mine perfectly—always three days ahead. A chill ran down my spine. I searched my room for bugs or cameras. I checked my computer and the room thoroughly but found nothing. Forcing myself to calm down, I stopped writing the ending and walked out of my room. When I have writer's block or feel down, I like to grab a drink from the fridge to take the edge off. My mind was a mess; I needed alcohol to think. The weirdest part was that if I didn't publish, I couldn't find any trace of her work. Her work only appeared after I updated. But then I saw Serena in the living room. She closed her laptop and smiled at me sweetly. "Sister, still awake so late?" Before I could speak, I heard a faint electronic voice. "Host, still no search results for the ending of Sarah Shen's novel updated in the next three days." "System, can you only search three days ahead? Not longer?" "Yes, Host. Being able to predict three days into the future is enough for you to be a genius in this world." "I will temporarily block her updates. Her content will only appear after you upload yours." 4 My heart skipped a beat. I could hear her thoughts! So Serena had a cheat code! From their conversation, I learned everything. Since she was brought home, she had awakened this system. It was like a search engine for the future, capable of finding any content from the next three days. I finally understood why she could predict everything. Songs and paintings could only be copied roughly. After all, Serena didn't have a heavenly voice or solid painting skills. But text could be copied word for word. That's why in my past life, my work received the most hate. Looking at the work I'd agonized over these past few days, I could only contact my editor and pull it prematurely before trouble found me. "Sarah, what are you thinking?!" "There's nothing wrong with this work... why pull it again?" "Last time too... what happened?" "...Is my pressure for drafts too much for you?" "You don't have to be such a perfectionist." I sighed and forwarded Serena's website to her. Sure enough, she fell silent. "Your writing is better than hers. If we hadn't built the plot together, I would have been confused."
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