Chapter 1

Sienna Halloway died in the winter of 1978. She was twenty-seven, withered to nothing but skin and bone. Her uncle had seized her homestead, her aunt had snatched her food rations, and the entire village had watched her draw her last breath without lifting a finger. Before she died, she finally realized the truth―she wasn't just cursed by fate; she had been picked clean by everyone around her. When she opened her eyes again, she was back to being eighteen. Outside the window was that same dirt shack, but there was something new in her mind: a portable system space. It was filled with fertile soil, a spring, and modern supplies. This time, she would make sure those who had feasted on her flesh and drank her blood couldn't even swallow her bones. Reborn, she was the master of her own destiny, not the heavens.

1

Sienna was shaken awake by the biting cold.

The late autumn wind poured through the gaps in the mud walls, reeking of damp straw and decay. She opened her eyes to see grey rafters draped in spiderwebs and sat there in a daze for a full five seconds.

This was her home. Her home at eighteen.

She sat up abruptly, lowering her eyes to examine her hands. They were lean and rough, yet free of the deep wrinkles and frostbite scars of her past. She touched her face, feeling the taut, smooth texture of youth.

Outside, a familiar voice was bickering. It was her Aunt Tabitha.

“Listen to me, Silas, that girl is just asking for it!” Tabitha shouted. “Her father is dead, so her land should be ours! You are her uncle―are you really going to let a mere slip of a girl walk all over you?”

Uncle Silas grunted a low, muffled response that Sienna couldn't quite catch.

She sat on the bed, her body trembling―not from the cold, but from a searing, molten hatred.

The memories of her past life rushed back like a tidal wave. After her father died, her uncle and aunt had seized her homestead, stolen her grain, and married her off to a shiftless drifter named Victor in the next village. The man refused to farm, did no work, and beat her daily, treating her like a beast of burden. She had borne three children, but two had passed away early, and the last she couldn't keep either. In the end, she had fallen ill in a shack, with no medicine or food, and had slowly wasted away to starvation.

When she died, she heard footsteps outside. It was her uncle’s voice: “If she’s dead, she’s dead. She’s just a girl anyway.”

Sienna clenched her fists so hard her nails dug into her palms, drawing blood.

She whispered to herself: “In this life, that will never happen again.”

Suddenly, her mind flashed with clarity. A golden panel shimmered deep within her consciousness, clearly stating:

“Portable Space System―Activated.”

Below it was a list of stats: Two acres of fertile soil, one spiritual spring, and initial supplies―one bag of corn seeds, one bag of vegetable seeds, ten chicks, and a set of basic farming tools.

She had no idea where this had come from. But she knew it was a gift from above, a compensation for her suffering.

A thunderous pounding erupted on the door.

“Sienna! Open up!”

It was Tabitha. Sienna took a deep breath, stood up, and pulled the door open.

Tabitha stood there with her hands on her hips, launching into a tirade. “Your uncle is going to manage your land for you. A little girl like you can't farm; don't be stubborn. We’ll split the harvest in half, so you won't lose out.”

Sienna looked at her. Her face was exactly as she remembered―round, plump, and ruddy. When she smiled, she looked like a benevolent statue, but the gleam in her eyes was like a serrated knife.

“No need,” Sienna said flatly.

Tabitha’s fake smile froze. “What did you say?”

“I said no need,” Sienna repeated, her voice calm and steady. “I will farm my own land. Uncle doesn't need to trouble himself.”

Tabitha’s expression shifted, her face darkening. “You’re an orphan with no parents! Where would you find the strength to farm? Your uncle is trying to help you because he cares. Don't be ungrateful!”

Sienna said nothing, just kept her gaze locked on her aunt.

Her eyes were eerily calm, far too steady for an eighteen-year-old girl. It was the gaze of someone who had already lived and died.

Tabitha felt a chill run down her spine and spat on the ground. “Fine! If you have the guts to do it yourself, don't come crying to us when you’re starving to death!”

She slammed the door and left. Sienna stood in the room, listening to the sound of Silas and Tabitha bickering as they walked away. She slowly crouched down, burying her head in her knees as her body shook.

It wasn't fear. It was just that she had held her breath for so long, and finally, she could exhale.