Chapter 1

This was perhaps my one shining moment in the book—dying for the heroine.

I was timid and cowardly. Until the moment I shoved my sister out of the way, I never knew I was capable of such a burst of strength. I pushed her to the roadside and saw Sheng Zhou catch her safely in his arms.

Then the car that could not brake in time sent me flying.

My entire life seemed to flash through my mind.

Strangely, I could even remember scenes from when I was still in Mom’s womb. In a blur, I relived my childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood. It turned out I had always been so inconspicuous.

When I was little, Dad and Mom would tell me, “Qianqian, your sister isn’t well, so let her have her way. If you want something, tell us. Don’t fight with her over it.”

I knew what my sister wanted, but I did not know what I wanted. Perhaps what I wanted most was the praise that came after I behaved: “Qianqian is so thoughtful.”

When love first began to stir in me, Sheng Zhou said apologetically, “Shen Qian, you’re wonderful, but… I’m sorry. The person I’ve always liked is Shen Hua.”

Everyone said I was wonderful, yet everyone chose my sister. I had guessed the answer before I ever confessed.

Young adulthood… My life ended at twenty-two, just as I was leaving my university campus behind.

I seemed to slip free of my body and become impossibly light.

I saw my sister refuse to look at my body. In Sheng Zhou’s arms, she clutched her chest as tears rolled down her face in heavy drops.

Dad and Mom seemed too stunned to react. They did not even notice the luggage falling from their hands. Only after a long moment did a piercing cry tear through the sweltering air—

“Qianqian!”

They could not see me, and I had no control over where I went. I drifted aimlessly until I entered a boundless white space.

A handsome god looked down at me. “Shen Qian, supporting character in *White Birch*, deceased while saving the heroine. Normal. Conditions satisfied… I can grant you one wish.”

The god told me I was a supporting character. My lifelong purpose had been to stand behind the heroine so she could shine. Once I was no longer useful, I could leave the stage.

I silently repeated the title. “*White Birch*.”

My sister’s name was Shen Hua. Dad had wanted her to be as resilient as a birch tree.

So this was a book with my sister as its heroine. No wonder. No wonder…

Then, despite myself, I began to feel happy. The god asked me why I was smiling.

I smiled as I answered, though something seemed to choke my voice. “Now I know why they all loved my sister. It wasn’t because I wasn’t good enough.”

I could feel that everyone loved me, too. But their love for me was so easily forgotten, so easily overlooked. If I was not careful, I could no longer find it.

“I know you harbor resentment. I can send you back into the book and let you take revenge on anyone you wish. Once your attachment is gone, you may reenter the cycle of rebirth.”

I thought for a long time, then shook my head. “Everyone treated me well. I have no one to take revenge on.”

I looked at the god. “If you can, please help me. Let me know what it feels like to have someone love me with all their heart.”

The god sighed and sent me away. His voice came faintly from afar. “Once your attachment fades, you will enter rebirth.”

My name was Shen Qian. Dad chose it because he hoped I would grow into a pretty girl.

My sister’s name was Shen Hua. She had been born with a heart condition, and Dad wanted her to be as strong as a birch tree.

My sister and I had never been apart. We were born together and grew up together. Throughout all six years of elementary school, we attended the same school and sat in the same classroom. At Dad’s special request, our teachers seated us together so I could look after her.

Some boys gave us nicknames. My sister was the Little Lady, and I was her Little Tagalong.

Whenever she heard that, my sister snapped back at them—quietly, of course. Her body could not tolerate intense emotion.

My sister was strong. Even when the pain was so bad that sweat covered her whole body, she never cried.

Unfortunately, I did not live up to the blessing in my name. I looked ordinary, while my sister was beautiful, with expressive eyes and pale skin, like an exquisite porcelain doll.

Sometimes I wondered whether Dad, Mom, and our teachers paid more attention to her because of her illness or because she was pretty.

But I would never ask. I had seen my sister during an episode. I knew she did not actually like everyone fussing over her, much less hearing people talk about her condition.

From the time I was so small I could no longer remember it, Dad and Mom had always told me, “You may be the younger sister, but you have to give way to your sister. Don’t upset her.”

I was always good. When my parents spoke about me to others, they could sum me up in four words: obedient and thoughtful. But when they spoke of my sister, they never seemed to run out of things to say.

My sister was physically frail, but she had a daring spirit. She did many things I would never have imagined. Once, she sat on the rooftop ledge and waved at me. My knees went weak with fear, and I choked out, “Come down, Sis. It’s so high.”

She smiled recklessly. “Don’t be scared. It’s nice and cool up here in the breeze.”

When I could not find my sister, I called Dad. He rushed home and found us on the roof. As he watched her slowly climb down, he ran over to shield her, hardly daring to breathe.

He carried her downstairs. When he passed me, he did not spare me a glance. My eyes were full of tears, blurring the way ahead. I tripped over the tangled ropes on the roof. It hurt, but Dad never turned around or waited for me.

Mom was already home when we went inside. They took my sister to her room and presumably soothed her to sleep before coming back out and gently closing the door.

My arm had been scraped raw, and the blood had already dried over the wound. Yet when Dad and Mom finally looked at me, it seemed to hurt even more. I imagined Mom would gather me into her arms and ask if it hurt, while Dad went to fetch the first-aid kit.

Neither happened. Dad’s slap knocked me sideways to the floor. My arm no longer hurt as much as my face. My cheek burned, and a ringing buzz filled my ears.

When the dizziness finally passed, I heard Mom sob, “I was gone for only a little while. We asked you to watch your sister. Can’t you help your father and me with even this one little thing?”

“How am I supposed to live if something happens to your sister?”

I had never been hit before. Dad had always been so gentle. The strangeness of it left me too frightened to cry aloud, though I could not stop my tears or my whole body from trembling.

Later, Mom held me and apologized. She said Dad had not meant to hit me; they had simply been too worried about my sister.

I must have been six, not yet in elementary school. I could not remember my exact age. I only remembered secretly crying under my blanket for days. After that, I understood that looking after my sister was not simply something I did when it was convenient. It was something I absolutely, unquestionably had to do.