"Look at how long we've raised Yuxu—even if we don't have great achievements, we've put in hard work."
Firewood crackled in the stove. Jiang Cuijuan couldn't keep her mouth shut, and her eyes greedily fixed on the two people before her.
In the countryside, where would you see people with such fair skin and such nice clothes?
Her eldest brother, a simpleton all his life, wasn't born to her parents. They gave him food to eat, so he should have worked like a beast of burden for the family. But he had bad luck—died in an accident, and his wife followed soon after, leaving only a little burden.
Unable to foist him off on her sister-in-law, and having been childless for years herself, she had consulted a fortune-teller. Hoping to finally bear a son, she reluctantly kept the child at home.
But who would have thought this little burden had such a background?
He was switched at birth with a child from a wealthy family in the city.
She heard from the village head that the reward for news of this child was a hundred yuan. If she'd been raising him since he was eight months old, shouldn't she get at least four figures?
Old Li beside her rubbed his hands together. Last night, the two had sat on the heated brick bed, discussing how much to ask for when the people came.
Jiang Cuijuan's eyes shifted, and she reached out to stop Old Li beside her. "That was the previous price. If you want to leave the child with us now, then the annual school fees, food, clothing, and living expenses—that can't be calculated the same way as before."
Besides the one-time child-rearing fee, they'd also need to send a monthly living allowance.
The child was old enough for school; at least a thousand a month.
As she saw it, shouldn't a biological son be raised by his own parents? But if they didn't want to raise him, she was the one who benefited.
A full thousand yuan a month! That meant her own son's education and future bride price would all be taken care of.
The more Jiang Cuijuan thought about it, the more excited she became. She looked at the woman across from her with expectant eyes.
Bo Xin hadn't spoken for a while. Her deep gaze rested on the money-obsessed woman, then shifted to her own biological son.
His big dark eyes were hidden under his bangs, and he gave off an air of gloom.
His faded clothes bore shoe prints, and his exposed wrist showed red marks from being hit. When he was stirring the pig feed, the so-called younger brother of this household had kicked him down.
He hadn't fought back with the ladle, nor had his expression changed.
The original host had found him too numb and lacking in spirit, without any of the pride she and his father had. In the end, she concluded that the biological child had been ruined by the countryside.
Far better to have the adopted son who had always been by her side.
So she came up with that terrible idea: "Leave the biological child here and continue raising the adopted son as the heir."
At this moment, Bo Xin was even more certain that she had transmigrated into a novel. No normal person—unless they had ten years of cerebral thrombosis—would make such a stubborn decision that benefited neither herself nor the two children.
In the plot, this real son was abandoned by her. In the eyes of his rural family, he gradually lost his value. At thirteen, he was forced to work in a mine; at fifteen, he was sold to a black-market factory. He escaped, but from then on his personality became sharp and gloomy.
Meanwhile, the fake son was raised by her side, but she often minded that he wasn't her own blood. She nurtured him while also suppressing him, causing his personality to become insecure and sensitive.
When the two sons grew up and met, jealousy drove them to oppose each other—one rising from the grassroots, the other inheriting the family business. In the end, both were ruined, and their wealth was handed over to others.
As for her ending? Everyone abandoned her.
In winter, she warmed herself in a rented room with a stove and was suffocated by the fumes.
In the comments section, she had remarked that the character had brought it on herself.
In her opinion, both boys had their own merits—capable and bold. The real son could inherit the business, and the fake son could play around—what was wrong with that?
Tailoring education to each child was the best for both.
Now, when she first transmigrated, it was right after the original host had expressed disgust for the real son and refused to raise him.
Bo Xin: ...
What a mess she'd been left with.
Any hasty change in her wording would seem forced.
It would look like she was unhappy with Jiang Cuijuan's last-minute markup, giving her a hard time.
In the real son's heart, wouldn't it seem that neither side wanted him, pushing him back and forth like a commodity?
In her previous life, Bo Xin was a doctor who often went to the countryside for volunteer aid. She also sponsored three students, covering both their tuition and living expenses.
A thousand a month was an outrageous demand even for this era.
And who knew how much would actually be spent on the real son? At eight years old, he was less than 1.3 meters tall, gaunt and sallow, with visible veins on his hands—clearly not well cared for.
When his snot-nosed younger cousin hit him, he parroted words learned from the adults: "Nobody wants you," "Jinx."
Bo Xin touched the red marks on his wrist but didn't ask hollow questions like "Does it hurt?"
When a stick hits someone, of course it hurts.
After years of volunteer work, Bo Xin hated those who harmed women and children the most. In the countryside, the real son was still a nominal "orphan," a standard vulnerable person.
"Have you ever eaten eggs?"
This question came out of nowhere. Jiang Yuxu looked up at her, puzzled that his biological mother, who had just ignored him, was suddenly showing concern.
"I've had a bit more lately."
Bo Xin figured that ever since this family learned about Jiang Yuxu's background, they had started treating him better to get him to speak well of them to his new family. That made sense.
At the same time, this statement implied that he hadn't had this treatment before—but he would still help himself to extra food while working.
A clever kid.