May, 1973.

Rongcheng Train Station was packed — people were shoulder to shoulder in the ticket hall, and the lines for tickets snaked endlessly forward.

Above them, the slogan "Serve the People" stood out in big, bold letters.

The staff wore sleeve protectors and barked instructions through a loud metal megaphone, trying to keep things orderly. The clothes people wore, the way they moved — everything screamed that this was the '70s.

Definitely not the 21st century she was used to.

Isabella Hicks had landed here just last night.

Back in her time, the research institute she worked for had just managed to push photolithography technology down to one nanometer.

She was heading to meet a high-ranking official, under heavy escort. They were crossing an intersection when two massive trucks came barreling in from different directions.

She blacked out — and the next thing she knew, she was here.

The girl whose body she now occupied was also named Isabella Hicks. A student at Jing University, smart and striking — pretty much a campus celebrity.

Her background was nothing to sneeze at either. Both her parents were professors. Her older brother Nathan Hicks had studied abroad and returned with honors.

People used to envy her life.

But everything changed fast. She’d been set up somehow — ended up entangled with a soldier named Logan West while he was on duty. They had to get married, just like that.

Her parents, prideful academics, were ashamed. They kicked her out and even ran a notice in the paper to cut ties completely.

She didn’t want anything to do with Logan West, so she persuaded him to send her to Rongcheng, where her brother Nathan worked.

But that didn’t work out either. She and her sister-in-law, Vivian Atkinson, clashed constantly.

The day before, she hadn't been feeling well and went in to get checked — turned out she was pregnant. She wanted to terminate it, but needed the father’s consent to do so.

Tired and frustrated, she returned home only to overhear an argument.

Nathan had gotten a notice allowing her to follow the army unit, but didn’t give it to her. Vivian found out, and the two of them had it out.

The original Isabella overheard everything, went back to her room quietly, stewed about it all night, and then — just like that — passed away from sheer anger.

The woman now in her body had thought it through. She needed to rewrite this whole mess. So this morning, she made her way to the train station.

She hadn’t expected this many people in the '70s…

Looking at the sea of people ahead of her, Isabella let out a soft sigh. "Man."

Someone behind her spoke up. “Hey, comrade, stop sighing. You’re up next.”

She glanced up—and sure enough, only one person stood between her and the ticket window.

A few moments later, the guy ahead got his ticket and stepped aside. Isabella quickly walked up and leaned in.

"Hello, comrade," she said. "One ticket to Pingcheng, please."

The ticket clerk gave her a once-over. “Referral letter? ID?”

It was too noisy around — she couldn’t quite catch that. “Sorry, what?”

The clerk raised her voice, sounding annoyed now. “Referral letter. Proof of ID.”

Isabella shook her head. "Don’t have it."The ticket seller widened her eyes and snapped sharply, "No recommendation letter? Then what’re you doing here? Step aside! Don’t block the line!"

"Next! Next one up!" she bellowed.

Before Isabella Hicks could get another word out, the crowd behind her surged forward, shoving her off to the side.

"Comrade, I’ve got a letter, a certificate too! Give me one to Huayang!"

"I was here first! My turn!"

"Quit pushing, damn it!"

Isabella barely managed to stay on her feet as she looked up and saw a bunch of people now crammed in front of the window, elbowing each other with no sign of backing down.

Eventually, the ticket clerk scolded them loudly enough that the chaos started to calm.

Then a warm voice called out to Isabella: "Comrade, you need a letter from your workplace to buy a ticket. If you don’t have one, go to your street committee and tell them where you’re going and why."

Isabella turned toward the kind-looking woman who was speaking, but another voice chimed in, "You don’t need to explain all that. Just tell 'em you need a recommendation letter—they’ll sort it out for you."

A few people nearby nodded in agreement, "Exactly."

Isabella nodded, "Thanks a lot."

The woman gave her a hearty grin, "No trouble at all, it’s nothing!"

Isabella returned the smile and got ready to leave.

But as soon as she turned, all she saw was a sea of heads—the whole ticket hall was packed tight, barely any room to move.

Taking a breath, Isabella steeled herself and squeezed into the slow-moving stream of people heading toward the exit.

Just as she finally made it outside and was about to breathe easier, someone tapped her on the shoulder.

She turned around—it was that same helpful woman.

The woman was all smiles, "Hey girl, can we have a quick word—"

Before she could finish her thought, Isabella suddenly felt something was off. Her hand darted to her pocket, only to feel an unfamiliar hand already in it.

She spun around and locked eyes with a middle-aged man.

His face went dark in an instant as he growled under his breath, "You want the money or your life? Hand it over and walk away, or you’re not getting out of this station alive."

That "friendly" lady quickly added with fake concern, "Better give it to him, sweetheart. Better lose some cash than your life."

"Oh really?" Isabella’s tone was calm. "What if I don’t?"

The woman’s smile froze.

The man’s face twisted with rage, just about to threaten again when—crack—a sharp pain shot through his wrist.

"Ahh!" he yelped in agony.

The nearby crowd turned to gawk at the scene.

The woman saw things going sideways and began to quietly slip away.

But Isabella seemed ready. She drove her foot hard into the man’s knee, sending him crumpling to the ground with a groan.

Without missing a beat, she turned her gaze on the woman.

As soon as the woman met her eyes, she went pale. Then she bolted.Isabella Hicks hurried a few steps and grabbed the woman’s wrist, yanking her back.

At the same moment, she caught sight of the man on the ground trying to sneak away and swiftly stepped on him.

"Ow!!"

The man howled in pain.

The eager auntie, who was already pale to begin with, now looked like all the blood had drained from her face. She was trembling like a leaf in the wind.

In a shaky whisper, she pleaded, "C-comrade, think of earlier when... when I tried to help you. C-could you... let me off just this once?"

Isabella sounded calm, almost casual. "Let you off?"

The woman nodded so fast it looked like she had a motor in her neck. "Yes, yes, that’s right!"

Isabella’s lips curved slightly. "Auntie, if I hadn’t been able to handle myself just now, would you have spared my wallet?"

The woman flinched hard, like someone had hit her nerve.

Right then, a voice rang out from beyond the crowd. "What’s going on here? Why’s everyone blocking the way?"

Isabella glanced up and saw the police had arrived.

Before she could even say a word, the nearby onlookers started speaking over each other, retelling everything that had happened.

After handing the two crooks over to the officers, Isabella left the station and headed straight for the neighborhood committee office to get her documents sorted.

Halfway there, just as she crossed an intersection—

Someone suddenly shouted, "Where’d this foreign devil come from?"

She paused and looked to her left, noticing a big crowd gathered down the street.

Just as she was looking over, another voice yelled, "Foreign spy! He’s gotta be a spy! Grab him! Don’t let him get away!"

Isabella frowned slightly. Sure, there were spies around in the '70s, but… this one was way too flashy to be real.

She gave a little shake of her head and was about to walk away when she heard someone yelling in panicked English.

"What are you trying to do?"

"Help! Help! Somebody help me! Oh my god!"

The foreign man was shouting for help, then quickly tried to explain he meant no harm and that he'd come to offer assistance to the country.

Too bad.

He spoke only in English. No one on the scene had any clue what he was trying to say.

People began to murmur.

"What’s that foreigner mumbling about?"

"Looks like he’s cursing us."

"This damn foreigner comes snooping around like this and dares to mouth off? He’s begging for a beating!"

One tall guy spat angrily, rolling up his sleeves and looking like he was about to throw a punch.

"Don’t touch him!"

A stern shout froze him mid-move.

Before the tall man could even react, his arm was suddenly grabbed—tight.