Transmigrating to the ’60s: The Ruthless, Sharp-Tongued Female Supporting Charac

Chapter 4: Space

Xia Zhizhi lay weakly on her small bed in the corridor.

Li Dongmei, feeling satisfied after solving the “marriage problem,” was in a good mood. Seeing Zhizhi looking half-dead, she didn’t bother asking her to wash the dishes for once.

The next morning, Li Dongmei got up first. Even though she didn’t call anyone, she made enough noise in the living room that staying asleep was impossible.

Zhizhi silently cursed in her heart. Her body was still weak, so she couldn’t protest. She had no choice but to endure it.

Forcing a smile, she got up and greeted her.

“Mom, you’re already awake? It’s not even dawn. You should sleep a little longer. I’ll make breakfast.”

“Alright then. Just make some porridge and stir-fry a couple of vegetables. Don’t go overboard, and be quiet so your dad doesn’t wake up. I’m going back to sleep for a bit.” After giving her orders, Li Dongmei turned and went back into the bedroom.

The couple had stayed up whispering in bed all night, planning and scheming. No wonder they were tired.

Once alone, Zhizhi got moving.

She grabbed a new toothbrush from the living room shelf, squeezed on some toothpaste, brushed her teeth, filled a basin with warm water from the kettle, washed her face, applied some basic skincare, and neatly put everything back where it belonged.

She had a secret.

She had a space—a personal dimension with a spiritual spring, the ability to grow crops, raise livestock, and even allow living people to enter.

She’d gotten it in her previous life, back when she was still a naïve, innocent young girl.

At the time, she’d been obsessed with period novels and thought she was destined to travel back to the 1960s or 70s. So she sold her house and her car, made a massive list, stocked up on supplies, and waited for the big moment.

But the time travel never came. All her money was gone, and the only thing she was left with was a chaotic, cluttered space full of gear she didn’t need.

She realized then: she’d been scammed.

Still, she consoled herself. “I have a space now. Even if I don’t transmigrate, I’ll never go hungry.”

Accepting that reality, she threw herself into real life. She landed a job at a large factory right after graduation, started grinding 996 shifts, dreamed of career success, promotions, raises, and maybe even marrying the CEO.

After all, with space, wasn’t she the heroine? Maybe not of a time-travel novel—but definitely an urban romance.

She worked overtime, made careful plans, and—even surrounded by balding programmers—clung to the belief that her Prince Charming would show up one day. She got up earlier than the chickens, slept later than the dogs, and made sure to look good every single day.

Then—

A meteor fell from the sky.

The end of the world began.

She was livid.

“Couldn’t someone have told me I was in a post-apocalyptic novel instead?! I would’ve taken martial arts classes at least!”

There was no warning.

So began three long years of hell.

Still, she was a girl with a golden finger, destined to shine even in the apocalypse. She trained, leveled up her powers, punched zombies, kicked scumbags, roasted aliens, and built a base from scratch.

She got up earlier than chickens, worked harder than oxen, and slept later than dogs.

Eventually, the base was thriving.

Zombies didn’t reproduce. The more you killed, the fewer there were. But mutant beasts? They were vicious and kept coming. Mutated plants were worse—one wrong step and you might get slapped by a tree root.

There was no such thing as rest.

But at least it wasn’t a chaotic, lawless wasteland anymore.

Except… the birth rate had plummeted to nearly zero.

How bad was it? In the three years since the base had formed, not a single baby had been born.

They tried everything. Nothing worked. Everyone was worried.

Zhizhi, exhausted from it all, just wanted to live peacefully.

Then the system came calling.

[Would you like to transmigrate now?]

“Nope,” she replied flatly. “I’ll still be a laborer no matter where I go. It’s just work in a new location with new rules. What’s the point?” She lay flat like a proper salted fish. “I don’t want to work anymore.”

[Don’t you have any goals? Any ambition?!] the system cried, exasperated.

Zhizhi was completely shameless. “My goal is to be fed delicious food, handed fun things, and dressed in beautiful clothes—all without lifting a finger.”

The system threw out a list of enticing benefits.

Zhizhi immediately got up and said, “Deal!” She rushed over like her soul had just come back to life.

The system was speechless.

She’d survived the hardest years of the apocalypse. But what was the point? There was no future. No matter how capable she was, living for another 800 years in that ruined world sounded like torture.

So of course she wanted out.

Now that she was here—this dull, dusty, low-tech world filled with hardship and hope—she could at least scheme a little, enjoy herself, and maybe even get rich along the way.

Let others call her gentle, sweet, and easy to bully. What did she care?

The Xia family thought they had a soft little bun on their hands. A sweet, obedient girl who didn’t complain.

If only they knew.

The family’s food was kept in Li Dongmei and Xia Ruhai’s room. While they slept, Zhizhi quietly pushed the door open and scooped out a big bowl of rice in the dark.

She opened the half-used can of maltose and poured herself a small bowl.

The egg basket had eight eggs. She took all of them and carefully closed the lid again.

The fire in the stove was still burning low. She cleared out the burnt honeycomb coal and added a new one, poured the rice into a pot, and set it to boil.

This was routine. The original body did this every day—her memory made it easy.

While the porridge cooked, she stirred the maltose into warm water and sipped it slowly.

Her first time drinking maltose water—sweet and rich. Tasted like malted chocolate milk tea.

Afterward, she made her bed, folding the quilt carefully with the most worn-out part on top. She laid her only set of clothes neatly across the bed.

Once the porridge was ready, she cracked the eggs and scrambled them with chopped green onions. There was still some oil left in the can—about four liang out of six. Most people were only allotted two to three ounces of oil a month, so they rationed carefully.

Usually, she’d dip a cloth in oil to grease the pan. But today, she poured a generous amount and let it sizzle.

Turns out, scrambled eggs fried in real oil are absolutely delicious.

She scooped a bowl of thick porridge and most of the eggs into her own bowl, rewarding herself first.

After eating, she brought out pickled vegetables, poured porridge into bowls for the rest of the family, and set the table.

Xia Ruhai and Xia Jianguo got the thickest porridge. Li Dongmei and the younger girls got a little less. Her own bowl? Barely rice, mostly watery soup.

She knocked on all the doors to wake them up.

Li Dongmei came out, saw the eggs on the table, and immediately looked ready to scold her.

Zhizhi handed her the biggest egg with a sweet smile.

“Mom, eat more. You need your strength today—we’re going to Director Lu’s house, remember? You can’t look weak.”

Li Dongmei held her tongue.

Zhizhi took two bites of pickled veggies, didn’t touch the eggs again, finished her rice soup, and stood up.

“Dad, Mom—I’m off to school. Take your time eating.”

The high school was far. It took more than half an hour to walk there, and since she walked slowly, it usually took her a full hour.

The original body had excellent grades. With her memory, the schoolwork was easy.

At lunch, her deskmate turned and asked, “Zhizhi, want to go to the cafeteria together?”

Zhizhi gave a shy smile. “You go ahead, Student Li. I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t paid your food rations yet?” Li Ling asked sympathetically.

Boarding students usually brought food from home and paid a little for firewood. The cafeteria would cook for them.

Others brought their own lunch, or contributed food and shared cooked meals.

Zhizhi never brought lunch. Li Dongmei never sent her any.

Li Ling came from a well-off family. Her father was a trade union official, her mother was the women’s director for their neighborhood. She had two older brothers—one a soldier, one a factory worker. She always had spending money and was one of the best-fed, best-dressed girls in the class.

That day, she got her meal from the cafeteria and opened the lunchbox she’d brought from home.

Inside was minced meat and tofu—the glistening red oil looked rich and fragrant.