Chapter 721 --721

Chapter 721: Chapter-721

The crowning jewel of the miserable room, however, was the heavy wooden door. Right in the dead center of it was a massive, splintered hole, as if someone had literally punched their fist straight through the thick wood in a fit of rage.

Heena slowly turned her head to look for her System.

Beside her, hovering just inches above the bare wooden planks, the golden lion cub hologram was curled into a glowing little ball. It was softly snoring. The damn bastard hadn’t been fighting temporal turbulence or calculating dimensional coordinates. Because the transfer had taken a few minutes longer than usual, the AI had simply gotten lazy and taken a nap.

Heena’s dark eyes narrowed into freezing slits.

"So," Heena said, her voice dripping with lethal, quiet venom. "You mean to tell me... this is the great, premium world you found for me?"

The System’s digital ears twitched. Its blue eyes snapped open, and it took one look at Heena’s murderous expression.

"Host!" the System yelped, instantly scrambling backward, practically teleporting to the far edge of the bedframe to put as much distance between them as possible.

Before Heena could reach over and strangle her digital companion, a sudden, blinding spike of pain pierced her temples.

The memories of the original host hit her.

Heena gasped, gripping her forehead as fragments of a completely alien society flooded her brain. "Damn," she muttered, her eyes widening slightly as the core societal structure of this new reality settled into her mind.

It was a gender-reversed world.

She wasn’t just in an ancient matriarchy where women held political power; it was a biological and cultural inversion. Here, women were the undisputed breadwinners. They were the heads of households, the scholars, the merchants, and the physical powerhouses. The men, on the other hand, were the delicate ones, confined to the inner courtyards to manage the home. And the most interesting twist of all—it was the men who carried and gave birth to the children.

Well, that certainly changes the playing field, Heena thought, the sheer absurdity of the dimensional shift momentarily cutting through her anger.

But as she tried to pull up the original host’s specific identity, or the reason her physical body felt like it had been beaten with a sack of bricks, the memories flatlined. They were deeply fragmented, swirling in her head like a shattered porcelain vase. She had the basic rules of the world down, but she couldn’t string the specific ideas of her own miserable existence together. It felt like a massive cognitive block. It was going to take some time for her soul to fully synchronize with this battered brain.

She needed to clear her mind. The localized headache from the memory download was threatening to split her skull in two.

She swung her bruised legs over the edge of the bare wooden bed, wincing as her bare feet hit the cold, dusty floorboards. Ignoring the cowering System, Heena stood up on shaking legs and walked toward the violently splintered door, needing to step outside and see exactly what kind of mess she had just inherited.

Heena took a step toward the splintered wooden door, her bare feet gritting against the dusty floorboards. Her hand was just inches from the rusted iron latch when the door violently exploded inward.

The heavy wood slammed against the wall with a deafening CRACK, the hinges groaning under the sheer, brutal force. Heena, her body already screaming in agony from the previous beating, instinctively took a step back, her dark eyes flashing with lethal intent.

Standing in the doorway was a middle-aged woman. She wore luxurious, dark green silk robes embroidered with silver threads, her hair pulled back into a stern, authoritative bun. But her face was twisted into a mask of absolute, visceral disgust. In her hands, she held a heavy wooden bucket.

Before Heena could even process the woman’s presence, the woman swung her arms forward.

A torrent of freezing, rancid slop—a vile mixture of rotting cabbage leaves, stale rice water, mud, and unidentifiable kitchen refuse—splattered directly across Heena’s face and chest. The icy, foul-smelling garbage soaked through the thin, ragged white shift she was wearing, clinging to her skin and dripping heavily onto the dusty floorboards.

The stench was instantaneous and suffocating.

"Host!" the System shrieked, popping out from behind the bedframe, its digital fur standing on end.

Heena didn’t move. She stood perfectly still, a piece of rotting vegetable clinging to her collarbone, the foul water dripping from her dark eyelashes. The sheer, unadulterated disrespect of the act hung in the air like a physical weight. In all her lifetimes, through all the apocalyptic worlds and imperial courts she had conquered, no one had ever dared to throw garbage on her.

Her hands twitched. The Vanguard warlord inside her immediately screamed for blood. She calculated the exact angle needed to step forward, grab the woman by her throat, and crush her windpipe against the doorframe. It would take less than two seconds.

But as Heena’s muscles tensed for the kill, the woman opened her mouth.

"You disgusting, shameless beast!" the woman roared, her voice echoing with the crushing authority of a matriarch. "You are a stain on our family’s name! You vile, filthy wretch! Look at you, standing there like a mute dog. I should have drowned you in a basin the moment that cheap concubine gave birth to you!"

The sound of the woman’s voice—the specific, hateful cadence of it—acted like a violent catalyst.

The cognitive block in Heena’s brain suddenly shattered. A blinding, agonizing white light flared behind her eyes, and the remaining fragmented memories of the original host violently slammed into her consciousness with the force of a physical blow.

Heena stumbled backward, her hand flying to her temple as she let out a low, breathless gasp.

The woman standing in front of her was not a random servant or a rival noble. It was Madam Lu, the undisputed matriarch of the Lu merchant family. And, unfortunately for Heena, she was the original host’s biological mother.

The memories flooded in, painting a pathetic, agonizing picture of the life this body had endured. The original Heena was the daughter of a lowly, disfavored male concubine. In this matriarchal society, a concubine’s daughter was already treated slightly better than a servant, expected to work quietly, keep her head down, and eventually be married off to secure a minor trade route. The original host had been timid, gentle, and utterly terrified of her mother and her legitimate older sister, Lu Mei.

But the memory that made Heena’s blood boil wasn’t the lifetime of neglect. It was the event that had landed her in this ruined, stripped-down woodshed.

Make the heroine dialogues, scenes and comedy more cranky and exagerrated, use human verbal phrases for comedy, add scenes or internal thought yourself while making it funny and immeservie due to humour and a lots of double meaning.

Without a second of hesitation, the man had grabbed the collar of his own sheer silk robes and violently ripped them open, exposing his pale collarbones. He then grabbed the host’s wrist, using her hand to scratch his own chest, before throwing himself onto the stone path, weeping loudly and screaming for help.

The entire family had rushed over, led by the matriarch and the legitimate sister.