"Your mistakes are more beautiful than other people's rights." When Chen Mo said this to me in the basement ten years ago, I thought it was love. Ten years later, he became an academic star with the data I worked so hard on, while I lost two children and half my stomach due to radiation, and became what he called "an ex-wife in need of psychological help."
They thought the story ended there: the woman whose results were stolen left the scene in despair. Little did he know that I made that "mistake" into a time bomb and buried it in his production line worth tens of billions; I used the stolen data to develop deep space materials that the country desperately needed; and when everything collapsed, I showed the world the erased names and the price of bloodshed.
From a rental house in an urban village to a national laboratory, from a frozen account to a star named after me, I have walked this road for ten years. When the probe carried Shuyue-1 towards the solar corona, an ethereal echo came from the depths of the universe - it was not a triumphant song of revenge, but the sound of a woman's bones growing again as she stood up from the ruins.
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
