I Brought a Farm Game to the 1970S and Thrived

[Cheerful, money-loving little sunshine x sickly, refined scientist] Qiao Huan transmigrates after being struck by a thunderbolt the night before she’s due to celebrate her promotion and raise. She finds herself in a period novel as a cannon-fodder villainess with the same name. Qiao Huan arrives with a bleeding head. Looking down at her coarse clothes, she pats her growling stomach. “There’s a whole lot of cursing I’d like to do, but I don’t know if I should...” If she hadn’t discovered that the farming game she’d played for three years had come with her, too, she would have wanted to die all over again on the spot. But why has the game developed new features on its own? Can its spirit spring cure illnesses? Can technology make the country strong? And so... When Qiao Huan sees a handsome man collapse in front of her, she quietly pulls out some spirit spring water from her space and pours a whole bowl down his throat... The handsome man wakes up, blushing. “Miss, who are you? This isn’t appropriate...” When she hears that every old fellow at the research institute is suffering from overwork and ill health, Qiao Huan starts thinking about using ingredients from her space to make nutritious meals every week. She nurses them back to health until they’re glowing with energy, and they declare they’re ready to tackle the next challenge... When she sees a national enterprise stymied by a technical problem, Qiao Huan grits her teeth and spends a fortune on blueprints from the game store, then secretly slips them outside the factory director’s office... The director arrives at work and stares wide-eyed. “What patriotic good samaritan left these here? A true modern-day Lei Feng, doing good without leaving a name!” A little skit Qiao Huan: “When I earned my first fortune from foreign merchants, did you think I was impressive?” Zhong Yichuan smiles faintly. “Mm. Impressive.” Qiao Huan: “I think you should thank me for getting you to the top of the world without breaking a sweat!” Zhong Yichuan presses his lips together, his meaning clear. “How would you like me to thank you, Huanhuan?”