Quick Transmigration: The Many Faces of a Femme Fatale

As Jiang Wanning stubbed out the cigarette between her fingers, her phone chimed with a transfer notification. A six-figure sum flashed on the screen. She didn't even look up, simply slipping the phone into the pocket of her crop top. In the city village of the twenty-first century, everyone knew that Jiang Wanning, the Jiang family's girl who had dropped out of school early, was one of a kind. She had no qualifications or connections, yet she could always hold her own among all sorts of people: from wealthy men in luxury cars to professors at the university next door, from underworld bosses to clueless young entrepreneurs. No one could resist her. Jiang Wanning wasn't breathtakingly beautiful. Her eyes held a faint, alluring charm, her skin was a healthy honey brown, and when she smiled, a lazy curve spread from the corners of her eyes. Yet that very “imperfection” put people at ease. By the time they realized what was happening, they were already in too deep, completely under her thumb. She was a natural master of time management, able to squeeze in a coffee between appointments with three dates and reply to ten messages at once in the middle of the night, each with just the right personal touch. Her intelligence was astonishing. One glance was all it took to find someone's weak spot, and a few words were enough to touch their heart. Yet she never invested even a fraction of her true feelings. Some called her a femme fatale; others cursed her for being heartless. Jiang Wanning only found it amusing. To her, love was simply the most useful bargaining chip: it could earn her money and resources, and help her thrive while clawing her way up from the bottom.