Zhang Shanshan fell from the 99th floor and woke up as an orphan in the countryside in 1966.
There’s a lab in her storage space, the AI can balance the books, and her glasses can draw 3D chalkboard posters.
Her greedy relatives want to steal her house? She seals the door with cement.
No food or drink? Her space has the same supplies astronauts get.
The village aunties tried the rough paper she made and lined up to bring her fatty pork in return.
When her aunt by marriage came asking for paper, she handed her a green sheet. “It’s scented.”
Later, she heard it burned when you wiped with it.
Cuihua squatted by the wall, chewing on a dried sweet potato. “Sis, can your glasses see the stars?”
Zhang Shanshan ignored her.
The days went by, and one scheme after another kept coming.
