Space Heiress Leads My Family to Rise
Evelyn Rivers woke up and found herself in a parallel 1950.
The opening hand was practically a royal flush!
She was the pampered darling of the richest family south of the Yangtze—parents who doted on her endlessly, gold bars stacked like bricks, and an ancestral jade pendant that unlocked a heaven-defying pocket dimension: a miniature Soviet-style garden above, a vast subterranean warehouse below, able to farm, able to keep anything fresh forever, supplies never spoil!
Then Evelyn’s face went white as paper.
Good news: money and a cheat space—easy-win setup.
Bad news: it’s 1950, and “capitalist class origin” is a one-way ticket to the firing squad.
With the political storm on the horizon, history says her whole clan will be shipped to the northwest to drink sand.
Evelyn stared at her parents, still leisurely counting cash and obsessing over haute couture, and stomped in place.
“Dad, stop counting the gold bars! If we don’t run now, the whole family will be sipping cold wind in the Gobi!”
“Mom, quit stockpiling stilettos! Penicillin and coarse cotton cloth—that’s the real hard currency in chaos!”
Luckily, her family trusted her completely. Overnight they quietly liquidated their assets, stuffed gold, antiques, scarce medicines, and daily necessities into the space, and slipped away under the radar, heading straight for the northeast to dodge disaster.
To secure a safe backer for her family, Evelyn—armed with her past life’s chops as an algorithm engineer—landed a job at the Ice City Machinery Plant.
The first time she saw the clunky old Soviet lathes, she blurted, “This tolerance— even a dog would shake its head.”
She casually optimized the algorithms, recalibrated the precision parameters, improved the gear meshing, and single-handedly resurrected a yardful of scrap machines, tripling production efficiency.
In her spare time she sketched an improved fuze for anti-aircraft guns; the drawing rocketed straight to a national-level expert panel.
The specialists gasped in awe: “Young lady, you’re a once-in-a-century industrial prodigy!”
The workshop director stared in disbelief: “Where did this down-on-her-luck relative get such god-tier skills?”
Only Old Rivers cowered in the corner, tugging frantically at his daughter’s sleeve: “Girl, keep a low profile! Our class label can’t take another stir! Staying alive comes first!”
Evelyn spread her hands in resignation and sighed, “Dad, I’d love to keep quiet, but my talent just won’t let me.”
Marriage