The underworld has recently been overrun with ghosts, as the poor ghosts in the underworld have awakened and refused to reincarnate unless they become wealthy.

The underworld has recently descended into chaos, flooded with restless ghosts refusing to reincarnate unless they can be reborn into wealth.

As one of them, I too was forced back—reincarnated on the very day my younger sister was switched at birth by the nanny.

This time, I didn’t intervene. Instead, I rolled over and pretended to stay asleep.

In my previous life, when I was three, I had tried to stop the nanny’s deceit. Because of that, she beat me until I suffered brain damage.

Years later, my so-called sister, the one who took my rightful place, tormented me daily. She mocked my disability and treated me like trash.

One day, she deliberately abandoned me on a busy highway, where I was hit and crushed beyond recognition.

Yet even to death, I was not at peace. The underworld rejected me, forcing me to return. This time, I swore to hold tightly to the identity and fortune that belonged to me—the true eldest daughter of the Evans family, heirs to immense wealth and honor.

——

“My precious daughter, from today, you will be the youngest daughter of the Evans family. You’ll live in riches forever,” whispered the nanny, Martha Cole.

Her familiar voice made my blood run cold. I clenched my eyes shut, too terrified to move. I thought she would leave after switching the babies, but she lingered, gazing lovingly at her own child now lying in my family’s crib.

Moments later, her husband burst in impatiently.

“The switch is done—why are you still here?” he snapped.

Then his eyes fell on me, lying motionless in my bed. Suspicion darkened his expression.

“Is this one really asleep? What if she saw or heard us? What if she tells someone and ruins everything?”

He stepped closer, waving his hand in front of my face. My heart pounded violently, but I forced myself to stay still. To make it convincing, I murmured, half in a dream, “Mom… I want some candy…” and smacked my lips.

The man exhaled, chuckling. “She’s dead asleep. Don’t worry.”

Just as relief washed over me, Martha hesitated, her voice trembling.

“Our eldest daughter, Lydia Evans, is their favorite. What if she bullies our daughter later? What if she fights for the inheritance? Maybe… maybe we should just take her with us.”

My body froze. Cold sweat drenched my back.

No. I finally got another chance at life—was I still doomed to die again?

Fortunately, her husband stopped her at once. “Are you insane? We’ve already switched the babies. If the eldest suddenly vanishes, the Evans family will suspect us. We’ll be finished.”

He listened to the faint footsteps of servants outside and hissed, “She’s the eldest of the richest family. Even if she’s treated badly, her life will still be a hundred times better than ours. Now hurry, before someone catches us!”

Martha, torn between fear and longing, gave her real daughter one last kiss before climbing out the window.

That was the moment the nanny’s daughter officially became Allison Evans—my “sister.”

Only after they disappeared into the night did I dare to breathe again. My tiny body trembled, but I felt an overwhelming rush of relief.

I turned toward the crib, curious to look at the baby who had stolen my identity. Just as I leaned closer, the door burst open.

My parents entered the room.

“Why is the window open?” My father asked sharply, scanning the room.

I froze, terrified they would sense something.

My mother came over gently and smiled. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, did we wake you?”

Her warm voice, so familiar and distant from my past life’s pain, made my eyes sting. She continued softly, “The housekeeper said they heard noises. Did you notice anything strange?”

I rubbed my eyes, pretending to be sleepy. “I don’t know, Mom… I just fell asleep.”

My father exhaled in relief. “If Lydia wasn’t disturbed, then everything’s fine.”

They tucked me back into bed, unaware of the truth—that their real youngest daughter had just been taken away, and their true heiress had narrowly escaped death once again.

This time, I silently vowed to protect what was mine.

No more weakness. No more pity.

I would grow up as Lydia, the rightful eldest daughter of the richest man, and make sure the wealth, power, and glory that belonged to me never slipped from my hands again.

Not even death would take it away.

"Since Lydia wasn't woken, it means nothing's wrong."

After spending some time with me, my parents finally carried my fake sister away.

I was left alone in this large, quiet room, a faint smile curling on my lips.

In this life, I would not become brain-damaged from a head injury, nor the pitiful, disabled eldest daughter of the Evans family.

As for my fake sister… from today onward, she would become my most useful pawn.

The next morning, I overheard my parents talking—Martha had resigned suddenly, saying she needed to return home to care for her daughter.

The news filled me with delight.

If only Martha could stay quiet and never bring my real sister back, then the Evans family’s only heir would be me—forever.

But I couldn’t let my guard down.

From that day on, I took it upon myself to become my fake sister’s guardian angel.

If she choked on her milk, I would pat her back.

If her diaper was soiled, I would change it.

Every bit of pocket money my parents gave me, I spent on toys for her.

Though Allison, still an infant, understood nothing, my parents showered me with endless praise:

“Our Lydia is such a sweet and caring little angel.”

Of course, I knew what I was doing.

By taking the initiative and acting like the perfect sister, my parents began to pity me.

“Lydia, you don’t have to push yourself to be mature,” my mother said tenderly. “You’re just a child, too.”

“You don’t owe your sister anything,” my father added. “We just want you to be happy.”

Their words made my heart bloom with triumph.

I had succeeded in planting the right image—an obedient, gentle daughter worthy of love and protection.

From then on, I no longer needed to take care of my fake sister myself. I just had to play the part with words sweet as honey.

“I’m so lucky to have such a lovely younger sister,” I would say.

“Don’t worry, little sister. I’ll grow up and make lots of money. I’ll protect you from bad people.”

Everyone in the Evans household adored me.

They said I had the calm, graceful temperament of a true eldest daughter.

And as I grew, I inherited my parents’ best traits—fair skin, bright eyes, and delicate features.

Instead of losing favor to my fake sister, I actually received far more affection than my real one ever did in my previous life.

When Allison turned three, people began to whisper behind our backs.

“Why are the Evans sisters so different?” they said quietly. “They share the same parents, but Lydia is fair and delicate, while Allison’s skin is darker, and her nose is flat…”

Though only the servants dared to speak aloud, the words still reached Allison’s ears—and jealousy took root in her heart.

One day, after my mother praised my big, bright eyes, Allison suddenly lost control.

“You hate me!” she screamed. “You all like my sister more!”

She snatched a pillow and hurled it straight at my face.

“I’m prettier than she is! You’re not allowed to like her!”

My mother’s face darkened. She pulled Allison over and smacked her lightly.

“How dare you talk to your sister that way? You don’t even know how kind she’s been to you!”

My father, upset, hurried to lift me up in his arms.

“Lydia, your sister bullied you again. Why didn’t you defend yourself?”

I lowered my head, putting on a wounded yet gentle expression.

“I’m the older sister,” I said softly. “It’s my duty to let her have her way.”

My parents’ hearts melted instantly.

They praised me endlessly—how generous I was, how mature and graceful for my age. They even said I was destined to accomplish great things.

Meanwhile, Allison’s face twisted with envy.

The more she was scolded, the more she resented me. Her jealousy made her cruel and reckless.

She began to act out—pouring water on me, pulling my hair until I fell, screaming and kicking whenever she didn’t get her way.

And when her tantrums peaked, she would shout, “All of my parents’ money will be mine! I won’t give you a single coin!”

Her arrogance and spite mirrored my real sister’s perfectly.

Watching her, I almost laughed.

History was repeating itself—but this time, I was the one in control.

I always smiled and tolerated her, never arguing back.

Even the housekeeper couldn’t understand.

“Miss, why let the second young lady bully you? You should teach her a lesson.”

They didn’t realize—

the more I indulged my fake sister, the more spoiled and reckless she would become.

Only then, when she eventually discovered she wasn’t the real daughter, would she desperately cling to the life she’d stolen, willing to do anything to keep it.

Meanwhile, I never let myself slack off. From preschool onward, I studied multiple foreign languages, practiced piano and calligraphy, and trained in Taekwondo to stay fit.

My parents thought I was too hardworking.

But to me, this was a dream reborn—

in my past life, trapped in a body crippled by cerebral palsy, I could only envy other children’s freedom.

Now that I had been given another chance, how could I not give everything?

Life flowed peacefully for a while. Allison’s features, however, began to resemble Martha’s more and more with each passing year.

Then came her sixth birthday.

The celebration was grand, filled with relatives and friends. But one blunt relative asked the question that silenced the entire room:

“Why doesn’t Allison look like her parents at all?”

Allison froze, her face twisting. Then she screamed, grabbed the cake, and hurled it at the relative.

“Country bumpkin! You’re lying!” she shouted.

The scene turned painfully awkward.

She threw herself onto the floor, kicking and wailing.

“I look the most like my parents! Even more than my sister!”

I watched her coldly, fighting the urge to laugh.

It wasn’t just the guests who noticed—my parents, too, had begun to wonder privately.

I hesitated. Should I take this chance to expose the truth?

But before I could act, my grandfather stepped forward, his expression stern.

“I was there when Allison was born,” he said firmly. “Don’t talk nonsense.”

His words restored order, and my parents rushed to comfort Allison, clearly shaken.

At that moment, I changed my mind.

I approached and gently hugged her.

“Don’t listen to them,” I whispered. “You’ll always be the Evans family’s second daughter. No one can take that from you. Even if someone tries, you must protect it with everything you have. Understand?”

She blinked through her tears, half-confused, then nodded seriously.

I smiled inwardly.

The seed of greed had been planted.

After being scolded, Allison seemed to have learned her lesson. She no longer threw tantrums in public. Instead, she began to imitate me—studying hard, trying to behave like a proper young lady.

But blood never lies.

No matter how hard she tried, she struggled with everything. She couldn’t keep up in her studies, cried whenever she was frustrated, and constantly tested her teachers’ patience.

I didn’t have to say or do anything—my parents could already see the difference.

Still, I continued to play the role of the gentle, understanding older sister.

By ten, I had passed my eighth-grade piano exam and won first place in the National Children’s Brush Calligraphy Competition.

My grandparents were so proud that they gifted me two villas.

My parents, overjoyed, began to focus all their attention and resources on me.

Meanwhile, whispers about Allison grew louder:

“How could the Evans family, with such good genes, have such a slow, awkward daughter?”

“Allison and Lydia look nothing alike. Shouldn’t they do a paternity test?”

Every time she overheard these remarks, Allison would cry hysterically, taking her frustration out on me.

But when she saw my parents’ cold, disappointed eyes, she would stop and swallow her anger.

Eventually, realizing I was the only one who still treated her kindly, she tried to win my affection.

“Sister,” she said one night, clinging to me, “I’ll always be your sister, right?”

I smiled softly and nodded, repeating the words that would shape her fate.