Lu Manman woke to a migraine. Her head hammered behind her eyes, a dull, insistent throb that pulled her from a dreamless sleep. She tried to open her eyes, but a searing white light, like a camera flash held too close, burned against her eyelids. She squeezed them shut, a low groan escaping her throat. This was not her cramped apartment. The scent of lavender and expensive linen filled her nostrils, not the stale coffee and dust of her usual bedroom. She tried again, forcing her eyes open to slits. The light wasn't a flash, but a shimmering, translucent screen hovering inches from her face. It pulsed with an ethereal glow, displaying text she couldn't yet decipher. Panic, cold and sharp, cut through the headache. She scrambled upright, her limbs tangled in silken sheets. The bed was enormous, a king-sized monstrosity draped in cream and gold. It was softer than anything she had ever slept on, plush to the point of absurdity. Her apartment bed was a firm mattress on a cheap frame. This felt like sinking into a cloud. The room itself was vast, a testament to obscene wealth. Floor-to-ceiling windows, currently covered by heavy velvet drapes, hinted at a view she couldn't see. A crystal chandelier, intricate and heavy, hung from the vaulted ceiling. A chaise lounge upholstered in what looked like raw silk sat beside a polished mahogany dresser. This was not her life. Her stomach churned. "Initializing... Super Rich Mother System activated." A robotic voice, surprisingly clear despite the headache, echoed in her mind, not in her ears. The floating screen flickered, text resolving itself into neat, bold characters. *Welcome, Host!* *Name: Lu Manman (formerly Han Min-seo)* *Identity: Mother of three future villains in "The Tyrant's Cold Revenge"* *Mission: Prevent children's villainous fates by spending money to earn points.* *Current Funds: Unlimited.* *Current Points: 0.* Lu Manman stared, her mind struggling to process. *Host? Unlimited funds?* Her corporate brain, trained for problem-solving under pressure, immediately seized on the most concrete detail. Unlimited funds. That was a measurable, quantifiable asset. The rest, the "villains" and "fates," sounded like a bad dream. She pinched herself. Hard. A sharp sting in her arm confirmed she was awake. This was real. The glowing screen was real. The opulent room was real. A cold knot formed in her gut. She had been an overworked corporate slave, dreaming of financial freedom. Now, she had it, but with a terrifying, impossible catch. The sheer absurdity of it made her want to laugh, or scream. She did neither. She simply sat, jaw tight, examining the strange interface. The system hummed, waiting. --- A soft tap at the door made Lu Manman flinch, her gaze snapping away from the glowing screen. It vanished instantly, leaving only the memory of its light. She was alone again in the gilded cage. The tap came again, softer this time, hesitant. "Mrs. Lu? Are you awake?" A young voice, barely above a whisper, spoke from behind the heavy door. Mrs. Lu. The name felt alien, like a costume she hadn't chosen. Lu Manman cleared her throat, her voice raspy. "Come in." The door creaked open slowly. A girl, no older than sixteen, peered around the frame. She wore a simple grey maid uniform, pristine and pressed. Her eyes, wide and dark, darted nervously around the room before settling on Lu Manman. She was small, slender, with her dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. The name, *Xiao Yu*, surfaced unbidden in Manman’s memory, a fragment from the sudden flood of information earlier. "Good morning, Mrs. Lu," Xiao Yu said, her voice trembling slightly. She kept her head down, avoiding eye contact. Her hands clasped tightly in front of her apron. "I've brought your morning tea. And... breakfast is ready downstairs." Lu Manman studied the girl. Xiao Yu seemed genuinely terrified, as if expecting to be struck. The old Lu Manman, no, Han Min-seo, must have been a monster. This was another layer of the nightmare. She felt a surge of nausea. Her stomach still churned. "Put it down," she managed, her voice steadier this time. Xiao Yu scurried to a small bedside table, placing a silver tray with a delicate porcelain teapot and cup onto its surface. The tea smelled floral, expensive. She avoided looking at Lu Manman, her movements quick and efficient, like a frightened mouse. "Is... is there anything else, Mrs. Lu?" Xiao Yu asked, her voice barely audible. She edged towards the door, ready for flight. Lu Manman watched her, a knot of unease tightening in her chest. The fear in the girl's eyes was palpable. It confirmed what the system had hinted at, what the new memories screamed: the woman whose body she inhabited was deeply unlikable, possibly cruel. Her corporate persona, always focused on efficiency and professional detachment, found this personal animosity unsettling. She preferred a clean, transactional relationship. This was messy. "No," Lu Manman said, trying to soften her tone. It came out flat, unpracticed. "That will be all." Xiao Yu bowed quickly, practically bolting from the room. The door clicked shut, leaving Lu Manman in silence once more. The ghost of the system's screen still lingered, its impossible mission now overshadowed by the tangible proof of her new identity's terrible reputation. She was Mrs. Lu, a woman feared by a teenage maid. A mother of future villains. Her hand trembled as she reached for the porcelain teacup. --- The tea, a fragrant Earl Grey, did nothing to settle the churning in Lu Manman’s gut. She set the cup down, the delicate porcelain clinking against the saucer. The system, sensing her attention, flickered back into existence, a soft blue glow illuminating the heavy drapes. It was less blinding this time, more like a tablet screen floating in mid-air. *Proceeding with initial briefing.* The robotic voice was back, devoid of inflection. *Host, you have transmigrated into the body of Han Min-seo, a secondary character in the novel "The Tyrant's Cold Revenge." Your new identity is Lu Manman, the wealthy but negligent mother of the three main antagonists: Li Cuan, Li Ming, and Li Wei.* Lu Manman felt a cold dread seep into her bones. The words felt too clinical for the horror they conveyed. *Main antagonists.* She knew what that meant in these web novels: tragic backstories, ruthless ambition, and usually, gruesome ends. *As per the original plot,* the system continued, displaying images that flashed across the screen like slides in a grim presentation. *Child #1, Li Cuan, will become a ruthless CEO, ultimately ruined and imprisoned by the male lead. Child #2, Li Ming, will develop a debilitating gambling addiction, leading to his murder by loan sharks. Child #3, Li Wei, will become a vain socialite, dying in a botched plastic surgery procedure after losing her family's wealth.* Lu Manman gasped, a sharp intake of breath. The images were stark: a man in a prison uniform, a blurred figure collapsing in a dark alley, a woman on an operating table, eyes wide with terror. It wasn't just vague villainy; it was specific, brutal demise. Her children. Her three children, destined for these horrors. Her hands clenched into fists, knuckles white. The primal fear of a mother, even a newly minted one, clawed at her throat. *Your mission, Host, is to prevent these outcomes.* The system’s tone remained flat. *The 'Super Rich Mother System' grants you unlimited financial resources. You must spend money to earn points. These points are crucial for unlocking plot deviations and parental guidance tools.* *Spend money to earn points.* Lu Manman’s mind, still reeling from the horrific fates, latched onto this. It was a tangible task, a quantifiable goal. Her corporate instincts kicked in, overriding the surge of panic. This was a project, a complex, high-stakes project with clear objectives and a resource pool. Unlimited funds. It was absurd, but it was a leverage point. It was control. *Points are earned by spending money on your children, directly or indirectly, in ways that contribute to their well-being and positive development. Inefficient or wasteful spending will yield fewer points. Emotional connection is not a prerequisite for point acquisition, but positive emotional responses from children may amplify point gain.* Lu Manman frowned. Emotional connection. That was going to be hard. She was good with spreadsheets, with negotiations, with turning a profit. She had never been good with emotional nuance. But the system had provided the loophole: *not a prerequisite*. She could tackle this like a business problem. Provide resources, ensure welfare, prevent the "original plot." It was a cold, pragmatic approach, but it was the only one she knew how to execute. She would buy their salvation. --- A piercing shriek tore through the silence, echoing up the grand staircase. It was a child’s cry, high-pitched and insistent, full of frustration. Li Ming. The system’s briefing had mentioned the youngest, a toddler. Lu Manman pushed herself from the bed, the silk nightgown feeling foreign against her skin. She needed to address this. If she was going to earn points, she had to start somewhere. She walked out of the bedroom, her bare feet sinking into the plush, cream-colored carpet of the hallway. The crying grew louder, emanating from just around the corner. She rounded the bend to find a small boy, perhaps three or four years old, throwing himself against the wall. His face was a contorted mask of fury and tears, snot streaming down his flushed cheeks. His small fists pounded the wallpaper, leaving faint, damp marks. He wore expensive-looking pyjamas, a tiny embroidered lion on the chest, but they were rumpled, and his hair stood up in wild tufts. "WAAAAAH! NO! I HATE IT! I HATE IT!" he screamed, his voice raw. Lu Manman stopped, a few feet from the tantrum. She had never been around children, not really. Her world was boardrooms and balance sheets. This raw, untamed display of emotion was utterly baffling. Her first instinct was to analyze the problem. What did he want? "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice flat, devoid of the soft cooing tone she imagined mothers used. Li Ming froze, his head snapping up. His tear-filled eyes, bright blue like sapphires, widened at the sight of her. He probably wasn't used to seeing his mother outside her room this early. A fresh wave of wails erupted, even louder than before. He pointed a chubby finger at her, his face screwing up again. "YOU! YOU'RE MEAN! I HATE YOU!" he shrieked, then resumed his wall-pounding with renewed vigor. Lu Manman blinked. *Mean?* She hadn't done anything yet. This was clearly a communication issue. She needed to de-escalate. Her gaze fell on the system interface, which had discreetly reappeared in the corner of her vision. *Points are earned by spending money on your children.* "Hey," she said, raising her voice slightly over his screams. "Stop crying. Look." She reached into the pocket of her silk robe, an automatic gesture even though she knew she had no money. The system, however, registered the intent. A crisp, new hundred-yuan bill materialized between her fingers. It felt real, surprisingly heavy. "Here," she said, holding it out. The bill was vibrant red, adorned with Chairman Mao's portrait. A significant sum for a child, for anyone really. "Take this. Stop crying and I'll give you another one. You can buy anything you want." Li Ming stopped mid-wail, his mouth open in a perfect 'O'. He stared at the money, then at her, then back at the money. His blue eyes filled with a fresh sheen of tears. He shook his head violently, a whimper escaping. "I DON'T WANT MONEY! I WANT MAMA!" he sobbed, throwing himself onto the carpet, kicking his tiny legs in protest. The hundred-yuan note fluttered from Lu Manman’s numb fingers to the plush carpet. He just wanted his mother. Not the gold-plated, emotionally distant woman who currently stood before him, clutching a system-generated banknote. The system remained silent, no points awarded. --- Lu Manman watched the red banknote lie abandoned on the carpet, Li Ming's anguished cries echoing in the grand hall. Her pragmatic solution had failed spectacularly. The child didn't want money. He wanted... what? Affection? Attention? Things her previous life had trained her to avoid, to delegate. She felt a deep, unfamiliar pang of inadequacy. This wasn't a spreadsheet problem. A quiet chime sounded in her mind. The system. *Host, a significant event has occurred.* The robotic voice cut through the toddler’s wails. *Child #2, Li Ming, detected expressing extreme distress in response to Host's interaction. Emotional response: Negative. Point acquisition: 0. Parental Guidance recommended.* Lu Manman closed her eyes, a wave of weariness washing over her. She had tried. She had offered the most powerful tool in her arsenal, and it had been rejected. This new reality was far more complex than she had anticipated. The children weren't just problems to be solved with finances; they were living, breathing, hurting beings. She opened her eyes, watching Li Ming curl into a miserable ball on the carpet, his small shoulders shaking with sobs. She didn't know how to comfort him. She didn't know how to bridge that chasm. Her own childhood had been devoid of such open displays of emotion, replaced by the quiet, transactional exchanges of a busy, often absent, single parent. She saw her reflection in his rejection. A different notification flashed across the system's interface, urgent and red-tinged. It demanded her full attention, overriding the lingering failure with Li Ming. *Urgent Update!* *Child #1, Li Cuan, Current Hostility: 85%. Original Plot Deviation: 0%*. The words hit her like a physical blow. Eighty-five percent hostility. And *zero percent* deviation. This wasn't a small problem. This was a ticking time bomb. Li Cuan. The ruthless CEO, destined for ruin and imprisonment. He was already almost fully set on his path, already boiling with resentment. She hadn't even met him yet, and he was already on the fast track to his tragic end. The original plot, the invisible, malevolent force, was already in motion. The terror that had been simmering beneath her pragmatism finally broke through. This was far more than a corporate challenge; it was a desperate race against a predetermined fate, and she was already losing. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of pure fear. The luxurious room, the unlimited funds, the crying child – all faded before the stark, chilling report from the system that flashed across her vision: 'Child #1, Li Cuan, Current Hostility: 85%. Original Plot Deviation: 0%'.

Chapter 1: A Gold Plated Nightmare