Rebirth of a Farming Wife - Chapter 262 - 271: Where Is the Arrangement

Follow Kairi Izumi—a quiet, eccentric, and somewhat conspicuous girl— who never felt like anything but an NPC in a story. Working behind the scenes, unnoticed by others had always been part of her daily life, dwelling with medicine and toxins.So, it's not surprising that she wasn't tad attractive according to others.That is, until one day... that guy, he confessed to me.Wait a minute—doesn't that mean I'm a heroine now? Hang on, how is that even possible? Me? Heroine? No way! I’m just a girl from a small village who likes to help others. I don’t particularly stand out, and compared to the other girls, I’m not even that attractive.And so, a question lingers, driving the unfolding of this dumbfounding narrative forward:Wait, what do you mean I got reincarnated to be a heroine?That's weird because usually a heroine is not strong let alone smart - they are usually dumb, cute and pretty. Definitely not me. I mean, how is that possible? Me? Heroine? No way!

She was the head of a powerful, medicine-orientated aristocratic family.

Crossing through a millennium, she ended up in the body of the General Household’s “trash” young miss, whose engagement with the Crown Prince was just broken as she suffered under everybody’s taunts!

In the drafting feast, she was re-engaged by the Emperor to marry the famous disabled prince!

Everybody laughed, a blind trash with a disabled wastrel. What a perfect match!

However, they didn’t know that in her hand, she grasped the long-lost primordial pill recipes! Her practice in medicine had reached the apex! Her contracted beasts were unique in the world!

What was the most frightening, was the disabled prince she was engaged to…….

A black-belly full of dirty tricks, with a heaven-opposing cultivation physique, he defeats all geniuses!

In his wheelchair during the day, yet entangling her in bed as he trained his waist muscles… MF! Is he really crippled!?

- Description from Novelupdates

Title: Trillionaire Student: The Art of Corporate WarfareGenre: Cyberpunk Corporate Drama / Tech RomanceSetting: Near-future Shanghai (2045) where blockchain dynasties and AI oligarchs dominate global finance.Protagonist:· Ye Chen: A 22-year-old financial prodigy with military-grade neural implants. Orphaned and self-made, he accidentally inherits trillion-yuan assets tied to a cryogenically preserved heiress.· Su Ning: A “frozen elite” heiress resurrected from cryostasis. Her trauma-encrypted mind holds the keys to her family's blockchain empire.Core Plot:When Ye decrypts suicidal patterns in Su's neural data, their forced partnership to upgrade her emotional firewall exposes:1. Corporate Espionage: Rival tech giants weaponize celebrity scandals as NFT commodities.2. Family Conspiracy: Su's mother audits her memories like hostile mergers.3. Hidden Protocol: A blockchain ledger tracking physical intimacy as corporate liability.Key Westernized Elements:· Boardroom duels in holographic Hunger Games-style shareholder arenas· Romance through shared neural hacking of trauma encryption· Memetic warfare where viral tweets manipulate stock marketsThemes:· Capitalism 2.0 (emotions as crypto assets, SEC-regulated marriage contracts)· Cybernetic identity (childhood trauma rebuilt as AI firewalls)· East-West fusion (Tang poetry as quantum encryption keys)Cultural Bridges:· “Black Swan Fund” → “Quantum Contingency Fund”· Neural interface battles styled as The Matrix meets Game of Thrones· Food metaphors: Xiaolongbao dumplings as encrypted data carriers

What happens when, in the midst of struggling to keep up with life, you suddenly discover that you were a princess in a past life? Now, you're just a waitress with a drunken mother and a pile of bills to pay. But deep down, you know one thing: you’ll find the stupid jerk responsible for ending your royal life, no matter what it takes.Alexia POV:Then there are the spoiled, narcissistic rich jerks who think their daddy's car gives them a free pass to treat women like objects. Not today, Satan. These guys are like walking perfume ads with egos bigger than their bank accounts. I swear, they should just marry themselves—they're clearly their own type.When one of those jerks lands at my table, I can smell the entitlement from a mile away. I don't even wait for the inevitable sleazy pickup line or the “accidental” brush of their hand against mine. Nope. I pawn them off on one of the other waiters faster than you can say “unpaid rent.”