My mother, a scientist driven to madness, conducted an experiment to prove that the impoverished are unworthy of virtue. As part of her experiment, I, relegated to the role of the control group, was sent to a remote and desolate locale. Earning my tuition by selling blood, I chanced upon the prearranged encounter with a disabled woman, whom my mother had orchestrated. She coldly rebuffed my pleas for fare, contrasting sharply with my city-raised, resplendent sister who readily bestowed her entire allowance upon her. Mother deemed me cruel and heartless, ceasing the monthly stipend sent to my rural foster parents, allowing them to hastily marry me off to the widower in our village during my senior year. Later, as the triumphant experiment unfolded, Mother, overcome with joy, shed tears for my sister, utterly oblivious to the daughter she had condemned to a brutal demise. Upon awakening, I once again encountered the disabled woman, bereft of her fare, while the hidden cameras adorning her person broadcasted the experiment to the world. "Kind maiden, I have lost my way. Could you spare some fare for me to return home?" Before me stood a woman of dusky complexion, her gait unsteady, leaning on a crutch, clutching a disability certificate. Still reeling from suffocating pain, I was suddenly bombarded by a barrage of messages, questioning if I was the sister of the experimental group. "She looks so plain, nothing like the lovely sister. Will she assist this disabled woman?" Dressed in styles reminiscent of centuries past, surely impoverished, why would she be so kind? On the sister's side, the disabled woman appears pitiable indeed. How could one be so indifferent? My sister's eyes were brimming with tears, as I blinked, casting my gaze downward, only to behold my own calloused hands, roughened from toil. The barrage of messages before me seemed surreal. In a past life, I scraped together funds for my education, escaping the strict guardianship of my foster parents, hitching rides and arriving in the county town, my face smudged with dirt. Fortunately, blood donation checks were lax in small towns, enabling me to earn a thousand yuan without presenting identification. Little did I know, on my journey home, I would encounter this alleged disabled woman, who claimed to have lost her fare and begged me to purchase a ticket for her. Ignoring the fact that she demanded over nine hundred yuan, while the cheapest bus ticket cost only two to three hundred yuan, her wrist adorned with a bracelet worth tens of thousands. Wielding her disability certificate as though it were an emblem of authority, she thrust it toward my face, devoid of official seals. Weary from low blood sugar and my naturally sullen countenance, I repelled her with a cold stare, causing her to retreat with muttered curses. It wasn't until later that I learned my mother, driven mad by her experiment, orchestrated it all to prove her theory that the impoverished are devoid of virtue. Specifically, she designated me as the control group, sending me to a destitute village immediately after my birth. Survival here was arduous, let alone pursuing an education. Nevertheless, I refused to relinquish the sole opportunity to alter my fate, even if it meant being coerced into labor by my foster parents daily. During the harsh winter days, whenever I hesitated to leave home, they would compel me to skip school and tend to their neglected farmland. I studied fervently, for those thousand yuan were as vital to me as my own lifeblood. However, my sister was different. She was pampered since childhood, attending various dance, vocal, and chess classes, clad in princess-like gowns, confidently claiming the youngest champion title in piano competitions on grand stages aglow with lights. Meanwhile, I could only gaze longingly at the affluent in the village square during gatherings. On television, my sister appeared with a look of longing. Why is elder sister hesitating? Does she not wish to offer money? How detestable! I should go watch my sister's broadcast instead. After a few scrolls of the barrage, someone posted a video link. Curious, I clicked on it, discovering my sister's livestream. Similarly encountering a disabled woman who had lost her fare, the scene unfolded differently. Clad in well-tailored Western-style school attire, her cheeks rosy and radiant, my sister compassionately assisted the woman with a limp, offering her bulging wallet. Glancing at the screen, there were at least two or three thousand viewers, witnessing my sister's slightly teary-eyed expression, their hearts aching in sympathy. My sister is so kind-hearted, beautiful in both appearance and soul, and I heard her academic achievements surpass those of her classmates. Elder sister, on the other hand, doesn't seem like a diligent student, likely ranking at the bottom. Waves of comments flooded my sister's stream, overwhelming the viewers. I noticed my sister avoiding the camera, discreetly glancing at her school bag, from which a faint, characteristic glow emitted from her phone. Upon realizing the overwhelming support from the audience, a smug smile played upon her lips, her eyes twinkling with satisfaction. Indeed, this experiment was inherently biased, and my sister, aware of all the circumstances, undoubtedly acted in her own favor.