When the sun had fully set and the first cool evening breeze drifted through the cracked window, Wei Lian sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her sleeping daughters. Their long teenage limbs were tangled awkwardly, their breathing soft and steady.
Three-year-old souls inside grown bodies.
She brushed their hair softly, then stood up.
She needed money.
No matter how useful her daughters' abilities were, she could not depend on them for everything.
If they created vegetables too often…
If they supplied spices too frequently…
People would notice.
People would question.
People might get greedy.
And greed in a chaotic era always turned ugly.
"I won't let anyone hurt them," she whispered to herself.
She scanned the house again.
A mud bed.
A small kang platform.
Old baskets.
Rotten shelves.
Nothing valuable.
But maybe… maybe somewhere the original owner had hidden something.
She walked to the only cupboard in the house — a wooden box fixed to the wall. It was empty except for dust and a broken comb.
No luck.
Then she checked under the bed — nothing.
In the grain jars — nothing.
Finally, she stepped into the kitchen and stopped.
There was a small hole behind the stove, half-covered by cobwebs.
It was just big enough for a hand.
Her heart quickened.
She knelt, reached inside carefully, fingers brushing cold earth…
Then something hard.
Metal.
She grabbed it and pulled.
Her eyes widened—
Five silver taels.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Silver.
Enough to feed all four of them for months if used wisely.
A soft gasp escaped her lips.
"So the original owner… hid this here… and forgot."
Maybe she had meant to save it for emergencies.
Maybe she was too hungry, too tired, too hopeless to remember.
But heaven had shown mercy.
Wei Lian held the silver tight, her chest warm.
"With this… I can start something. I can build a future for my girls."
She wrapped the silver in cloth, hid it safely beneath her pillow, and stood up.
She needed to go to the town market tomorrow.
She needed ideas.
She needed a plan.
Her thoughts broke when she heard a voice calling from outside.
"Lian? Lian, are you inside?"
A woman's voice.
Warm.
Familiar.
Wei Lian opened the door.
There stood a woman in her early twenties, smile bright despite the hardships of the era. She wore a simple blue dress and carried a woven basket.
The moment Wei Lian saw her, memories rushed back—
Shen Yi.
Her only friend in this village.
When the original owner married into this place, Shen Yi was the first to greet her.
She used to pull her out of the house, help her adjust, defend her when others mocked her.
She never gossiped.
Never laughed at her misery.
A rare soul in a cruel world.
Shen Yi smiled wider when she saw her.
"Ah! You scared me. You didn't come out yesterday. I thought something happened, so I came to check."
Then she lifted the basket lightly.
"I brought you some chicken. With the war and fields destroyed, vegetables are impossible to grow. But non-veg… chickens and pigs… those we still have."
She handed over the basket.
Wei Lian's heart softened.
"You didn't need to—"
"I wanted to," Shen Yi interrupted gently. "I know life is hard for you."
Wei Lian invited her in, but Shen Yi shook her head.
"I still have chores. I'll come later. Oh—and I'm going to town tomorrow. If you want, come along?"
Perfect timing.
Wei Lian nodded immediately.
"Yes. I need to go."
"Good. I'll call you in the morning," Shen Yi said, smiling before turning to leave.
When Wei Lian closed the door and opened the basket, her breath hitched.
Inside were at least ten jin of chicken and five jin of pork.
More meat than she had seen in two lifetimes.
Her eyes grew warm.
Shen Yi had always helped the original owner.
Always looked after her when everyone else mocked or ignored her.
"Thank you…" she whispered to the empty room.
She carried the basket inside, set it carefully, then looked at the west room.
Now that her daughters were in grown bodies, they couldn't sleep piled on one bed every night.
They needed space.
Comfort.
She set to work immediately.
Two kang platforms stood in the west room — one broken, one dusty.
She dragged them together, aligning them side by side.
She laid the clean bedding on top, then took torn cloth pieces, needle, and thread.
Her fingers moved quickly, stitching the torn fabric, patching gaps, smoothing rough edges.
As she worked, her daughters slowly woke up.
First was Qingmei, who rubbed her eyes like a child and whispered, "Mama… why room big now?"
Then Xinyu, quiet and still, sat up and looked around with soft eyes.
Finally Xiaotang, hair messy, stumbled out of bed hugging her blanket.
"Mama… hungry? Play?"
Wei Lian laughed softly.
"You three can play in the yard. Mama is stitching new bedding."
The girls tumbled outside, their childish laughter filling the once-dead courtyard.
They played hide-and-seek—behind the well, under the tree, behind the woodpile.
Their long teenage legs tripped them constantly, but their giggles never stopped.
Watching them from the doorway, Wei Lian's heart felt full.
After finishing the bedding, she called them back.
"Come. Let's cook dinner."
She chose a small chicken, cut pieces neatly, and added vegetables grown earlier by her daughters.
She sprinkled a bit of salt from Xiaotang, a tiny drop of chili sauce, and cooked slowly over a gentle fire.
The smell filled the house.
Chicken stew.
Fragrant vegetable broth.
Warm rice.
Her daughters sat in a line, feet swinging, watching eagerly.
"Mama, smell good!" Xiaotang said, eyes round.
"It's chicken," Qingmei added, swallowing her saliva.
Xinyu simply waited quietly, eyes shining.
When the food was served, the girls ate heartily, warmth returning to their faces.
After dinner, Wei Lian heated water again.
"Come, bathe. It's still warm. Good for your health."
She washed each daughter carefully — scrubbed their hair, washed their faces, cleaned their arms and legs.
Her daughters complained, giggled, splashed, clung to her…
Like real toddlers.
Then she bathed herself.
Finally, she tucked them into their newly made bedding and hummed softly until they slept.
The house felt peaceful.
Alive.
She sat by the small oil lamp, silver hidden under her pillow.
Tomorrow… she would go to town.
Tomorrow… she would start building a future.
Holding her daughters close.
Protecting them with everything she had.
As her eyes slowly closed, she whispered:
"I will take good care of my girls. In this life… we will never starve again."
And she fell asleep, the flame flickering softly beside her.