Marcus woke to the sound of voices—his father and Bao leaving for the fields, Mei following behind after a moment. The sun was high, streaming through the gaps in the walls. He'd slept through most of the morning.
His body ached everywhere. Muscles he hadn't known existed announced themselves through sharp protests when he tried to move. His legs felt like they'd been beaten with sticks. The exhaustion from the previous night hadn't fully lifted, leaving him foggy and slow.
But he was alive, and he hadn't been caught by his father.
Marcus sat up carefully, rubbing his eyes. The house was quiet now, empty except for—
"You're awake."
His mother sat near the hearth, mending one of Bao's shirts. She didn't look up from her work, her needle moving with practiced efficiency through the rough fabric.
Marcus's stomach tightened. He'd been so exhausted this morning that he'd barely registered the significance of her reaction. She'd caught him red-handed with his father's hunting gear, clearly having been out all night. Now, in the light of day, the consequences would come.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, the words automatic. "I shouldn't have taken Father's things without permission. I shouldn't have gone out while still recovering. I—"
"Where did you go?" Lin Shu interrupted, still not looking at him. Her voice was calm, neutral, giving nothing away.
"The ravine trail. Near the collapsed deadfall by the stream crossing."
"Hunting?"
"Yes."
"Catch anything?"
"No."
She nodded slowly, as if this confirmed something she'd already suspected. Her needle continued its steady work. "Your father used to go to that spot when he was young. Before his back injury. He said the pigs came to drink there at night."
Marcus said nothing, unsure where this was leading.
"He stopped hunting fifteen years ago," his mother continued. "After he fell from a tree stand and broke three ribs. Could have been worse—could have died up there alone, and no one would have found him until it was too late." She finally looked up, meeting his eyes. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Liang?"
"That hunting is dangerous."
"That hunting alone is dangerous. Especially at night. Especially when you're weak from illness and have barely eaten in days." Her expression was stern, but there was something else beneath it—not anger, but concern. Fear, maybe. "You could have fallen. Could have gotten lost. Could have run into something bigger than you could handle with just a spear."
"I know," Marcus said, and he did. The fear he'd felt in the darkness had been real enough. "But I had to try. I had to do something."
Lin Shu set down her mending and studied him for a long moment. Her weathered face was difficult to read, but her eyes held a strange understanding.
"You feel useless," she said finally. It wasn't a question.
Marcus nodded. "Everyone else is working. Father and Bao in the fields, you and Mei with the weeding and washing and cooking. And I just sit there, eating food I didn't help grow, taking up space, being one more mouth to feed when we don't have enough as it is."
"You were sick. You still are recovering."
"But I'm not bedridden anymore. I can move, I can think, I should be able to contribute something." The frustration bled into his voice despite his attempt to control it. "Winter is coming. The harvest was poor. We need more food, and I can't farm but I thought maybe I could hunt, maybe I could bring back meat—"
He cut himself off, realizing he was saying too much, revealing too much of his desperation.
His mother was quiet for a moment. Then she sighed, a long, weary sound.
"Your father was the same way," she said softly. "When we first married, he couldn't stand being idle. Had to be doing something, proving something. Took foolish risks because sitting still felt like dying." She picked up her mending again, but her movements were slower now, more thoughtful. "Men are often like that. Need to feel strong, capable. Need to be providing."
Marcus wanted to argue that this wasn't about masculine pride or proving anything. It was about survival, about the cold logic that more food meant better odds of making it through winter. But he recognized that his mother was offering him an explanation, a framework for understanding his behavior that made sense within the context of this world.
And maybe she wasn't entirely wrong. Maybe some of this was about needing to feel capable, to not be completely helpless in his new life.
"I'm not going to tell your father," Lin Shu said suddenly.
Marcus's head snapped up. "What?"
"About you taking his hunting gear. About you going out last night." She met his eyes, her expression serious. "He would be angry—not just angry, furious. He'd forbid you from leaving the house, probably assign Mei to watch you every moment. He'd see it as disrespect, as stupidity, as you throwing away the second chance you were given after your fever broke."
"But you won't tell him?"
"No." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "I understand why you did it. I don't agree with it—it was reckless and dangerous and you could have died out there. But I understand the need behind it. The feeling that you have to do something, contribute something, or you'll go mad just sitting and watching."
Marcus felt something loosen in his chest. He hadn't realized how much he'd been dreading this conversation, expecting punishment and prohibition.
"However," his mother continued, her voice taking on a firmer edge, "if you're going to do this—and I can see in your eyes that you're planning to try again—then you're going to do it properly."
"Properly?"
"No more sneaking out in the middle of the night while everyone sleeps. No more taking your father's gear without asking." She stood, walking over to the corner where Chen Wei kept his hunting equipment. "This spear—you saw the bindings on the head? They're worn. Another hard strike and the head might come loose. You want to be facing down an angry pig when that happens?"
Marcus shook his head.
"And you went out with no food in your belly, no water, nothing to keep you warm." Lin Shu pulled out the old pack, examining it. "Foolish. You were planning to fail before you even started."
She turned back to him, and there was steel in her eyes now. "If you're going to hunt, you prepare properly. You make sure your equipment is sound. You bring supplies. You plan for things going wrong, not just for things going right."
"I did plan—"
"You planned a perfect hunt in your head," his mother interrupted. "That's not the same as planning for reality. Reality is messier, harder, colder than anything you imagine while sitting safe at home."
Marcus had learned that lesson well enough last night. He nodded.
Lin Shu seemed satisfied. She pulled out a small cloth bundle from her own storage area—Marcus hadn't even known it was there—and unwrapped it to reveal a few strips of dried meat, carefully preserved. They looked ancient, tough as leather.
"From two winters ago," she explained. "I've been saving them. For emergencies." She held them out to him. "Take these. Not to eat now—for when you go out again. Energy when you need it."
Marcus stared at the dried meat, understanding the weight of what she was offering. Food saved for emergencies, given to him for what might amount to nothing more than a fool's errand.
"Mother, I can't—"
"You can and you will." She pressed the bundle into his hands. "And you'll take the waterskin too, filled from the stream. And you'll wrap yourself properly against the cold, not go out in just your thin day clothes like some idiot who wants to freeze to death."
She moved around the room as she spoke, gathering items. A better cord for securing the spear head. A piece of oiled cloth that could serve as a rain cover. A small fire-starting kit—flint and steel and dry tinder.
"You'll also scout during the day," she continued. "Go to that ravine in the light, see how things have changed. Don't just trust memory from a year ago. Memory lies, especially about details."
Marcus felt oddly overwhelmed. He'd expected anger, punishment, prohibition. Instead, his mother was... helping him. Teaching him. Preparing him to do the very thing she'd called reckless and dangerous.
"Why?" he asked quietly.
Lin Shu stopped her gathering and looked at him. For a moment, the stern mask slipped, and he saw the exhaustion beneath. The worry. The fear of a mother who'd nearly lost a son to fever and might lose him to foolishness instead.
"Because you're going to do it anyway," she said simply. "Whether I forbid you or not, whether your father beats you or not, I can see it in you. This need. This drive. So if you're going to be stubborn and reckless, at least be prepared while you're doing it."
She crossed to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Her grip was firm, calloused, strong from years of labor.
"But you have to promise me something, Liang."
"Anything."
"You stay safe. You don't take stupid risks. If something feels wrong, you come home." Her eyes were fierce now, holding his with an intensity that was almost frightening. "Meat isn't worth your life. Proving yourself isn't worth your life. If you die out there because you were too proud or too stubborn to turn back, I will never forgive you. Do you understand?"
The words hit harder than any anger could have. Marcus swallowed and nodded.
"I understand."
"Say it."
"I'll stay safe. I won't take stupid risks. If something feels wrong, I'll come home."
Lin Shu studied his face as if searching for any hint of deception, then finally nodded. "Good."
She released his shoulder and returned to her mending, settling back into her spot by the hearth. The conversation was apparently over, the matter settled.
Marcus sat there holding the bundle of dried meat and the collected supplies, trying to process what had just happened.
"When you go out again," his mother said without looking up from her work, "it will be during the day. Start with scouting, like I said. Learn the area properly. And you rest today—sleep more, eat what we have. You're no good to anyone if you collapse from exhaustion."
"Yes, Mother."
"And Liang?"
"Yes?"
She finally glanced up, a slight smile touching the corners of her worn face. "Your father was a good hunter, when he was young. If you're going to use his old gear, do it properly. Make him proud, even if he never knows about it."
Marcus felt something catch in his throat. He managed another nod.
Lin Shu returned to her mending, and the house fell into comfortable silence. Outside, the sounds of village life continued—children playing, someone chopping wood, the distant lowing of an ox.
Marcus looked down at the supplies in his hands. Dried meat. Water skin. Fire-starting kit. His mother's quiet blessing to do something dangerous, coupled with stern instructions to do it right.
He thought about his next attempt. About scouting the ravine in daylight, verifying conditions, updating his mental maps with current information. About preparing properly, accounting for variables he'd missed the first time.
About the gap between simulation and reality, and how to bridge it through careful observation and adaptation.
His mind was already spinning up plans, calculations, improvements. But for now, his mother was right—he needed to rest. Needed to let his body recover. Rushing back out while still exhausted would just guarantee another failure.
Patience. Preparation. Proper planning.
Next time would be different.
Marcus carefully stored the supplies near his sleeping mat, where he could access them easily but they wouldn't be immediately visible to his father or siblings. Then he lay back down, letting his aching body relax.
Sleep came easier this time, with sunlight warming the house and the sound of his mother's needle providing a steady rhythm in the background.
And for the first time since waking in this world, Marcus felt something that might have been hope.
Not confidence—he'd learned that lesson well enough. But hope that with proper preparation, with careful observation, with his mother's surprising support, he might actually be able to do this.
Might be able to contribute. To help. To survive.
One careful step at a time.