The afternoon sun slanted gently toward the west, filling the small mud house with golden warmth. After checking the garden and washing up, Wei Lian stepped back into the kitchen to check her soap preparation.
The moment she lifted the clay lid of the big pot—
A soft, fresh herbal scent drifted out.
Not sharp.
Not overwhelming.
But thick—almost creamy.
Her eyes widened.
The boiled herbs had completely dissolved into a smooth jelly-like consistency.
Perfect.
"Just right," she whispered.
This was the base she had learned to make in her past life—only with modern equipment. Here, she had recreated it with nothing but patience and memory.
She took a wooden ladle and gently lifted some of the herbal jelly.
It slid back slowly, like thick honey.
Her lips curved upward.
She carefully scooped the entire mixture into three separate cooking pots, dividing it evenly.
The herbs that were left at the bottom—fibers, softened stems, and crushed leaves—were far too precious to waste.
In the future brand she worked for, they would dry these scraps and grind them into powder to make natural pesticides or fertilizer enhancers.
Here, she could do the same.
She gathered the leftover herb mash into a bamboo tray.
Then she went to the waste bin near the firepit where vegetable peels—eggplant skin, cucumber ends, carrot scraps—were collected from earlier cooking.
She mixed the herb mash with the vegetable peels, kneading them together with her hands until it formed a soft, earthy lump.
Her daughters peeked into the kitchen, curious.
"Mama, what is that?"
"Mama making mud ball?"
"Mama food?" Xiaotang asked, almost sticking her finger into it.
Wei Lian laughed softly and pushed their curious faces aside.
"No, this is not food. Mama is making medicine for the plants."
"Medi-sin?" Qingmei repeated, stumbling on the word.
"Yes," Wei Lian said patiently. "It will protect our vegetables. No bugs, no worms."
She carried the mixture outside into the backyard.
The rows of newly planted seeds were peaceful, tiny mounds waiting for life to burst.
She tore the herbal-vegetable paste into small pieces and buried them near the roots.
"These will keep away insects."
The girls nodded solemnly, though they didn't fully understand.
But their mother's confidence made them proud.
After returning to the kitchen, Wei Lian washed her hands thoroughly, then pulled out her stone pestle and mortar.
Time to prepare the flower pastes.
She placed the bright pink rose petals inside first.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The rhythmic sound filled the room.
Slowly, the petals softened and merged into a silky pink paste.
Roses for softness.
Roses for fragrance.
Roses for skin healing.
Next, she added lavender.
A gentle, calming scent floated up as she crushed the purple petals—
a scent she remembered well.
Lavender for relaxation.
Lavender for soothing skin.
Lavender for peace.
Finally, the hibiscus.
Deep red, almost like crimson wine, and naturally thick with mucilage that helped create creamy foam.
Hibiscus for cleansing.
Hibiscus for shine.
Hibiscus for strength.
One by one, she ground the petals until each became a smooth, fragrant paste.
Then she turned to her three cooking pots, already filled with the warm herb jelly:
Pot One — Rose.
Pot Two — Lavender.
Pot Three — Hibiscus.
She added the rose paste to the first pot and gently stirred.
The jelly slowly turned a soft blush pink.
Next, lavender into the second pot.
The mixture turned pale purple.
Finally, hibiscus into the third pot.
It deepened into a rich, ruby hue that sparkled beautifully.
All three pots simmered quietly on the stove.
A mix of floral fragrances filled the entire kitchen, drifting into the hallway and reaching even the yard.
Her daughters sniffed from the door, eyes wide.
"Mama, flower smell!"
"Mama cooking candy?"
"So good!"
Wei Lian smiled and nodded.
"These are soaps. It will take at least three hours of cooking. After cooling overnight, they will turn solid."
The girls cheered at the pretty colors and ran back to play.
Wei Lian wiped her hands and returned to the bedroom.
It was time to continue rebuilding their home.
In the west room, the two kang beds stood side by side.
She had already attached them together earlier, but now she needed to even out the surface.
The bedding, which she had dried in the sun, lay folded neatly on a stool.
She removed them and sat on the joined kang structure.
The surface felt uneven—one side slightly lower, one slightly higher.
She wanted her daughters to sleep comfortably.
Even if they were in big teenage bodies, they were just toddlers.
A dip in the bed could hurt their backs.
She took the pile of torn cloth pieces she had bought from the market.
They were mismatched in color and texture—some pale brown, others off-white, some striped, some old linen—but all still usable.
She threaded a needle and began stitching.
Stitch. Pull. Stitch. Pull.
The cloth pieces slowly joined into one large sheet.
Her fingers moved steadily.
Her posture was straight.
Her mind focused.
Once the sheet was long enough, she doubled it and stitched again, making a thick layer.
She spread it across the uneven section of the kang and checked the level.
Still uneven.
She folded the cloth again, reinforcing it with a thicker layer.
This time, when she pressed her palm onto it, the surface felt smooth.
Finally.
She secured the cloth with more stitching—strong, tight, durable stitches that wouldn't loosen easily.
When she was done, she sat back and admired her work.
Now the beds were the same height—
even, neat, ready for mattresses.
She smiled softly.
This home had been empty, cold, abandoned…
but piece by piece, she was filling it with warmth.
Next, she took the cotton she had purchased earlier—
fluffy, fresh, soft.
She set it aside for now.
Tomorrow, she would sew thick mattresses for all four of them.
For now, she simply smoothed the bedding and placed it back neatly.
Standing by the doorway, she looked around the room with quiet pride.
Everything was slowly becoming hers—
rebuilt by her hands, reshaped by her strength.
Outside, her daughters played in the yard, their laughter echoing under the afternoon sky.
In the kitchen, three pots of soap simmered steadily, filling the air with the scent of roses, lavender, and hibiscus.
In the backyard, tiny green sprouts were already beginning to peek from the soil.
The small mud house that once suffocated with despair now breathed with life.
Wei Lian stepped out of the room, the edges of her lips curved into a soft, content smile.
Tomorrow would be a new day.
And everything she built today was the foundation of their future.