Chapter 8

Ge Yun quickly put the buns she had hidden in her arms back into the pot without even taking a bite. She returned to Gu Zhenqi with a fawning smile and said cheerfully, “Zhenqi, don’t be angry. Sister-in-law was being petty—just ignore it, please. From now on, I’ll listen to you and follow your lead. I’ll go check if your big brother fetched the water. We can’t have you not being able to cook dinner just because there’s no water, right?”

With that, Ge Yun turned and ran out into the yard, shouting toward the gate, “Chen Guo, have you fetched the water yet? Chen Guo…”

Gu Zhenqi didn’t take Ge Yun’s interruption to heart. She had said what needed to be said. Since coming back to life, she genuinely wanted to help the Chen family—not because they owed her anything, but simply because they had never done anything to truly hurt her.

In the end, they didn’t owe her; she only owed the two children. Her willingness to help was her own decision. But if the Chen family were hopeless cases, there was no point in forcing anything.

Everyone walks their own path and lives their own way.

Gu Zhenqi calmly tidied up the kitchen, organizing the cookware. And with that, her short midday break ended.

She saw off Wang Guiying, Chen Guo, Ge Yun, Chen Qiang, and Fan Chun as they headed to the fields to work. It was the peak of summer, and the sun blazed overhead. They were drenched in sweat after only a few steps.

Before they left, Gu Zhenqi gave each of them a slice of chilled watermelon to cool down.

It was only the second time in her life that Ge Yun had eaten something so luxurious. She hadn’t had enough, and after licking her lips, she smiled and asked, “Zhenqi, where’d you get that? It’s so good! I don’t feel as hot anymore—actually feel a bit cool.”

“My second brother brought it to me today. It was really hard for him to get, and he only got one. There’s no more.”

In truth, Gu Zhenqi had an entire warehouse of watermelons stored in her space—thousands of them growing in her secret land. But adults aren’t like children. Ge Yun would keep asking questions endlessly if she knew. Zhenqi didn’t dare bring any more out.

That space was her biggest source of confidence in raising her kids. She’d rather they live on stored grains and corn porridge every day than risk exposing it.

When Wang Guiying heard that the watermelon was something precious from Gu Zhenqi’s maiden family and realized she had eaten it, she felt ashamed and quickly ushered the others to the fields.

Now it was just Gu Zhenqi and her two children at home. She hurried into the room to check on them.

Ruiduo and Fei’an were sound asleep. Kids toss and turn while sleeping. Though they’d fallen asleep side by side, there was now a big gap between them.

It worked out perfectly for Gu Zhenqi. She took off her shoes, climbed onto the kang bed, and lay down between them.

Almost as if they sensed their mother, Ruiduo and Fei’an rolled over at the same time in their sleep, snuggling into her arms with perfect aim.

Smiles spread across their tiny faces, and their little heads gently nuzzled her.

Gu Zhenqi’s heart melted. She felt like her whole gray, chaotic, and messy world was suddenly lit up—colorful and full of innocence.

Lowering her head, she kissed their small foreheads softly and whispered, “Mama loves you.”

This was the first time in two lifetimes that Gu Zhenqi had said those words to anyone. And she was truly happy that her first “I love you” was for her children. At the same time, she felt deeply guilty—it had come a lifetime too late.

From now on, she would say it often, keep it on her lips, and make sure Ruiduo and Feian always felt her love.

With her heart at ease, she quickly fell into a deep sleep. When she awoke again, the first thing she saw were the two little faces she loved most staring sweetly at her.

Gu Zhenqi reached out, pulled them into her arms, and gently stroked the backs of their heads. “Ruiduo baby, Feian darling, Mama loves you.”

Children are very direct with their emotions. Ruiduo and Feian each gave her a loud kiss on the cheek with a “mwah!”

They were too young to understand what love meant. But from their mother’s gentle tone, they could tell it was something very good—like how they felt about her.

There was no air conditioner or fan in the room. Though the windows were open, only hot air blew in. Holding the two of them felt like hugging two little furnaces. Within a minute, Gu Zhenqi’s floral shirt was soaked through with sweat.

Worried that prolonged cuddling would cause them to develop heat rash, she reluctantly let go and sat up. She fetched two sets of children’s clothes from her space and changed them out of their damp ones.

Wearing a floral dress, Ruiduo twirled around barefoot on the kang bed, laughing like silver bells.

“Mama, brother, look! Look! Ruiduo is flying! Just like a butterfly, flying so high!”

“You’re amazing, little sister!” Feian cheered.

“Our Ruiduo isn’t just a butterfly—she’s a little fairy angel!”

After spinning a few more times, Ruiduo got a little dizzy and stumbled into Gu Zhenqi’s arms. Zhenqi held her lovingly and gently massaged her temples.

When the dizziness passed, Gu Zhenqi took out half a room-temperature, seedless watermelon from her space and used a spoon to feed the two kids.

The sweet juice overflowed with every bite. Ruiduo and Fei’an had never tasted anything so delicious. Maybe it was because they were twins, but they moved in perfect sync. With big curious eyes, they turned to Gu Zhenqi and asked in unison, “Mama! So yummy! What is it?”

The watermelon wasn’t even fully chewed in their mouths yet, but their curiosity pushed them to ask eagerly.

“It’s called watermelon. It’s a kind of fruit. It helps you cool down in summer. Mama will give it to you every day, but you can’t eat too much at once. Your little tummies won’t handle it well!”

Though they wanted more, after a few spoonfuls, when Gu Zhenqi stopped feeding them, they obediently said nothing and didn’t ask for more.

Their maturity beyond their years made Gu Zhenqi’s heart ache. She would rather they behaved like typical toddlers—throwing tantrums, crying for more food, being clingy.

If they did, maybe she wouldn’t feel so guilty. Maybe she wouldn’t feel like she’d failed so badly in her previous life.

Maybe the love she never gave wouldn’t feel like such a regret. And the life she hadn’t lived wouldn’t feel like such a loss.

As a reward for being so good, Gu Zhenqi gave each of them a cartoon-shaped chocolate lollipop. She unwrapped them and popped them into their little mouths.

“This sweet chocolate—eat it while we write a letter to Daddy, okay?”

Hearing the word “Daddy,” Ruiduo and Feian frowned in unison.

“Mama, we don’t want Daddy. We like Mama. We don’t know Daddy.”

“We’ve never seen Daddy. Will he come back?”

“Of course he will,” Gu Zhenqi said. “Your Daddy is very brave. He’s protecting the country so we can live safely. I promise you—he loves you just like Mama does. If we write him a letter, he can read it whenever he misses us.”

The two little ones fell into deep thought. Their brows furrowed tightly, as if faced with a great mystery.

About two minutes later, Ruiduo finally agreed: “Okay, Mama… but I don’t know how to write!”

“Me neither!” Feian added. His logic was simpler—if he didn’t know how to write, that meant he didn’t have to.

Gu Zhenqi pulled out letter paper and a blue ink pen from her space, set up a low table on the bed, and neatly spread out the paper.

“Mama will write. You two just say what you want to tell Daddy. Think carefully now!”

Pen in hand, Gu Zhenqi hesitated. She honestly didn’t know where to start.

Aside from the three days after their wedding—where their communication was physical—she and Chen Kuo had barely interacted. They were practically strangers.

Still, someone had to take the first step. For the children, she would take it.

From what she remembered, Chen Kuo was a tall, quiet man with sharp features. The type to act more than speak. If she waited for him to write first—well, he hadn’t in her last life, and probably wouldn’t in this one either. She wasn’t even sure there would be a next one.

No point worrying about the unknown. She needed to live this life well.

With that thought, Gu Zhenqi finally put her pen to paper and wrote the first word.