Wearing their slightly worn-out shoes, Zhao Qingfeng and Zhao Xiaoling jumped for joy as if they had received the most precious treasure, while a wave of sorrow washed over Qian Chunhua’s heart.

Her storage space was packed with supplies of all kinds, yet she lacked something as basic as properly fitting clothes and shoes for these two children.

While helping them put on their shoes just now, she clearly felt how poorly they fit.

But for the sake of wearing what they believed were “new shoes,” the two kids had forced their little feet into them anyway.

Qian Chunhua made up her mind—no matter what, she had to find time today to go into town and buy them shoes that truly fit.

Relying on the original host’s memories, she walked to the wall by the head of the bed, crouched down, and carefully removed three slightly loose bricks.

From the gap behind them, she retrieved a wrapped bundle—this was the household’s entire savings: thirty taels of silver.

These silver taels were hard-earned by Zhao Yongcai, who spent years working as a bodyguard escort.

Through sweat and effort, he earned tips from generous employers, saving bit by bit—sometimes just a few copper coins at a time.

Every single tael was soaked with Zhao Yongcai’s deep love and devotion to his family.

Cradling the silver in her hands, Qian Chunhua let out a gentle sigh.

These thirty taels were only enough to support Zhao Qingyun’s studies for one more year.

She knew very well that she had to quickly find a way to earn a living—at the very least, to allow Qingyun to continue his education.

She carefully stored the silver in her space, then returned the bricks to their original position and silently left the room.

In the warm light of the kitchen, Zhao Xiaoling bustled about nimbly.

She had already fetched a bundle of firewood, ready to help her mother prepare breakfast.

Following the host’s memory, Qian Chunhua opened the cupboard.

Inside, four eggs, a bowl of millet, and a bowl of mixed cornmeal and bran were neatly arranged.

This was all they had for breakfast today—carefully managed by the old matriarch of the family, who kept it locked in her room.

Qian Chunhua was responsible for cooking the three daily meals in the Zhao household.

Since she didn’t need to work in the fields, the task of cooking naturally fell to her.

The original host had no complaints about this arrangement, but for Qian Chunhua, it was an exhausting burden.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t cook—she just disliked traditional methods.

Though food cooked over a wood fire was fragrant, the process itself—tending the flame, controlling the heat—was enough to give her a headache.

She could handle it occasionally, but to do it day in and day out was simply too much.

At this moment, she longed more than ever for the family to split.

Once they separated households, she would no longer need to cook for this large extended family—only her small branch of it.

Then she could eat whatever she wanted. And when she didn’t feel like cooking, her space was stocked with ready-made meals to keep hunger at bay.

“Ma, the water’s hot.” Zhao Xiaoling’s voice snapped Qian Chunhua out of her daze.

The child was watching her anxiously, concerned.

This morning, her mother had seemed a bit strange—since waking up, she’d been zoning out.

Now, she was holding an egg and staring blankly at the millet.

Shaken from her thoughts, Qian Chunhua quickly set to work rinsing the grains.

Meanwhile, Zhao Xiaoling fetched a stool, stood on it carefully, and began scooping hot water from the hanging pot into a wooden bucket.

Once it was half full, she lifted it with effort and carried it to her eldest brother’s room.

Zhao Qingyun had just woken up, and the hot water arrived just in time for his morning wash.

Watching the scene unfold, Qian Chunhua felt both heartache for her daughter and frustration at how spoiled her eldest son had become.

Such habits, once formed, were hard to break—especially now, when he was at the critical stage of trying to be adopted into another branch of the family.

She resolved to tackle this issue slowly and carefully.

That morning, she cooked a pot of millet porridge.

The rising steam carried a comforting aroma. Four eggs were steamed along with cornmeal-bran buns.

On the main hall’s dining table, a plate of pickled vegetables sat quietly.

The four eggs were divided evenly: Zhao Daqing and his wife each got one—as the heads of the household, they needed proper nourishment.

Zhao Yongqiang, the strong laborer of the family, also received one—his work in the fields demanded energy.

And Zhao Qingyun, as the family’s scholar, likewise received an egg—studying required mental clarity and nutrition.

But the distribution of the buns was more subtle.

There were ten buns for eleven people.

Zhao Daqing explained that the three youngest children had small appetites, so two buns were enough for them to share.

Those three were: Zhao Qingsong from the eldest branch, and Zhao Qingfeng and Zhao Xiaoling from the second.

Though the portions were tight, Zhao Qingsong always did his best to share equally with his younger siblings. His kindness left a good impression on Qian Chunhua.

Still, was it really necessary to divide food with such rigid hierarchy?

Qian Chunhua was unhappy with how the elder Zhao ran things.

She saw through his intention: asserting authority as the patriarch. But such displays were unnecessary.

The children were growing and needed proper nutrition. Uneven meals would only hinder their development.

These thoughts flashed through Qian Chunhua’s mind, but she quickly pushed them aside.

For now, she wasn’t planning to challenge the status quo—after all, in this unfamiliar world, she had to be careful not to reveal that she wasn’t the original person.

After breakfast, Zhao Xiaojun busied herself with the dishes—her assigned household chore from the matriarch.

Meanwhile, Zhao Qingsong, carrying a basket on his back, took Zhao Qingfeng and Zhao Xiaoling to the fields to gather pigweed.

In another corner, Zhao Qingyun picked up his book case and prepared to head to the county school with his uncle, Zhao Yongqiang.

Qian Chunhua watched all of this, and a thought struck her.

The school was more than ten li (5 km) away—not a long journey, but enough time for Zhao Yongqiang to instill his own ideas into Zhao Qingyun along the way.

She couldn’t allow that to happen again.

Quickly, she called out and hurried over, snatching the book case from Zhao Yongqiang’s hands. “Qingyun, I’ll take you to school today,” she said decisively.

Without waiting for a response, she grabbed his hand and walked straight out the door.

Zhao Yongqiang stood rooted to the spot, stunned, his eyes filled with disbelief.

Since when had this woman become so sharp—able to see through his little schemes?

Denied the opportunity to influence Qingyun, Zhao Yongqiang turned around and headed to his father’s room, already calculating how to push for dividing the family.

The road from Huanghualing to the county seat was an old official route.

Today the sky was clear and the walk was pleasant. But in rainy weather, it would be muddy and treacherous.

At the village entrance, an ox cart ferried people between town and countryside. The fare was cheap—just two copper coins to reach the county.

However, the Zhao family was notoriously frugal and always chose to walk.

Carrying the heavy book case, Qian Chunhua silently followed behind Zhao Qingyun.

As they walked, the air between mother and son grew increasingly quiet.

Finally, Qian Chunhua broke the silence: “Qingyun, are you tired?” she asked gently.

Zhao Qingyun shook his head slightly, his tone calm and detached. “I’m fine, Mother.”

Qian Chunhua couldn’t help but think of bullying incidents she’d heard about in modern schools.

Her heart tightened with worry. “Does anyone at school bully you?”

Zhao Qingyun glanced at her, surprised by the question.

He paused before shaking his head again, unwilling to say more.

Whether bullied or not, he didn’t think it mattered to tell.

Faced with his reticence, Qian Chunhua felt at a loss.

When they finally arrived at the entrance of the school, she let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Trying to force small talk was… exhausting.