Chapter 2: The Whole Family Seeks Justice for Her

The two brothers treated it like a treasure.

“You take a bite, I take a bite.”

The food smelled delicious.

Soon, the bowl of coarse rice porridge was emptied.

The bowl was spotless.

As if a dog had licked it clean.

“That damned Chen Qiujun actually dared to protect that dead girl. If it weren’t for your mother’s loud mouth, scolding her until she slunk into the main room, the clan leader would’ve just handled it lightly. Look, the basket of eggs she owes us—thirty in total. Sell twenty at the town market, and keep the rest for our Fubao to restore her health.”

After a while, noise arose in the yard.

It turned out the Jiang family had returned.

Zhang Jinlan’s voice carried into the house.

Her tone was full of authority.

Her curse words were particularly fluent; anyone unfamiliar might think a local shrew was yelling in the street.

“You’re truly brave, mother; your daughter-in-law admires you. This time, we not only got thirty eggs as compensation but also half a tael of silver for medical expenses!” Sun Pingmei, the second uncle’s wife, fawned over her mother-in-law.

“Just now, Jiang Lingo tried to make a move, but one punch from me gave him a swollen eye. That coward won’t dare interfere again. A whole family of black-hearted, rotten people! Father and daughter are no different.

You brothers, protect Fubao from now on. If anyone dares to bully her again, fight back immediately! You only have one sister; you can’t let anything happen to her. Understand?”

Jiang Fubao climbed out of bed and looked through the window at the yard.

Her eldest uncle, Jiang Dahe, was lecturing her five cousins—Jin, Mu, Shui, Huo, and Tu.

He looked fierce.

If not for the patched, ragged clothes he wore, Jiang Fubao might have thought he was a bodyguard from a wealthy family.

His aura didn’t resemble a farmer at all.

Moreover, every member of the Jiang family, young or old, carried a hoe or a machete.

At worst, they held laundry mallets or rolling pins.

Her grandmother was the fiercest, holding a gleaming kitchen knife; the sunset reflected off the blade into Jiang Fubao’s eyes, leaving her stunned.

“The sky is darkening. Eldest uncle’s family, second uncle’s family, you two go to the kitchen to prepare dinner. No one’s eaten since morning; everyone must be starving. Make a separate bowl of steamed egg custard for Fubao.

Use two eggs, add some lard, sprinkle a little salt. Fubao loves it. Yan Zi, go check if Siyi is awake. The little guy cried himself almost unconscious.”

Her mother-in-law spoke.

The three daughters-in-law of the Jiang family dispersed.

The rest swarmed into Jiang Fubao’s room.

Instantly, countless eyes were on her.

Some gazed warmly.

Jiang Fubao knew it was care—
a manifestation of the family’s love for the original Fubao.

Soon after being held by her grandmother, a dark figure suddenly rushed in.

It moved incredibly fast, like a leopard.

“Fubao, my precious Fubao! If anything happened to you, how could your father live the rest of his life?”

It was Jiang Siyi—her real father.

He held Jiang Fubao, crying with snot and tears.

Seeing him, the Jiang family scattered as if seeing a ghost.

The room was left with just the father and daughter.

Jiang Fubao was puzzled.

But she quickly got drawn in by her “temporary dad’s” appearance.

He was stunningly handsome!

A high nose bridge, slightly upturned phoenix eyes, tears sliding down his chiseled face while crying—she couldn’t look away.

Even in gray, rough cloth, his elegance was undeniable.

He could be a fallen noble, and she’d believe it.

Yet memories didn’t lie: the original Fubao’s father was an ordinary farmer.

No special background, not a lost prince.

Jiang Siyi resembled Grandfather Jiang Shoujia exactly—just younger.

Her eldest and second uncles resembled Grandmother Zhang Jinlan more.

Jiang Fubao, mesmerized by her father’s handsome face, soon grew numb after two quarters of an hour.

No.

Her father cried too much!

Almost half an hour and still going.

How many tears can one man shed?

Was he a reincarnation of Lady Meng Jiang?

Her clothes were soaked by his tears, but at three, she couldn’t offer mature comfort.

She just let him cry.

Only after her real mother rescued her from the mess did Jiang Fubao breathe a sigh of relief.

“Enough, don’t scare your daughter. Her body hasn’t fully recovered yet. If she gets a fever from fright, that’s it. I’ve called everyone to eat—go to the main room. I’ll feed Fubao the egg custard; don’t linger here.”

Zhang Yanzi looked at her tearful husband, helpless.

He was perfect in every way—except he cried constantly.

Once he started, it never ended.

“Okay, got it,” his wife said. Jiang Siyi had no choice but to listen. He wiped his tears with his sleeve and left, turning his head five times as if he’d never see his daughter again.

Zhang Yanzi glared at him.

Then she smiled warmly at Jiang Fubao while feeding her.

The egg custard smelled heavenly, the surface glistening with oil.

She scooped a spoonful, blew on it, and said, “Open wide, ah—”

Jiang Fubao felt a little embarrassed being treated like a child.

But the aroma made her stomach growl.

She opened her mouth.

The custard’s smooth texture melted on her tongue; before she could chew much, it went down her throat.

Delicious—so fragrant.

Farm eggs mixed with lard, sprinkled with salt—it was utterly divine, completely unlike supermarket eggs.

Heaven and earth apart.

Jiang Fubao squinted in bliss.

“Good, right? This whole bowl is yours. Open wide.”

Seeing her enjoy it, Zhang Yanzi smiled even more warmly.

Spoonful after spoonful, the small bowl was quickly finished.

Jiang Fubao burped.

She had overestimated her stomach.

At three, her appetite couldn’t match the original Fubao’s.

Satisfied and full, she lay down again and fell asleep.

She woke before dawn.

It must have been midnight—the outside was exceptionally quiet.

No clocks, no phones, no way to tell the time. Jiang Fubao just stared at the cobweb-covered beams.

Two more were in the bed: the lucky two brothers.

The three siblings slept in one room—crowded.

Suddenly, Jiang Fubao seemed to remember something. She jumped up and began checking her body.

Looking for jade bracelets, necklaces, rings, or any space for items.

After all, time-traveling protagonists often had a “golden finger.”

She didn’t know if she had one.

A minute later, she was greatly disappointed.

Apart from the patched clothing, she had nothing.

Everything screamed poverty.