“Old Su, Old Qiao, we’re here!”

Not long after dinner, Cai Qingwen and Zhou Meihua, along with Old Feng and his grandson Zi Lu, quietly made their way to the Qiao household under cover of night.

Su Huaiyuan and Su Ze were outside working on wood.

All the measurements had already been taken, and now it was just a matter of shaping the pieces as needed.

“Perfect timing.”

Su Huaiyuan quickly motioned for Cai Qingwen to come over.

With one more helping hand, the little carts for the grandsons could be finished even faster.

In fact, before Su Huaiyuan could say anything, Cai Qingwen had already run over and started working.

Old Feng had brought his kitchen knife again, no other tools.

But kitchen knives and hatchets could get the job done.

The four of them carved and chopped at the wood, while Qiao Jiuru invited Feng Zilu over to the campfire to warm up and roast sweet potatoes.

“Brother, brother, come!”

“Brother, sit!”

Dabao and Xiaobao were already very familiar with Brother Zilu.

As soon as they saw him, they waved enthusiastically and called out in their sweet, childish voices.

Feng Zilu beamed when he saw them and walked over quickly.

These days, with his grandfather’s health improved and food no longer scarce at home, he wasn’t as anxious, fearful, or helpless as before.

What’s more, he and Grandpa were now eating one egg a day, a bowl of brown sugar water, a meal with fine grains, and even cured meat.

Grandpa had secretly shown him the food they’d stashed away and told him they wouldn’t go hungry again.

He encouraged him to eat more.

By year’s end, they’d make a new, warm quilt and a set of padded clothes for him.

Feng Zilu had told his grandfather that as long as Grandpa stayed well, he didn’t need anything else.

Seeing a grandson like this broke Old Feng’s heart.

He swore he’d never let things get that bad again.

At the very least, he had to raise the boy and see him grow up.

“Old Zhou, Zilu, come warm up and eat something.”

As soon as Feng Zilu sat down, Qiao Jiuru stuffed a few biscuits into his hands.

“Thank you, Grandma Qiao.”

The boy, shy but very polite, thanked her.

Grandma Qiao had already fed him many times.

Sometimes it was an egg, sometimes a White Rabbit candy, sometimes biscuits, sometimes a bun—all precious treats.

Grandma Qiao was a good person.

He had only helped watch over Dabao and Xiaobao a bit, but Grandma Qiao treated him like her own grandson.

“Zilu, eat more.”

Qiao Jiuru knew the boy was especially sensible and worried he might be afraid to eat too much to save food.

“Grandma, my grandpa says the same thing. Don’t worry, we’re eating till we’re full now.”

Feng Zilu knew they meant well and quickly nodded to reassure her—he really was eating his fill every day now.

What a sweet, sensible child.

Qiao Jiuru couldn’t help but pat his little head.

A child without parents has no one to dote on them.

“Zilu, listen to your Grandma Qiao. She’s right. You’re still young—you don’t need to worry about food. The adults will take care of that.”

Zhou Meihua also felt sorry for the child.

They didn’t have much to offer, and opportunities to help were rare.

But things were better now.

With Qiao Jiuru’s connection to the production team, they were getting some behind-the-scenes support, and life had improved significantly.

Feng Zilu nodded, feeling even more at ease.

Meanwhile, Su Huaiyuan, Cai Qingwen, Su Ze, and Old Feng—skilled as they were—got all the woodwork done in just two hours thanks to their teamwork.

“Let’s put it together and take a look!”

Cai Qingwen was especially enthusiastic.

Not a single nail was used—everything relied on mortise and tenon joints.

The only regret was that they didn’t have wheels.

But he didn’t need to say much—everyone was eager to see the cart-bed come together.

In less than half an hour, a small bed was assembled.

It was essentially a frame with a row of wooden boards.

The wind wasn’t as strong anymore, so they didn’t even need a wind barrier.

Everyone crowded around the little cart-bed, examining it.

Dabao and Xiaobao were even put inside to test it out, squealing with excitement.

Su Ze even lifted Feng Zilu into the cart too—one big and two small kids, all laughing with joy.

But it was getting late, so Cai Qingwen and the others soon headed home.

After seeing them off, the Su family quickly settled in for the night.

“Take a look at this.”

“This is a letter from Uncle Song.”

Inside their hidden space, Qiao Jiuru handed the letter from Old Master Song to her husband, clearly in high spirits.

That evening, she’d cooked extra cured meat with potatoes and steamed a few extra eggs.

Su Ze and Zhou Wanwan were thrilled.

Dabao and Xiaobao had already had meat porridge earlier, so they didn’t eat any of the additional dishes.

Qiao Jiuru and Su Huaiyuan usually had their own meals inside the space morning and evening, so they didn’t compete for food with their son and daughter-in-law.

At first, Su Ze and Zhou Wanwan were worried because the elderly couple ate so little and kept urging them to eat more, but when they saw that Qiao Jiuru and Su Huaiyuan had more energy and stamina than them, they eventually relaxed.

“He got sent down?! Good, good, finally got what he deserved.”

Su Huaiyuan quickly read through the letter, exhaled deeply, and couldn’t help but cheer.

He felt thoroughly vindicated.

He never would have thought the person who reported him was someone he had gotten along with.

If only he had suffered alone, that would’ve been one thing. But his entire family had been dragged into it—he couldn’t forgive that.

“That place is no good. You do the hardest labor, eat the worst food, and the housing is even worse. If you didn’t bring enough clothes, blankets, money, ration tickets, or food, who knows if you’ll even survive.”

What’s more, Liu Mingliang had broken ties with his wife, sons, and daughters-in-law.

Whether they’d send him money or care packages regularly was uncertain.

Without family support, life there would be incredibly hard.

Even if you didn’t die, you might end up crippled.

In her past life, Qiao Jiuru had lived through it—despair, helplessness, no hope.

She believed that this time, it was Liu Mingliang’s turn to suffer.

“He deserves it.”

Su Huaiyuan felt no sympathy for such a person. If he had the ability, he should have competed fairly—not used such despicable tactics.

“And it wasn’t just him. That classmate of yours, too. Our whole family got dragged down partly thanks to him.”

Qiao Jiuru hadn’t forgotten—there was another who had reported both her and Su Huaiyuan.

Fang Jiahai.