Chapter 1

A biting cold wind howled as the sky loomed dark and heavy.

At the foot of Qingyun Mountain stood a mud-brick house nestled against the slope. On a bed cobbled together from wooden planks, a frail young woman curled up under the covers.

“…So cold!” In her sleep, Xu Jiaojiao shivered and drew the quilt tighter around her body.

It was supposed to be summer—why was it so cold?

Half-awake, she turned over and caught a faint musty smell at the tip of her nose.

Musty?

Xu Jiaojiao abruptly opened her eyes, startled to find herself in an unfamiliar room.

The lighting was dim, and the furnishings were sparse. The walls were papered with old newspaper, yellowed and peeling at the edges.

Such a retro-style room—she’d only seen this kind of setting in period dramas.

“Ah!” Before she could recover from the confusion, a sharp, splitting pain shot through her head, as if her skull had been cracked open. A flood of memories surged into her mind.

After a long while, the pain subsided, and Xu Jiaojiao had finished digesting the foreign memories.

Without warning, she had pulled an all-nighter—and somehow transmigrated into a novel. Even worse, she had become a minor character in a rebirth-era story—a sickly young aunt who died early and was mentioned only twice.

“…”

The quilt wrapped around her was thick, but offered no warmth at all. Her teeth chattered from the cold.

Xu Jiaojiao sat up bitterly, shivering as she reached for a thick, gray cotton-padded jacket by her side.

Creak—
The door groaned with a deep, rustic sound as she pushed it open.

Stepping outside, she took one glance at the messy courtyard before looking up at the ominous, overcast sky.

Judging by the look of it, snow was coming soon.

In the novel, the original Xu Jiaojiao had frozen to death on a snowy night—likely tonight.

Xu Jiaojiao walked toward the washstand outside the kitchen.

It was an old, decaying wooden frame. In the middle sat a washbasin with red patterns and the character “喜” (happiness) on it. At the top of the frame, a small mirror was affixed.

She stood before the mirror, looking at the sickly yet delicately beautiful woman staring back with messy hair.

This Xu Jiaojiao was younger, prettier, and much more fragile than her. No wonder she froze to death—she was weak to the extreme!

Gurgle—

Her stomach growled with hunger. Xu Jiaojiao rubbed her belly and turned toward the kitchen.

In front of the clay stove, a small shadow darted.

Startled, she looked closer and saw a scrawny little boy dressed in tattered black clothing, as thin as a radish sprout.

He was barefoot, squatting among the firewood near the stove, clutching a charred, half-raw sweet potato with a terrified look in his eyes.

“…”
The boy shrank back further, clearly trying to hide inside the firewood pile.

In rural southern kitchens during the 1980s, there was a chimney by the stove meant for drying firewood. Beneath it was a hollow space for storing firewood—big enough to fit a small, malnourished toddler.

“…Come out, it’s dirty in there,” Xu Jiaojiao said, throat tight with emotion.

Qin Jiashu shrank back fearfully, still gripping the sweet potato tightly.

“Grandpa gave it to me,” he muttered in a timid tone.

Though he spoke softly, Xu Jiaojiao heard him clearly.

The “Grandpa” he spoke of must be his maternal grandfather—her husband Qin Zhengye’s father.

“I know he gave it to you. I won’t take it. Just come out first,” she coaxed, beckoning him with a nod.

Still, Qin Jiashu remained hidden and wary.

He remembered the last time his little aunt had coaxed him like this. Once he came out, she had smacked his bottom and pinched his ears.

He didn’t want to be hit—it really hurt!

Xu Jiaojiao sighed at his fearful expression.

The original Xu Jiaojiao hadn’t been a good person. Since marrying Qin Zhengye and living separately, she had often bullied little Qin Jiashu, the child left in her care.

Qin Zhengye was a soldier. During his leave over the Mid-Autumn Festival, he had hastily married Xu Jiaojiao in hopes that she could help raise his nephew.

Qin Jiashu’s birth mother, Qin Zhengye’s elder sister Qin Zhengli, had married a down-south educated youth a few years ago. But shortly after the wedding, the youth returned to the city during the mass recall. He packed up and left, abandoning her while she was heavily pregnant.

Qin Zhengli had tried to stop him, but was cruelly pushed aside. She fell during the chase, suffered a premature delivery, and died from massive blood loss.

Thus, Qin Jiashu was born fatherless and motherless. His only remaining relative was a grandfather who had remarried two decades ago and now had a new wife—a fierce step-grandmother.

Thankfully, he still had an uncle in the military—Qin Zhengye. After learning of his sister’s death, he arranged to send fifty yuan a month to help support the child.

Qin Zhengye’s stepmother, Zhao Guixiang, only agreed to care for the child for the sake of the money.

But “care” was a generous word—she merely made sure he didn’t starve or die.

During his Mid-Autumn leave, Qin Zhengye returned home to find his two-and-a-half-year-old nephew living like a wild child—sleeping next to the pigsty and eating worse than pigs.

Furious, he decided to marry someone who could help look after the child.

As the only soldier in the village, Qin Zhengye was upright, tall, and attractive—many families were eager to introduce their daughters.

Xu Jiaojiao was pretty and educated but chronically ill. With her frail health and picky standards, she had remained unmarried since graduating high school. No one in the village dared to marry her—who could afford a walking medicine jar?

Qin Zhengye was about to return to his unit and still hadn’t found a suitable bride. Both parties were in a hurry. After a brief meeting, they were taken with each other’s looks and got married on the third day.

In the countryside, a wedding banquet counted as a legal marriage. Qin Zhengye promised to file the official report upon returning to the army.

Xu Jiaojiao had married joyfully, dreaming of a happy future. But before their wedding night even ended, Qin Zhengye received a telegram from his unit. He left behind 500 yuan and some ration tickets, then rushed back.

Xu Jiaojiao had been pampered since childhood. Her father, Master Xu, was the only funeral robe tailor for miles—a superstitious trade, but a steady one that could afford her medicine.

She had fallen for Qin Zhengye at first sight. But right after the wedding banquet, before they even spent the wedding night together, she was forced by his fierce stepmother Zhao Guixiang to split off and move into a dilapidated former sent-down youth’s house at the foot of Qingyun Mountain.

Sickly and inexperienced, Xu Jiaojiao had never cooked, cleaned, or cared for a child. She quickly fell ill from stress, faced with a silent, underfed toddler like Qin Jiashu.

Qin Zhengye had hoped she could help raise the child—but she needed care herself. Worst of all, she took her frustrations out on the boy, hitting and scolding him until he became terrified of her.

Xu Jiaojiao sighed deeply, stood up straight, and walked to the stove. She opened the wall-mounted cupboard, pulling out the latch string.

She recalled that the original Xu Jiaojiao had bought a bag of walnut crisps from the supply store in town a few days ago.

Sure enough, they were still there.

Starving, Xu Jiaojiao tore the bag open and stuffed one into her mouth.

The air was cold, but the walnut crisps were deliciously crunchy and fragrant.

“Do you want some?” she asked Qin Jiashu, who was still squatting beneath the chimney.

He was frantically gnawing on his half-raw sweet potato, face smeared with soot.

Gulp—Clearly starving, Qin Jiashu looked longingly at the walnut crisps but quickly shook his head.

Xu Jiaojiao could only sigh. She placed a few pieces into a bowl and set it by the stove before turning and walking out of the kitchen.

The original Xu Jiaojiao had known nothing. After moving into the Zhiqing Compound, she used money and tickets to buy clothes, shoes, watches—extravagant, impractical items.

Her luxury spree lasted barely half a month before she started freeloading meals from her family, completely neglecting Qin Jiashu.

Had her sister-in-law not objected, she might’ve moved back home altogether. As a result, the place was a mess, with weeds growing wildly in the yard.

Outside, the cold wind howled. Xu Jiaojiao instinctively tightened her coat and walked toward the nearest household in the village.

Knock knock knock—

She knocked on the door and smiled when a middle-aged woman opened it. “Aunt Ju Hua, I’m about to cook but I’ve run out of firewood. Do you have any to spare? I’ll pay for a few bundles if you do.”

In the countryside, every household had strong laborers and no shortage of firewood.

No one ever asked to buy firewood—this might be a first.

But Xu Jiaojiao had no choice. With the misty weather, even if she chopped wood herself, wet firewood would be hard to light.

Aunt Ju Hua blinked in surprise. “Firewood? No need to pay. Dazhuang! Go help carry a bundle over to Zhengye’s wife.”

She called to her eldest son, who was doing carpentry work in the hall.

“Alright,” Qin Dazhuang said, clapping the sawdust from his hands. He casually picked up a large bundle of firewood from the yard.

“Here’s some money,” Xu Jiaojiao said, quickly handing fifty cents to Aunt Ju Hua.

“Oh no, no! That’s too much!” the woman exclaimed in alarm.

If she had given five or ten cents, maybe. But fifty cents? That was enough to buy three jin of salt!

“I insist—how can I take your firewood for free?” Xu Jiaojiao firmly stuffed the money into her hand.

Aunt Ju Hua hesitated, but in the end, accepted it.

Feeling a bit moved, she smiled. “Then I’ll have Dazhuang and his brother each bring you a bundle.”

She called over her second son, a boy about fifteen or sixteen.

“Dazhuang, Daqiang, you two carry a load of firewood to her house.”

Aunt Ju Hua’s family had plenty of strong young men. After the autumn harvest, they’d spent days chopping wood on the mountain—their yard was overflowing with it, enough to last until spring.

After all, firewood was free on the mountain. Once it ran out, they could just cut more when the weather cleared.