“Yongcai’s wife, come out and eat.”

The voice of Zhao Mother (the matriarch, Zhao Wang) called from outside the door, hoarse with sorrow, breaking Qian Chunhua’s thoughts.

The wooden door creaked softly, letting in a sliver of light from outside.

Qian Chunhua didn’t need to get up to recognize the voice—it belonged to the original body’s mother-in-law.

“Are you feeling any better? Come on, the food is ready,” Zhao Mother said, her voice filled with concern, her eyes revealing deep worry for her daughter-in-law.

Now that the family’s breadwinner had suddenly passed away, how was the second household supposed to carry on?

“…Yes, I’ll get up now,” Qian Chunhua answered softly.

Once Zhao Mother had roused her, she turned and left the room.

Watching her mother-in-law’s retreating figure, Qian Chunhua knew in her heart: the grief of losing a son weighed just as heavily on the two elders as it did on the original owner of this body.

In the original memories, the Zhao family, though not wealthy, lived in harmony.

The brothers rarely quarreled—something rare in the village.

This kind of peaceful family atmosphere was incredibly precious to Qian Chunhua.

Before her transmigration, she had been an only child.

Both parents were soldiers, and their busy lives had left them little time for her.

She grew up in loneliness.

When she reached adulthood, both parents passed away early, leaving her to wander this world alone.

She had long tasted solitude and understood its bitterness deeply.

But now, she had a family—and three adorable children who clung to her knees.

Though the Zhao family was poor, the warmth and harmony within were the most valuable treasures of all.

She silently rejoiced that she had brought her storage space, full of supplies.

Someday, she would secretly draw from it to improve the family’s life bit by bit.

However, as she was putting on her shoes, a sudden doubt crept into her mind.

Her late husband had worked as a guard escort for ten years, earning about 70 taels of silver annually—surely that should’ve amounted to at least 700 taels.

Even if a portion had been spent, there should be 500 taels left.

So why was the family still living in such poverty?

With this question in mind, Qian Chunhua finished putting on her shoes, took a deep breath, and opened the door—ready to face her new family, hoping she wouldn’t slip up.

Entering the main hall, she saw seven people already seated at the table.

Dinner was nearly over—it was clear no one had waited for her.

A flicker of displeasure rose in her heart.

After all, she had come out as soon as Zhao Mother had called—she hadn’t dawdled.

Still, Qian Chunhua didn’t show much emotion and quietly took her seat.

Around the large dining table were now eight people.

Zhao Father and Zhao Mother sat at the head, the eldest son Zhao Yongqiang and his wife Li Cuihong sat to the left, while Qian Chunhua and Zhao Xiaojun sat to the right.

At the lower end sat the eldest sons of both family branches: Zhao Qingshui and Zhao Qingyun.

If the third son Zhao Yongwen were home, this spot would’ve gone to him and his wife, and the children would’ve been sent back to the smaller side table.

Currently, the three younger children—Zhao Qingsong, Zhao Qingfeng, and Zhao Xiaoling—sat quietly at the small table, sipping their porridge, eating pickled vegetables, and gnawing on coarse cornbread.

Looking at the well-behaved children, Qian Chunhua felt a surge of tenderness.

If she weren’t afraid of drawing suspicion, she would’ve rushed over, scooped them into her arms, and fed them herself.

Then her eyes fell to the bowl of watery porridge in front of her—so thin it almost reflected her face.

In her memory, the porridge had never looked like this.

She glanced around—the others’ bowls were already empty.

There wasn’t even a point of comparison.

Only three strands of pickled vegetables lay on a plate, lonely and unappealing.

The usual cornbread was nowhere to be seen.

Was this really the same lively and cheerful household from her memories?

She sipped a spoonful—the taste of stale rice strong and sour.

Her mind worked quickly.

Something wasn’t right.

Though new here, she couldn’t stay silent.

She gathered her courage, turned to Zhao Mother, and asked, “Mother, where’s my cornbread?”

She didn’t actually care much for cornbread—after all, her space was full of supplies.

But she knew from countless family-drama novels: if you back down once, they’ll trample over you again and again.

Before Zhao Mother could speak, Li Cuihong, her sister-in-law, smiled and jumped in:

“Oh, Chunhua, I saw you didn’t come out and thought you weren’t eating. I didn’t want it to go to waste, so I split your cornbread between Yongqiang and Qingyun.”

Qian Chunhua froze.

This was the hard-working, kind, and brave sister-in-law from the original memories?

Seeing her silence, Li Cuihong assumed she was still the same passive woman and continued, smiling with false sincerity:

“Yongqiang does manual labor, and Qingyun is studying hard—it’s good for them to eat more. You were lying down all day, it’s fine if you skip a meal.”

Qian Chunhua was speechless.

She wasn’t lying around!

The original owner had fainted from grief!

And now, somehow, she’d earned a reputation for laziness?

Her temper flared.

“Sister-in-law,” she said sharply, “I fainted from grief, not because I was lying in bed doing nothing. As soon as Mother called, I came right out.”

“My husband just passed, and I can’t even have a piece of cornbread? Are you trying to starve me to death?”

The words had barely left her mouth when two of the children—Zhao Qingfeng and Zhao Xiaoling—burst into tears.

These past few days had been filled with fear and sorrow.

Their father’s death, their mother’s coma, their elder brother’s coldness—it was all too much for them.

Now hearing their mother speak like that, they couldn’t hold it in any longer and cried out loud.

They were terrified their mother really might starve to death.

Qian Chunhua’s heart softened.

She quickly walked over to the small table, scooped Zhao Qingfeng into her arms, and gently comforted him:

“There, there, don’t cry… Mom’s not going to starve.”

With her son in one arm and her daughter’s hand in the other, she returned to the main table, sat down, and held her son on her lap while gently wiping her daughter’s tears.

Just then, Zhao Daqing, the patriarch, spoke up with a stern face:

“That’s enough. No more talking. Don’t you all know the rule—no talking while eating or sleeping?”

As head of the family, Zhao Daqing had set many household rules and enforced them strictly.

For instance: no speaking during meals, no eating until everyone was seated, and no one could start unless the elders moved their chopsticks first.

Qian Chunhua found it all a bit much.

They were just a humble farming family—why act like a grand household?

And not even convincingly at that.

After all, she hadn’t even sat down yet, and they’d already eaten everything.

“Alright,” Zhao Daqing added, “it’s just a cornbread. Second daughter-in-law, don’t fuss. Eldest daughter-in-law, don’t make decisions on your own again.”

With that, the matter was closed.

Qian Chunhua could only suppress her anger, downing her watery porridge with loud slurps to show her displeasure.

Zhao Daqing gave her a sharp look and opened his mouth to speak—then closed it again.

There was something more important to discuss later.

This small matter could be let go… for now.