Dinner ended hastily in silence.

The sobs of the youngest son, Zhao Qingfeng, echoed in the air, while Qian Chunhua drank a bowl of water, her stomach growling with hunger.

“Alright, leave the dishes for now. I have something important to say,” Zhao Daqing broke the silence.

He took out his tobacco pipe from his pocket, skillfully packed it with tobacco leaves, lit it, and started puffing rhythmically.

Zhao Yongqiang, mimicking his father, pinched a small amount of tobacco from his father’s pouch, wrapped it, lit it, took a deep drag, and showed a satisfied expression on his face.

Soon, the entire main hall was filled with the pungent smell of tobacco.

Caught off guard, Qian Chunhua choked on the secondhand smoke, coughing repeatedly.

She truly couldn’t stand the smell of this poor-quality tobacco.

In the end, she had no choice but to hold Zhao Qingfeng, take Zhao Xiaoling by the hand, and hurriedly leave the main hall.

Zhao Qingyun looked back at his mother, then glanced at his grandfather, his brow furrowed, but he didn’t follow her out.

Zhao Daqing’s face darkened.

That second son’s family was becoming more and more disrespectful.

Although she used to dislike the smell of smoke, she still endured it.

But now she openly expressed her distaste.

Looks like relying on the second son’s family for elder care was out of the question.

The eldest son’s family was still the best—diligent and kind. He and his wife would just live with the eldest son in the future.

Sigh, it would’ve been better if they could live with the third son.

But the third son now seemed like he was raised entirely by his wife’s family—his studies and living expenses all paid for by them.

He even lived in his in-laws’ house, so Zhao Daqing didn’t feel comfortable counting on him for retirement care.

He originally felt a bit guilty about what he was about to discuss, but seeing Qian Chunhua’s attitude now, his guilt vanished, and he firmly favored the eldest son’s family.

The smell of tobacco lingered in the hall.

Qian Chunhua stood outside the door, planning to wait until they finished smoking before going back in. It felt a bit rude, but she couldn’t bear to let her children inhale secondhand smoke.

In the depths of winter, the courtyard was no longer warmed by the sun—only coldness and loneliness remained.

Qian Chunhua, wearing a thin cotton jacket, held Zhao Qingfeng in her arms and stood in the wind with Zhao Xiaoling by her side.

As soon as Zhao Qingfeng left the hall, the cold wind made him shiver uncontrollably.

Qian Chunhua quickly pulled her youngest son into a tighter embrace, trying to warm him with her own body heat.

At the same time, she gently stroked Zhao Xiaoling’s hand—it was cold as ice.

“Xiaoling, are you cold?” Qian Chunhua asked softly, deep concern in her eyes.

Zhao Xiaoling was briefly stunned, then shook her head and smiled brightly. “No, Mom, I’m not cold.”

Before this, only her elder brother Zhao Qingyun had ever received such gentle affection from their mother.

But now, not only had Qian Chunhua embraced her little brother, she even cared for her too.

The warmth and surprise in Zhao Xiaoling’s heart were overwhelming.

At six years old, she was innocent and sensitive.

Just a simple moment of concern was enough to make her forget how her mother had neglected her in the past.

Qian Chunhua didn’t realize the harm her predecessor had caused the children.

In her predecessor’s memories, she always believed she treated all her children equally.

She thought she gave more attention to the eldest, Zhao Qingyun, only because he studied so hard.

But what she didn’t understand was that this supposed “equality” actually ignored the feelings of the other children.

Holding Qingfeng tightly, Qian Chunhua’s gaze fell on Zhao Qingyun, who was still inside, sitting quietly.

She couldn’t help but wonder what an eight-year-old child was thinking at that moment.

The dinner incident had left her somewhat disappointed in her eldest.

At eight, a child should already be learning and understand the importance of respecting their parents.

But after their father passed and their mother fainted, he still insisted on going to school, ignoring his younger siblings at home.

And during dinner, when only one cornbread bun remained, he devoured it without hesitation.

Had he not thought that his mother hadn’t eaten all day and might be starving too?

Just then, Zhao Xiaoling’s soft voice interrupted Qian Chunhua’s thoughts: “Mom, this is for you.”

In her little hand was a small, cold piece of cornbread bun, which she carefully offered.

Looking down, Qian Chunhua felt a warm surge in her heart.

So her daughter had remembered her and deliberately saved this piece of bun for her.

Without hesitation, she put it in her mouth and said softly, “Thank you, Xiaoling.”

Zhao Xiaoling shyly smiled, nervously twisting the corner of her clothes.

Qian Chunhua chewed the bun slowly.

Though the taste was bland and slightly salty—likely because her daughter hadn’t washed her hands—it was still the most delicious food she had ever tasted.

She knew the dinner wasn’t bountiful.

Zhao Qingsong, Zhao Xiaoling, and Zhao Qingfeng had only two buns to share.

And yet her daughter had still saved a piece for her. This filial thought moved her deeply.

“Mom, I… I have some too.” Zhao Qingfeng also offered his now dirty and misshapen bun with both hands.

“Good, good, thank you, my son.” Qian Chunhua also ate his bun without a second thought.

Looking at the two poor children before her, she silently vowed to find some food from her secret space later and give them something nourishing.

This family—only the three children at the small table—were skinny as sticks, with yellowing hair and large, hollow eyes, clear signs of malnutrition.

In contrast, Zhao Qingshui from the eldest family and her own Zhao Qingyun weren’t fat, but looked healthy—obviously well-nourished.

And Zhao Xiaojun was chubby and cute, a stark contrast to her frail siblings.

Qian Chunhua herself was little more than skin and bones, lifeless and pale.

She couldn’t help but wonder: how could the original owner of this body still feel so happy in such impoverished conditions?

Something wasn’t right here.

The seemingly harmonious family might’ve been a one-sided illusion.

Qian Chunhua decided to wait and observe before sharing any of her space’s resources.

At most, she’d secretly supplement the children’s nutrition—hopefully without attracting attention.

When Zhao Daqing finally finished his pipe, Qian Chunhua noticed that the smoke inside the house had mostly cleared.

She gently set Zhao Qingfeng down.

“Xiaoling, can you take your little brother back to our room to rest?” Qian Chunhua squatted down and asked with a smile.

Her tone was gentle, full of maternal warmth.

“Yes, Mom,” Zhao Xiaoling replied happily.

She was six now, becoming more sensible, and could help with small tasks.

In the past, her mother would always speak to her harshly when asking her to do something. But today, her mother was so kind—it filled her with joy.

Zhao Xiaoling took her brother’s hand and cheerfully walked back to the west wing of their home.

The Zhao family’s house was a spacious courtyard, with the main hall in the center and side rooms on the east and west.

The yard had open spaces in the front and back, with the back garden full of vegetables and a clear well.

The main house was where Zhao Daqing and his wife slept.

A small side room nearby was for Zhao Yongwen when he occasionally returned home.

The eldest son’s family lived in the east wing, while Qian Chunhua and her children lived in the west wing.

Though the layout wasn’t complex, the blue-brick, tiled-roof house was among the best in the village—even the village chief’s home couldn’t compare.

All of this was thanks to the money Zhao Yongcai had earned running courier missions.

Qian Chunhua stepped into the main hall.

Although the smoke had mostly cleared, she still instinctively held her breath.

For the rest of the family, the tobacco smell was already something they’d grown used to.

She knew that an after-meal smoke was Zhao Daqing’s long-standing habit—not something easily changed.

She sighed quietly in her heart.

If she weren’t worried about arousing suspicion with her unusual behavior, she really wanted to ask the old man to smoke somewhere else.

But for now, she could only keep that thought to herself.