Unlike the cheerful atmosphere at Qian Chunhua’s home, every household in Huanghualing Village that went to the county today was filled with heavy gloom.

What they saw and heard in the county revealed that the situation outside was even more serious than what the village chief had described—despite the current county magistrate’s strict ban on spreading such news.

Yet gossip abounded in every teahouse, tavern, and street corner.

Some people had even personally fled from disaster areas and told their harrowing stories.

That morning, none of the villagers managed to buy grain because they didn’t bring their household registration documents.

At Granny Xu’s house, all five of her sons—Jiang, He, Hai, Tao, and the eldest, Xu Jiang—had gathered.

Xu Jiang wore a worried expression.

Their extended family had over fifty members living together. Because they hadn’t split the household, all their food supplies were stored together.

Although the cellar looked full, if the entire family ate freely, it would barely last three months.

Even if they only had porridge, it would stretch to just six months at most.

This autumn’s harvest was already poor.

After paying taxes and selling half their grain, they had planned to plant a crop of potatoes and sweet potatoes after the new year to tide them through the famine.

But now, with an unexpected drought, who knew whether they could plant anything at all.

Xu Jiang and his four younger brothers had gone to the county today, hoping to trade their cornmeal and sorghum for cheaper black flour, so they could stretch their food supply.

But they were shocked to discover that not only was there no one willing to trade, even black flour was under rationed sale.

They could spend their silver at the grain shops, but their family only had eighteen taels left.

After some thought, Granny Xu made a firm decision:
“Go buy it. Use up all the rationed quota on your household registration.”

The elderly woman, already past sixty, firmly believed that as long as people lived, there was always hope. The Xu family had survived many hardships, and it was their large numbers that saw them through.

Granny Xu retrieved her own savings and handed it to her eldest son.

Xu Jiang said, “Mom, I’ll take my brothers again this afternoon and try to bring back as much as we can.”

Granny Xu nodded. “Avoid being seen on your way back.”

The five brothers all nodded in understanding.

Scenes like this didn’t just happen at the Xu household—they were playing out in many homes across Huanghualing. The morning’s events in the county had made it clear: the village chief’s warnings weren’t fearmongering, and the real situation might be worse.

Those with foresight quickly decided to buy as much grain as possible in the afternoon.

But some people, like Li Cuihong, still scoffed. They not only dismissed the warnings but mocked those rushing to stock up.

Li Cuihong and her crowd had gathered under the old locust tree, laughing at the villagers pushing wheelbarrows toward the county.

But all of this had nothing to do with Qian Chunhua.

After lunch, since Qian Xingshan was still free for the afternoon, she decided to make a trip to Lion Mountain.

There was a mountain spring at the top. Chunhua wanted to fill all fifty of her ton-sized storage barrels from her space.

She also needed to stockpile a large amount of firewood.

Taking her three children with her, the four of them set off toward Lion Mountain.

During her years with the Zhao family, Chunhua had been too busy cooking and doing chores to get familiar with the mountain terrain—unlike Qingsong, who knew it like the back of his hand.

Qingsong led the way enthusiastically, explaining things to his mother as they walked.

“Mom, we used to come this way to collect pigweed.” After walking for about half an hour, he pointed at a narrow path beside the mountain trail.

“But now, there’s no more pigweed left,” he added, a little regretfully.

Chunhua understood. It hadn’t rained in nearly six months, and wild vegetation was struggling to survive. With the whole village depending on this mountain, it wasn’t surprising that even the weeds were gone.

As they walked and talked, they found no wild herbs, grass, or firewood below the mountain’s midpoint.

Once they reached halfway up the mountain, Qingsong stopped. “Mom, we found firewood in here this morning.”

The three children were too young to use axes—they could only gather fallen branches.

Since Chunhua still needed to reach the summit, she couldn’t bring the children along.

“You stay here and keep gathering. I’ll go check further up.”

Leaving the kids behind, she quickened her pace up the mountain.

Lion Mountain was about 1,500 meters high. Because it was regularly visited, there were no large wild animals—just the occasional rabbit or pheasant.

Children from Huanghualing had played here for generations, so the adults felt safe letting them roam.

After nearly another half-hour, Chunhua reached the summit.

Thankfully, the spring she remembered was still flowing.

She studied its source carefully—it flowed down from higher up the peak, likely fed by a spring eye.

Without wasting time, she pulled out her ton barrels, cleaned them, and placed them under the flow.

While the barrels filled, she began scouting the area.

There were plenty of fallen branches on the summit—no one had gathered them yet. Chunhua didn’t hesitate to sweep up all the large branches and stash them in her space.

As each barrel filled, she replaced it with another.

Every time she finished gathering from one spot, she moved on to the next.

With her space, Chunhua didn’t have to worry about how to transport the wood—she could take everything.

After about two hours, she had filled ten ton barrels and decided to wrap up.

She pulled out a bundle of branches—enough to reach half her own height—to serve as the “firewood she collected” today, ready to retrieve it after heading down.

Empty-handed, she made her way back down the mountain. Going down was easier than climbing up. After about a quarter of an hour, she reached the spot where she had left the kids.

Even before she got there, she heard their voices:

“Why hasn’t Mom come to get us yet?” That was Qingfeng.

“She’ll be here soon,” Xiaoling said.

“Let’s go wait for her by the path,” Qingsong suggested.

Before the kids came out, Chunhua quickly pulled out her prepared bundle of firewood. It was as tall as half of her own body.

Smiling, she stood waiting at the fork in the trail.

“Mom!” Qingfeng spotted her first and came bounding over, laughing with joy.

Chunhua scooped him up and planted a kiss on his rosy cheek. Qingfeng giggled and wrapped his arms around her neck.

“Mom!” Xiaoling and Qingsong ran over, delighted.

Chunhua affectionately ruffled their heads. “Are you tired?”

Each of the two kids had a bundle of firewood strapped to their back—about twenty pounds each.

They quickly shook their heads. “Not tired, Mom!”

Setting Qingfeng down, Chunhua waved her hand, “Let’s go. Time to head home.”

“Let’s go home!” Qingfeng cried happily, running ahead.

Qingsong and Xiaoling followed right behind him.

Chunhua hoisted her own bundle of wood and walked behind them.

Watching the three children in front of her, her heart brimmed with warmth.

All those stories in the novels she used to read—about kids getting bullied or having their firewood stolen—none of that had happened.

That in itself felt like a miracle.

Still… knowing the eldest branch of the Zhao family, Chunhua doubted they’d give up so easily. What were they plotting now?