Next door, Qian Chunhua’s family had dinner early while there was still light outside.

After the meal, Zhao Qingsong and Zhao Xiaoling helped their mother wash the dishes, then went to the study to start on the homework assigned by Teacher Qian.

Qian Chunhua continued boiling water, preparing for the family’s evening baths.

Before the baths, she planned to give the three children a haircut. Due to long-term malnutrition, the children’s hair was thin and yellowed—especially Qingsong, whose hair was particularly dry and straw-like.

If this went on, Qian Chunhua feared Qingsong would be bald before he even hit his twenties.

She started with Qingfeng.

In this era, hairstyles for five-year-old boys were simple: a small tuft of hair left at the front of the forehead, called the “Afu” style.

That’s exactly the style Qingfeng wore. In her space, Qian Chunhua had electric clippers—five Philips ones she’d hoarded before time-traveling, originally bought for grooming the family dog.

Unexpectedly, there was no dog after the time travel, but three extra children. Still, the clippers came in handy.

With the clippers buzzing, in less than five minutes, all hair was shaved off except the tuft at the front.

Luckily, although the original host hadn’t treated the children very well, she at least kept them clean. There were no lice in their hair.

After the haircut, Qian Chunhua stripped Qingfeng down and tossed him into the bath bucket.

Sitting in the tub, Qingfeng excitedly splashed the water. One careless moment, and Qian Chunhua was soaked.

Qingfeng giggled, and Qian Chunhua didn’t know whether to laugh or scold.

Oh well—this body had given birth to the child. She couldn’t get angry.

She pulled out shampoo and soap she had prepared in her spatial storage and began washing Qingfeng. The boy was skinny but otherwise healthy, with no visible injuries.

He was just very dirty—it took three full tubs of water before it finally ran clear.

Once he was clean and dressed in fresh innerwear and a cotton jacket, Qian Chunhua asked Xiaoling to take him back to the heated kang bed.

Next was Qingsong. His hairstyle involved splitting his hair into two bunches tied at the top of his head like horns—called the “zongjiao” style.

It looked strange, but everyone wore it.

Qian Chunhua didn’t want to attract attention, so she just trimmed it a little—enough to form the knots.

Qingsong was a bit shy during the bath, so Qian Chunhua let him keep on his underpants. After all, it had only been a few days; the bruises on his body hadn’t faded yet.

As she scrubbed his back, Qian Chunhua gently chatted with him.
“Qingsong, besides Li Cuihong, who else from the main house has hit you?”

Qingsong hesitated. Qian Chunhua could feel his shoulders tense before he finally said,
“Uncle hits me too—but only indoors, never in front of others.”

“What about Zhao Qingshui and Zhao Xiaojun?”

“Big Brother likes to kick me. Big Sister likes to pinch.”

Qian Chunhua was furious.

Her voice rose involuntarily. “Bullshit uncle! From now on, just call him Zhao Yongqiang. And don’t call Zhao Qingshui and Zhao Xiaojun brother or sister anymore. They don’t deserve it.”

Qingsong nodded with a shy smile. “Okay, Mother.”

Qian Chunhua went on,
“Qingsong, from now on, I’ll make sure you eat well and grow tall. If anyone hits you again, you hit them back. Your younger siblings and I will need your protection someday.”

After a pause, she asked, “Qingsong, do you like martial arts?”

She always believed that in chaotic times, no amount of books could compare to a strong fist.

Qingsong shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

Seems this child was more scholarly-inclined.

A pity, Qian Chunhua thought.

Still, if she found a suitable martial arts teacher later, she’d let Qingsong learn some basics for fitness, if not to become a master.

After Qingsong’s bath, it was Xiaoling’s turn.

Xiaoling was ticklish and wouldn’t let her mother scrub her back.

Qian Chunhua had no choice but to let the girl wash herself, only assisting with hot water as needed.

Finally, it was Qian Chunhua’s turn.

She stepped into the bath barrel, warm water enveloping most of her body, as if calming her soul.

She let out a long sigh, feeling like she was in a quiet, peaceful world, where all her worries were washed away by the ripples, leaving only comfort.

She soaked for nearly half an hour before changing to clean hot water and scrubbing herself thoroughly.

Dressed in pajamas from her spatial storage, she felt lighter and refreshed.

Unfortunately, she had no pajamas for the kids.

She hadn’t had time lately, but if she could find a moment, she’d alter some clothes into smaller sleepwear.

Not just pajamas—warm innerwear could be altered too.

Once everything was done, she lowered the stove fire to a gentle flame, just enough to keep the kang bed warm overnight.

Back in the room, the three children were rolling and playing on the kang bed—even Qingsong had rediscovered a rare moment of childhood joy.

“Mother’s here!” Qingfeng shouted, stopping mid-roll.

He loved bedtime stories.

“Starting today, your big brother and sister will first teach you what they learned in school. After the lessons, I’ll tell you a bedtime story.”

Qian Chunhua announced her plan.

It was the only way she could learn to read without raising suspicion—after all, the original host was illiterate. If she suddenly started reading and writing fluently, it would look odd.

“Tonight, Qingsong teaches. Xiaoling will help. Tomorrow night, Xiaoling teaches and Qingsong helps. Sound good?”

“Good!” Qingfeng answered the loudest, rolling over again in joy.

He was so happy, feeling every day was fulfilling—happier than any past New Year.

“Good,” Qingsong said softly with a small, shy smile.

Perfect.

It was also a great chance to build Qingsong’s confidence.

Qingsong cleared his throat and took out the Three Character Classic, reading seriously to his mother and siblings,
“Repeat after me: At the beginning of man, nature is kind…”

…

While the second household was studying happily, Li Cuihong and Zhao Yongqiang were whispering in their room.

“Zhao Yongqiang, you better think of a way to get Qian Chunhua’s money back. I can’t take it anymore.”

Li Cuihong clutched her chest in pain, as if Qian Chunhua eating pork tonight had cost her a chunk of flesh.

Zhao Yongqiang pointed toward the main room and whispered, “Didn’t Dad try to intervene?”

Li Cuihong spat. “Intervene? Of course he did. But your dad’s useless. He couldn’t outtalk Qian Chunhua.”

“No way! He lost the argument?” Zhao Yongqiang was surprised.

“You don’t know,” Li Cuihong gritted her teeth. “That mute woman suddenly got smart. Even I can’t win an argument with her.”

“Whenever I try to reason with her, she pulls out that stick.”

Just mentioning the stick made both of them shudder—they had no desire to relive that pain.