In the main house, Zhao Mother sat by the bedside, clumsily working needle and thread under the dim glow of the oil lamp.

It was deep into the night, and the air in the room was filled with a heavy, oppressive stillness.

“Old man…” she called softly.

Her voice echoed weakly through the empty room. “The second daughter-in-law… she doesn’t seem willing to let Qingyun be adopted.”

She bit her lower lip and added, “Maybe we should just give it up? Forcing her won’t work either.”

Her words were filled with helplessness and compromise.

She knew full well that she wasn’t the one who made decisions in this family.

The flickering oil lamp stretched her shadow long across the worn wall—it looked lonely and frail.

Zhao Daqing took a deep drag from his pipe, exhaled with satisfaction, then was suddenly overtaken by a cough.

He hawked and spat a thick wad of phlegm onto the floor with a splat.

“That second daughter-in-law’s brain… still hasn’t come around,” Zhao Daqing sighed, shaking his head.

Now that the matter had been brought up, he could only stand firm behind the eldest branch.

“She should think about it: with the second gone, she’s just a woman without much ability. If she can raise the children at all, that’s already impressive. Where would she find the strength—or money—for Qingyun to continue schooling?”

“Hey… in the end, a family should support each other. The eldest is willing to adopt Qingyun and keep sending him to school—how many others would take on such a heavy burden?”

Zhao Mother silently considered this.

If it were her own child, could she bear to give him away?

Likely not.

Zhao Daqing sat with his pipe in hand, tapping the table absently, brows tightly furrowed as he pondered how to move forward.

“If the second daughter-in-law really won’t agree to give Qingyun up,” he finally said after a long silence, “then we’ll divide the household and let the second branch fend for themselves.”

He was certain: Qian Chunhua wouldn’t dare choose separation just for one child.

“But… what if she’s really that stubborn?” Zhao Mother asked anxiously.

Zhao Daqing glared at his wife. “That’s not up to her.”

“The second son is gone, the third son lives with his in-laws. When we’re old, who will take care of us if not the eldest? If we don’t help him now, do you think he’ll be willing to care for us later?”

He sighed again and slowly stood, his back hunched and steps unsteady, shuffling toward the bed to sleep.

Zhao Mother had been about to argue more, but the words died in her throat.

Indeed… if it could be helped, they wouldn’t want things to come to this.

Their second son’s death had aged the old couple by ten years overnight.

They had to think not just of the present, but of their own future.

..

In the warm eastern wing, Zhao Yongqiang, the eldest son, was lounging on his bed with one leg propped up, humming a cheerful tune, face full of satisfaction.

His wife, Li Cuihong, was carefully rummaging through her trunk.

She approached the bed with joy, placing a small cloth pouch by the pillow.

When she opened it, a flash of silver lit the room—gleaming, pure silver coins, white and dazzling.

“Zhao Yongqiang, you’re amazing,” Li Cuihong said as she counted the money.

Her voice was full of admiration. “All of this is ours.”

Zhao Yongqiang wore a smug grin. “I was smart. A few days ago, when the escort agency delivered Second Brother’s body, I was the one who greeted them warmly.”

“They thought I was the head of the Zhao family, so they handed over his death compensation money to me—a full two hundred taels of silver!”

“Mhm, with this and the thirty-plus taels we had saved, we now have over two hundred and thirty taels,” Li Cuihong beamed as she bundled the coins back up carefully, planning to sleep hugging the pouch like she had every night since receiving it.

Each night, she counted and recounted the money obsessively.

Zhao Yongqiang saw the greed gleaming in her eyes, and felt an indescribable thrill.

This hefty pouch of silver felt like their victory trophy, earned through his cunning and effort.

“With this silver, once Qingyun is in our family, he’ll have no worries about schooling,” said Li Cuihong, picturing her brilliant son becoming a scholar, a xiucai, even a juren in the future.

But Zhao Yongqiang quickly dashed her daydreams with cold water.

“What’s wrong with you?” Li Cuihong sat up, annoyed. “Don’t you want Qingyun to keep studying?”

Zhao Yongqiang gave her a look, then smiled slyly. “Who says I don’t? I just mean, we don’t need to use our silver. We can let Father and Mother fund his schooling.”

As he spoke, he gestured toward the main house, a gleam of calculation in his eyes.

Realization dawned on Li Cuihong.

Her face lit up with glee.

“You’re so clever! I didn’t even think of that!” she praised, her admiration for her husband growing deeper.

Zhao Yongqiang not only had a smart head on his shoulders—he always put their small family first.

Her eyes shining with admiration, Zhao Yongqiang felt a surge of pride.

He pulled her into his arms, their bodies pressing together tightly—as if they wanted to merge into one.

..

In the early winter morning, a sliver of pale light crept along the horizon.

The crowing of a rooster pierced the silence, waking Qian Chunhua.

She looked down at the little boy nestled in her arms, confusion flickering in her eyes.

It felt like a dream.

Then, a soft, sleepy voice whispered: “Mom…”

And Qian Chunhua snapped back to reality.

She had really transmigrated.

Zhao Xiaoling turned over in bed, groggily beginning to rise.

Qian Chunhua quickly stashed the thick quilt she had used last night into her space.

Then she threw off the covers she and Zhao Qingfeng had shared and shouted cheerfully, “Time to get up, sleepyheads!”

Zhao Qingfeng and Zhao Xiaoling exchanged a smile, hopping out of bed with practiced ease.

Last night, Zhao Qingfeng had slept so soundly and warmly in his mother’s arms—it felt like being embraced by spring itself.

Even Zhao Xiaoling, who hadn’t been directly in her mother’s arms, had felt the warmth just by being nearby.

“Mom, I slept so well last night—not cold at all!” she exclaimed with joy.

“Me too! Me too!” Zhao Qingfeng chimed in, bouncing happily on the bed.

Qian Chunhua knew it was all thanks to that thick quilt’s warmth.

She watched the two children fondly, both of them so sensible it hurt.

Bending down, she picked up their shoes and helped Qingfeng put his on.

Xiaoling, meanwhile, was struggling to put hers on by herself.

Even though it was early winter, their shoes were still thin and worn. Xiaoling’s soles were nearly worn through, making Qian Chunhua’s heart ache.

“Let’s change shoes, sweetheart,” Qian Chunhua said gently.

She went to the trunk, relying on the original memories, knowing there were old shoes Qingyun had outgrown and been saved for reuse.

The original host had washed and stored them, planning to pass them down.

“Mom, no need—you said before that pair was for New Year,” Qingfeng refused politely, puzzled by his mother’s sudden change of heart.

Qian Chunhua didn’t remember all the original host’s thoughts.

She was simply distressed by their shabby condition.

“It’s okay—we’ll buy new ones for New Year,” she smiled.

She fetched two pairs of shoes—one for Qingfeng, one for Xiaoling.

They were old, but warm and enough for now.