When her daughters finally stopped crying and leaned against her shoulders, Wei Lian inhaled deeply and forced herself to look around the place she had awakened in.
It was worse than miserable.
The house wasn't just dirty—
it was unfit for human living.
A thick layer of dust blanketed the floor, clinging to the soles of her feet like sand. Cobwebs hung from every corner like gray veils. The air was heavy with the stench of damp mud, smoke, and long-term neglect. A cracked window stuffed with straw barely kept the wind out. A broken stool lay half-rotted in the corner, and a bowl with dried porridge scraps sat on the floor, covered in flies.
This wasn't a home.
This was a place where hope came to die.
And the original owner had done exactly that.
A sudden wave of memories surged through her mind, sharp and suffocating.
The original husband had died in a war raid.
His stepmother immediately called Wei Lian unlucky, cursed, and kicked her out of the main courtyard.
Meanwhile, the old woman lived comfortably with her sons, daughters-in-law, and grandchildren—eating well, living richly…
While this body had been thrown into this mud hut.
With three burdens:
The dead husband's real sisters.
The villagers called them "retarded," "simple," "useless," and "mad."
No food.
No help.
No dignity.
The original owner starved trying to feed them.
In the end, her body collapsed, and her soul faded.
And that was when Wei Lian arrived.
She pressed a hand over her chest, swallowing hard.
"No wonder this house feels like the world ended…" she whispered.
Her three daughters looked around too—though they wore the bodies of teenage girls, inside they were still little children.
Xiaotang, the youngest, hugged Wei Lian's arm tightly.
"Mama… dirty…" she whispered, her lips trembling.
"It's okay," Wei Lian soothed. "Mama will clean everything."
She walked toward the tiny kitchen space.
A mud stove.
A cracked pot.
A moldy wooden shelf.
But her hand brushed something behind a sack.
A small cloth bag.
She opened it—
Rice. Almost a kilogram.
Another bag—
Millet. About a kilogram.
Relief hit her like warmth.
"At least… there is something."
She turned to her daughters.
"Xinyu, give Mama seeds—eggplant, cucumber, tomato."
The eldest daughter nodded obediently.
Her hand glowed faintly as she reached into her tiny space.
In her palm appeared fresh seeds—plump and perfect.
"Good girl."
Then she looked at her second daughter.
"Qingmei, grow them. Think big, healthy, strong."
Qingmei nodded.
The seeds glowed in her palm, and in seconds:
🌱 Eggplants sprouted into glossy purple vegetables
🌱 Cucumbers grew long and crisp
🌱 Tomatoes ripened bright red
Wei Lian's throat tightened.
Her daughters were heaven's blessing.
Then she turned to her youngest.
"And Xiaotang… Mama needs salt."
The little one puffed up proudly.
She dipped her hand into her space and pulled out—
clean salt, sugar, a small pot of chili sauce, and even a bit of soy sauce.
She held them with both hands, face glowing with childish pride.
"Mama… spicy thing too?" she asked.
Wei Lian kissed her forehead.
"Yes. Mama needs all of it."
With these ingredients, she washed the vegetables, lit the fire, and cooked.
The smell of warm rice…
vegetables sizzling…
salt and chili mixing together…
In this era, such fragrance was rare, precious, almost sacred.
Her daughters hovered around her like hungry kittens.
When the food was ready, she served them large bowls.
"Eat, babies."
The three dug in eagerly:
Xinyu ate quietly, her eyes soft with relief.
Qingmei stuffed food so fast her cheeks puffed.
And Xiaotang hummed happily, swinging her feet as she ate.
"Mama… tasty… tasty…" Xiaotang kept saying between bites.
Tears pricked Wei Lian's eyes.
After finishing, the girls' faces were no longer pale.
Their eyes brightened, their cheeks flushed.
Energy returned.
"Now," Wei Lian said gently, "we clean."
The house was a disaster:
🧺 Bedding rotten
🧺 Clothes thrown everywhere
🧼 Mud everywhere
🧼 Walls stained
🪟 Windows black with dust
She found an old moss-covered well outside.
"Girls, help Mama."
Together, they worked:
🌿 Bedding washed and scrubbed
🌿 Clothes beaten clean against stones
🌿 Floors swept until dust clouds rose
🌿 Pots scrubbed
🌿 Furniture wiped
🌿 Windows cleaned
Xiaotang, though clumsy, worked the hardest:
dragging small buckets, shaking blankets, even falling twice—but every time she stood up and said:
"Mama, Xiaotang helper!"
Wei Lian's heart melted every time.
Under the warm sunlight, they laid out all the bedding, shirts, blankets, and mats to dry.
Slowly, the mud house began feeling like a place someone could live in.
After cleaning, Wei Lian heated water for baths.
One by one, she washed her daughters:
– Xinyu sat quietly, letting her mother scrub gently.
– Qingmei splashed water everywhere.
– Xiaotang giggled loudly and hugged Wei Lian as if scared she'd slip away.
"Mama… warm…" she whispered, leaning into her mother's chest.
After bathing the girls, Wei Lian bathed herself.
Warm water washed away exhaustion, dirt, and sadness.
Her daughters yawned, their little souls worn out from work.
Wei Lian spread clean bedding in the west room.
The girls instantly climbed onto it:
Xinyu curled like a quiet cat.
Qingmei sprawled in the middle.
Xiaotang clung to her mother's sleeve, refusing to let go even in sleep.
In moments—
They were asleep like three soft kittens.
Wei Lian stroked their foreheads, her eyes soft with fierce determination.
"We'll survive… Mama will make sure of it."
Outside, the last sunlight spilled into the hut.
And for the first time in this new life…
This broken mud house felt like home.