Chapter 4

The brigade had scheduled the evening ration distribution. After others helped with the task and did a good deed, they all returned to the fields, proud and spirited. Worried that Shen Mo’er might be unwell, Zhou Peijun decided to grant Shen Shaoyuan leave as well, urging him to go home quickly, light the fire, and prepare a proper meal so that father and daughter could eat well together first.

When the Eighth Squad returned to the fields, members from other squads gathered around, eager to find out what had happened. From a slight distance, they could tell someone had fainted, and Liu the doctor was called over. A crowd soon formed, whispering among themselves before rushing back toward the village.

Others kept silent, but Aunt Chen and a few others began spreading the news, disregarding the glum expressions of Cao Mei and Tian Fang trailing behind. They detailed how these two sisters-in-law had stolen grain from Shen Lao Qi’s household, causing Shen Mo’er to faint from hunger in the field.

The villagers found it outrageous. The looks cast toward Cao Mei and Tian Fang grew strange—these days, grain was a family’s lifeline; stealing someone’s food was tantamount to threatening their life.

Before long, the story spread to several neighboring squads.

In the Twelfth Squad, a short, bespectacled, and seemingly amiable young man dashed back from the neighboring Tenth Squad’s fields. A few young men weeding nearby looked at him curiously as he approached the tall, slender, and handsome youth standing nearby. He whispered mysteriously, “I heard it’s Shen Mo’er from the Eighth Squad who fainted from hunger.”

A square-faced young man leaned in. “Zheng Jiamin, tell us exactly what happened. Our brigade’s grain supplies are supposed to be sufficient, right? How could someone faint from hunger?”

Zheng Jiamin looked puzzled. “That’s all there is to it. Shen Lao Qi’s daughter, Shen Mo’er—they say their household hasn’t cooked for several days and she got so weak she fainted after working in the field.”

The square-faced one, Zhang Zhiqiang, frowned. “Which Shen Lao Qi and Shen Mo’er are those?”

Zheng Jiamin knew the Shen father and daughter were usually quiet and unassuming. Except for him, who took every chance to chat with villagers and understand local affairs, few would know who Shen Lao Qi and Shen Mo’er were. So he explained, “They’re Uncle Seven and his niece of Shen Lingling.”

Shen Lingling was the young daughter of Shen Lao Er’s family, a high school student with delicate features and a gentle personality, considered one of the few “talented and beautiful” girls in the village.

Though the educated youth had been sent to the countryside, they still harbored a sense of urban superiority. When speaking behind closed doors about the possibility of settling permanently in the countryside, several quietly agreed that Shen Lingling was the only one in the entire Yangliu Brigade who might be a suitable match for them.

Not just because of Shen Lingling’s qualities, but also because her parents were understanding, especially her mother Tian Fang, a kind and gentle woman, a stark contrast to the rough rural matrons elsewhere.

Everyone knew Shen Lingling well, but her Uncle Seven and niece? No one really remembered them.

Zhang Zhiqiang frowned again. “If they’re family, it makes no sense that while Shen Lingling’s household is prospering, Uncle Seven’s family is out of grain and cooking. It’s probably because they’re lazy and haven’t earned enough work points.”

They said you help in emergencies but not long-term poverty. If they weren’t good for much, the kind Shen Lingling would have surely helped them.

Zheng Jiamin opened his mouth but hesitated. He had heard some rumors that Aunt Cao and Aunt Tian had taken grain from Shen Lao Qi’s household, causing the father and daughter to go hungry.

But Aunt Tian usually seemed very kind and didn’t seem capable of such deeds. Plus, since several educated youths idolized Shen Lingling, if Zheng spoke out, he’d likely be attacked.

After pondering, Zheng swallowed his words and offered a fair comment based on his knowledge: “Uncle Seven and his daughter depend on each other and work hard. Zhang Zhiqiang, you’re being too rash.”

Zhang Zhiqiang replied, “If that’s the case, how did they run out of grain and cooking supplies? If they weren’t lazy at work, they probably were too careless or gluttonous, eating all their grain before the next ration.”

Zheng Jiamin scratched his head. He felt Shen Lao Qi and his daughter weren’t like that, but since he hadn’t been at their stove, he couldn’t vouch for them.

At that moment, the handsome youth who had been quietly weeding stopped, wiped the sweat from his brow with an old towel slung over his neck, and calmly said, “The leader taught us, without investigation, no right to speak.”

Zhang Zhiqiang’s expression soured immediately. But since the other was quoting the leader’s words, he couldn’t argue. After a long pause, he mumbled, “Fu Mingze, don’t take this too seriously. I’m just making a reasonable guess.”

Fu Mingze gave him a deep look, nodded slightly, then bent back to his weeding.

Zhang Zhiqiang felt as if he had punched a pillow—neither here nor there.

Zheng Jiamin chuckled quietly, picked up his hoe, and gave Fu Mingze a thumbs-up when Zhang Zhiqiang wasn’t looking.

Fu Mingze smirked and said, “Get back to work.”

He couldn’t help but glance toward the Eighth Squad.

Fainting in the field from hunger... putting aside whether the brigade’s grain distribution was sufficient, it was certain that family was poor. Otherwise, even without grain, they could have exchanged money privately for some, or at worst, taken a risk buying a little on the black market.

But none of this was his concern.

*

Back home, Shen Mo’er clumsily lit a fire and cooked a small pot of porridge, relying on faint memories.

Before coming to this world, they had just had some snacks, but after arriving here—perhaps due to some divine intervention by the Way of Heaven—Shen Mo’er found her body had become weak and her stomach empty, hunger gnawing at her from front to back.

Though fainting in the field was staged, Shen Mo’er inexplicably felt that if she didn’t eat soon, she might not just faint but could die like the original occupant.

While she cooked, Shen Shaoyuan entered, moved the bedding outside to air in the sun, and cleaned the house thoroughly. He also brought the two broken chairs and an old wooden box, which had been soaked by rain, outside.

Their home was truly destitute.

The two mattresses were stiff, not due to dampness but because they had been used so many years the cotton filling had hardened. Even if dry, they would hardly be warm.

The old wooden box was shared by father and daughter, containing a few clothes and some worthless odds and ends.

However, Shen Shaoyuan found several well-preserved small paper cards inside. They depicted people—one showed a couple with two children, another a teenage boy and girl, and the third a couple holding a young girl.

Shen Shaoyuan knew these were not drawings but photographs.

The first photo was a family portrait of his wife as a child, with her parents, and the teen was her older brother. The second was of his wife and older brother when they were older. The third showed him, his wife, and the young Shen Mo’er.

What surprised Shen Shaoyuan was that his wife’s likeness was identical to a Wangfei who had died young in Daliang, down to every detail.

The parents, older brother, and two sisters-in-law, however, looked completely different from those in Daliang.

Shen Shaoyuan sighed deeply and showed the photos to Shen Mo’er. “Not only does she look the same, her mannerisms and expressions match too. But your mother, aside from being physically frail, never suffered much in life. She looks even more radiant than this lady.”

Shen Mo’er had lost her mother as a child; her impression came from Shen Shaoyuan’s portraits. But no matter how well painted, they couldn’t compare to a photograph’s reality. Photos seemed like a fleeting capture of time granted by the Way of Heaven.

Her fingers gently touched the figure in the photo. Even knowing it wasn’t truly her mother, she couldn’t help but look again.

“Someday we’ll go to the county town and take a few photos like these,” Shen Shaoyuan said cheerfully, not wanting his daughter to feel sad. He quickly put the photos away. “This place is strange; the people look poor but enjoy things even the nobles of Daliang can’t.”

Shen Mo’er glanced at him calmly. “Provided you have the money.”

Shen Shaoyuan choked slightly and said uncertainly, “Soon, very soon, we’ll have money.”

They did have vast treasures in their vault. Unfortunately, most were useless here—for example, banknotes used in Daliang and neighboring countries were worthless here, mere scraps of paper. Others, like gold, silver, jewels, antiques, and paintings, were too difficult to explain the origin of, and local laws would confiscate them if revealed. They might even face imprisonment or death.

Aside from the vault, their visible assets amounted to just fifty cents left by the original father and daughter.

Yes, fifty cents.

Enough to buy a few eggs.

It was the first time in their lives they truly tasted poverty.

Fortunately, they had recovered the grain, and with some snacks and dry food stored in the vault, they didn’t have to worry about starvation for now.

The porridge was thin but paired well with the snacks. Knowing the original family’s poor social connections and unlikely visitors, they ate with the door locked, cautious and vigilant. After the meal, both were drenched in sweat.

Shen Mo’er found a towel and basin to wash her face.

The basin was old, with patches of paint missing and roughly covered with another color, pitted and uneven. But compared to the towel—which was worn, yellowed, torn in two large holes, and stiff—the basin was at least clean.

In the end, Shen Mo’er simply scooped a basin of clean water and washed her face with her hands.

They did have some cloth stored in the vault, but according to the original’s memories, fabric was extremely scarce in this country. Buying cloth required not only money but also ration tickets, which rural people lacked. Most wove their own coarse cloth.

So even a scrap of cloth was too precious to use lightly.

This was like sitting on a mountain of gold but begging for bread, Shen Mo’er bitterly joked to herself. Yet she was not discouraged. Being alive was already a blessing. Though poor here, the land was peaceful, and the people lived in harmony—compared to the years of war in Daliang, this was a paradise.

That afternoon, father and daughter repaired the house.

Shen Shaoyuan was a frail scholar with little physical strength, but Shen Mo’er had trained in martial arts alongside several princes since childhood. Though not fit for battle, she easily climbed a ladder onto the roof to fix tiles.

Many tiles were broken, and they didn’t know where to buy replacements—of course, they had no money to buy any. So they took tiles from the corners and moved them toward the center, covering the empty spots with straw, ensuring the main areas wouldn’t leak.

Thus, for the first time in their lives, the two truly understood what it meant to be pressed for every resource.

“Looks like the money for fixing the house will have to come from my good nephews!” Shen Shaoyuan sighed.