Chapter One: First Steps into a Farming Household

Jiang Anran had been in this world for four days now. The idea of borrowing a corpse to return a soul was bewildering, yet since it had truly happened, she could only accept it. Besides, transmigrating into another world was not a bad thing for her. After her grandfather and mother passed away one after the other, she was no longer the cherished little princess of the An family.

She had originally planned, once everything was settled, to publicly sever her ties with that man and abandon the Jiang surname to take her mother's family name, An. Now, this was even better; their connection was cleanly cut. She would never again have to loathe the tainted blood that ran in her veins. The only regret was that she could not witness the downfall of him and that vile woman with her own eyes. But now that they had lost control of their company and were poisoned by something unknown, their lives would surely be worse than death.

“Grandpa, Mom, I have avenged you both!” Jiang Anran murmured, gazing at the snowflakes drifting past the yellowed paper window. They had caused her to lose her mother as a child; in return, she had seen to it that they lost their children in their middle age. A life for a life—only then was it fair.

A sudden clatter snapped her out of her thoughts. Turning, she saw the family's second son, An Jian—known as Shuanzi—a ten-year-old boy, entering with a small iron bucket filled with fire strands.

“Little sister, you’ve only just recovered. Don’t sit by the window; the wind seeps through the cracks and it’s cold. Come warm yourself by the fire,” An Jian said.

Anran slid off the wooden bed, pulled on her patched cotton shoes, and walked over. An Jian poured the fire strands into the brazier, covered them with a layer of charcoal, and pulled the wooden rack over the brazier. When everything was ready, he smiled at her, “Sit here by the fire, little sister. I’ll go bring our meal. Are you hungry?”

Her stomach rumbled in reply. She’d only had a thin porridge with barely a handful of rice grains and an egg that morning. After a whole morning, hunger gnawed at her.

An Jian chuckled and went out. Soon, he returned with two coarse porcelain bowls. One held bean dregs cakes, the other salty pickled radish strips. “We’re having bean cakes for lunch, little sister. When Mother and big brother come back with some white rice tonight, we’ll cook rice for you. How about that?”

Anran nodded. She didn’t know what era this was, but judging by the furnishings and her clothes, it was surely ancient times. In these days, she alone ate white rice while the rest of the family made do with coarse grains—proof enough of their poverty.

Seeing her agree, An Jian relaxed. If his little sister started crying, he wouldn’t know what to do. Still, her sudden quietness was unusual; in these past days, she’d spoken less than she usually did in an hour. Worried, he asked gently, “Little sister, are you still not feeling well?”

Anran looked up at him and shook her head softly. She picked up a bean dregs cake and took a bite. Accustomed to soft white rice, the rough cake was hard to swallow. She forced herself to finish one, then set down her chopsticks.

An Jian gulped down his mouthful and said, “Mother has gone to town to deliver her embroidery. She won’t be back until late. Why not eat another cake? Otherwise, you’ll be hungry again soon.”

She truly wasn’t full, and the ache of hunger was unpleasant. With a sigh, she said quietly, “I’d like some water.”

“Oh, I’ll get it,” An Jian replied, rising to pour her some.

She looked at the bean dregs cakes and salty radish in her bowl, frowning. While it was said that plain food brings peace, if this was every meal from now on, her stomach might adapt, but her palate would certainly protest.

An Jian quickly brought her a bowl of warm water. “Drink slowly, little sister, don’t choke.”

“Thank you,” Anran replied politely.

“Oh! When did you become so well-mannered?” An Jian asked in surprise.

“I’ve grown up now. I can’t behave like a child anymore.” Not knowing how these siblings usually interacted, Anran’s heart leapt. She’d let her guard down in this unfamiliar world, even in front of a small child. She hastily offered a flimsy excuse, hoping it would suffice.

An Jian only teased her casually and suspected nothing, grinning as he gnawed on his bean cake.

She let out a quiet breath of relief and quickly drank her water, feeling a little more comfortable.

After lunch, An Jian cleaned up and took the bowls to the kitchen. Anran glanced at the dingy earthen walls, the raw timber beams above, and the patched quilts on the bed. Her eyes dimmed—this family was desperately poor. Their days ahead would be hard indeed.

“Little sister, you should go back to bed and rest. Mother and big brother won’t be back for quite some time,” An Jian said, coming in with a coarse porcelain hot water bottle.

Anran nodded. This body had only just recovered; rest was needed. An Jian smoothed the bedding and tucked the hot water bottle inside. “All right, climb in.”

She climbed into bed, took off her padded coat and pants, and curled up under the covers, shivering at the cold.

An Jian carefully tucked the quilt around her and sat by the bed until she fell asleep, then tiptoed out. At first, Anran only pretended to sleep, but before long, she drifted off for real. She didn’t know how long she’d slept before voices outside the room woke her.

“Thank you, Aunt Zhu. Take care,” An Jian’s voice said.

She heard the door close. After a while, An Jian burst into the room, his voice brimming with excitement. “Little sister, Aunt Zhu just brought over pork head meat and pig’s heart. We’ll have meat tonight—aren’t you happy?”

Seeing his eyes light up at the prospect of meat, swallowing in anticipation, Anran sighed inwardly. Modern people no longer rejoiced at the thought of eating meat. Material abundance had made people ever more demanding and harder to satisfy.

“Little sister, are you so happy you’re in a daze?” An Jian waved a hand in front of her face.

“You’re the one in a daze,” she retorted naturally.

He scratched his head and grinned, picking up her padded coat. “Come, let second brother help you get dressed.”

When she first arrived, she’d tried to dress herself, but, lacking strength, she’d quickly given up and let An Jian help her without protest.

It was getting late and dusk was falling when Mrs. Luo, who’d gone to town to deliver embroidery and sell firewood, returned with An Kang, braving wind and snow.

“Mother, big brother!” An Jian called, taking the small sack of white rice from An Kang’s shoulder.

Anran followed them out, taking a deep breath to steady herself. In a small, awkward voice, she said, “Mother, big brother.”

“Xier, why are you out here? Back to your room—you’ll catch a chill,” Mrs. Luo said, worried she’d fall ill again.

An Kang stomped his numb feet, looking at the thick snow in the courtyard. “The snow’s been falling all day. If this keeps up, we’ll be snowed in.”

“Big brother, wind and snow are Heaven’s business, not ours. You and Mother go inside and warm up. I’ll get the ginger tea,” An Jian said, taking the rice bag to the kitchen.

Hearing that An Jian was going to make ginger tea to warm Mrs. Luo and An Kang, Anran paused, frowning slightly. There were many medicines to dispel cold, but ginger tea was the simplest remedy for a farming family. Yet, drinking it at night easily caused internal heat. It wasn’t good for the body, but what else could they use to keep warm? She’d have to make do for now and try to buy some medicine for emergencies in the future.

Mrs. Luo brushed the snow off and entered the room, pulling a bright red silk flower from her sleeve and presenting it to Anran like a treasure. “Xier, look what I bought for you!”

Before Anran could respond, Mrs. Luo had pinned the silk flower in her hair and beamed, “Now our Xier has something pretty to wear. Let Mother see—aren’t you beautiful?”

“Of course she is. My sister is the prettiest girl in the village,” An Kang said generously.

“Big brother, what are you saying? She’s the prettiest girl in the world,” An Jian insisted.

“Right, right, the prettiest girl in the world!” An Kang laughed in agreement.

Suddenly reminded of her grandfather and mother from her previous life, Anran’s nose stung and she nearly burst into tears. Since losing them, she hadn’t heard such words for many years.

“What’s wrong, Xier? Does your head hurt again?” Mrs. Luo asked anxiously.

Anran shook her head, pushing down her sorrow. “No, Mother. My head doesn’t hurt. Drink your ginger tea before it gets cold.” Having called her “Mother” once, the second time was much easier.

“All right.” Mrs. Luo took the bowl from An Jian and sipped it, then asked, “Shuanzi, did Aunt Zhu bring the pork?”

“She did. Aunt Zhu even gave us half a pig’s heart,” An Jian replied.

Mrs. Luo set her empty bowl on the table and looked at her three children, her face glowing with happiness. “Tonight, we’ll have a good meal—white rice, tofu and pork soup, and stir-fried pickled greens with pig’s heart.”

“Hooray!” An Kang and An Jian cheered in unison, grinning from ear to ear. Anran touched the silk flower on her head and smiled softly. This family was poor, but it was filled with warmth.