It was just before dawn when Su Wanqing woke up.
Not from the cold—she had long since grown accustomed to it.
For five years, Liu Meilan had required her to get up half an hour earlier than everyone else: start the stove, heat water, sweep the yard.
Even a minute late, and she wouldn’t get breakfast that day.
She sat up from the haystack, stretching her arms and legs.
There was none of the expected soreness or stiffness; instead, she felt light, as if dozens of pounds of weight had been lifted off her.
The swelling on her forehead had completely vanished, and the old scar on the back of her left hand had faded to a nearly invisible line.
The effect of the Lingquan Water was even better than she had imagined.
Su Wanqing touched the jade pendant at her neck, its smooth warmth reassuring her.
She carefully tucked the pendant into the innermost layer of her cotton jacket and pinned it with a safety pin—under no circumstances could anyone see it.
Pushing open the woodshed door, a cold gust of wind hit her, and she shivered.
The yard was blanketed in thick snow, deep enough to cover her ankles with a single step.
She picked up the bamboo broom leaning against the wall and began sweeping.
It was strenuous work. In the past, finishing the entire yard would leave her exhausted, her fingers numb from the cold.
But today was different.
Her arms were strong, her breathing steady. After twenty minutes, only a light sheen of sweat appeared on her forehead.
Su Wanqing paused, watching her own breath form white clouds, and felt reassured—the Lingquan Water didn’t just heal; it strengthened.
When she reached the doorway of the house, she stopped and listened.
Inside came snoring, high and low.
The louder one was Su Jianguo, the softer, phlegmy one Liu Meilan.
Both were still asleep.
Su Wanqing set down the broom and gently pushed the door open a crack.
A mixed scent of alcohol, sweat, and coal smoke hit her.
The living room was a mess. Cups and plates scattered, two empty wine bottles tipped over, and a dish of leftover peanuts spilled everywhere.
She slipped inside and shut the door behind her.
Her heart raced a little.
It wasn’t her first time sneaking into the house while her family slept, but today she had a clear purpose—to find the tin box.
Mother had written in her letter: “At the very back of the kang cavity.”
The Su family had a typical northeastern heated kang bed. Beneath the kang’s edge were square openings for cleaning out ashes.
In the summer, when the kang wasn’t in use, some people would stash rarely used items there.
Su Wanqing crouched at the east room kang.
On the bed, Su Jianguo and Liu Meilan lay side by side under thick quilts.
Liu Meilan was holding five-year-old Su Xiaobao, his cheeks rosy in sleep.
The kang cavity was blocked with an old wooden board, weighted down with a broken tile basin.
Su Wanqing held her breath, gently moved the basin aside, and lifted the board.
The cavity was pitch dark, smelling of old ash. She reached in—
Empty.
Only a handful of black ash.
She froze, probing deeper.
The kang cavity wasn’t deep; her arm could reach the bottom when fully extended. Nothing but ash.
Where was the tin box?
Liu Meilan had clearly said last night: “I took the tin box out and hid it in the kang cavity…”
Suddenly, a chill ran down Su Wanqing’s back.
A trap?
No.
When Liu Meilan said that, she thought Su Wanqing was freezing outside and couldn’t have heard.
Moreover, the tone was proud, almost boasting about finding a treasure.
That meant…the tin box had been moved.
Su Wanqing withdrew her hand, her mind racing.
There weren’t many hiding places in the house: the top of the wardrobe, under the bed, in the rice bin, the crevice behind the stove…
She was about to get up to search elsewhere when the kang shifted.
Liu Meilan turned over and mumbled in her sleep: “…ration tickets… Xiaobao’s new cotton jacket…”
Su Wanqing froze, motionless.
A few seconds later, the snoring resumed.
She exhaled slowly, replaced the board and basin, and slipped out of the east room.
Time was running out.
In another minute, Liu Meilan would be awake.
Su Wanqing went into her small partitioned room—technically a “room,” but really a three-square-meter space separated by wooden boards in a corner of the living room, just enough for a narrow bed and a worn-out chest.
In winter it was drafty; in summer, stifling.
She crouched by the bed, reaching under it.
Her fingertips touched something cold and hard.
The tin box!
Su Wanqing’s heart pounded as she carefully pulled it out.
A green-painted metal box, mottled with age, labeled “Liaocheng Food Factory”—the box her mother had once used to store biscuits.
She opened the lid.
Empty.
Ration tickets, cloth coupons, cash, mother’s diary… all gone.
Only a few yellowed scraps remained at the bottom, proof that something had once been there.
Su Wanqing clenched the empty box, her fingers digging into her palms.
Liu Meilan had taken it.
Everything.
The words she had overheard last night echoed: “These ration tickets will feed us for three months… Cloth coupons for Xiaobao’s new clothes…”
It had been her mother’s last bit of care for her, saved from scrimping and saving while on her deathbed—“life-saving money” meant to protect her from future suffering.
All gone.
Rage burned in her chest, reddening her eyes.
But she gritted her teeth, making not a sound.
No crying, no shouting.
Tears and tantrums would only earn a beating and the taunt: “You greedy fool still want something?”
She had to endure.
Su Wanqing shoved the empty tin box back under the bed and stood, brushing the dust from her hands.
Her face calm again, even calmer than usual—the stillness before the storm.
She stepped out and started the stove.
The coal caught fire, the orange flames reflecting on her face.
As the fire flickered, she thought of the Lingquan Water in her space, the hundred-acre black soil.
Liu Meilan had only taken the ration and cloth tickets.
What she possessed was land that could grow food, divine water that could heal injuries, a legacy her mother had protected with her life—more precious than any material wealth.
The fire roared, and she placed the kettle on the stove.
She scooped a ladle of water into an enamel basin to wash her face.
The water was icy, cutting to the bone. She splashed it on her face, forcing herself to calm down.
Plans had to change.
Not only did she need to retrieve what was in the tin box, but she also had to make Liu Meilan return everything she had consumed, principal plus interest.
“Creak—” The east room door opened.
Liu Meilan stepped out in her cotton jacket, hair disheveled, eyes still half-closed.
Seeing Su Wanqing by the stove, she frowned: “Is the water boiled yet? Stop dawdling.”
“Almost,” Su Wanqing replied, her voice calm as ever.
Liu Meilan yawned, went to the cupboard, unlocked it, and grabbed some cornmeal.
After a moment, she shook a little back.
“Today we eat porridge.”
She poured the cornmeal into the pot, added water, stirred. “Add more water—thin but filling.”
Su Wanqing said nothing, watching the pitifully small portion.
Divided by head, each person wouldn’t even get half a bowl of thick porridge.
But she wasn’t hungry.
Last night in the space, she had sampled a cabbage leaf from the black soil she had planted—an experiment from two days ago, watered with Lingquan Water, grown to palm-sized leaves in three days, crisp and sweet.
The food from the space could be brought out to eat.
This discovery strengthened her confidence.
When breakfast came, Su Jianguo got up as well.
He sat at the table, glanced at the watery porridge, and drank without comment.
Liu Meilan gave the thicker portion to Su Xiaobao, took the thinner herself, and even left a few dry bits at the bottom of Su Jianguo’s bowl.
When it was Su Wanqing’s turn, only clear soup remained.
She picked up her bowl and sipped.
A few corn grits floated in the broth, almost tasteless. But her mind was calculating something else—
Where would Liu Meilan hide the tickets and cash she had taken?
The keys.
Liu Meilan always had a set of keys dangling from her waist, jingling as she walked.
They were her “symbols of power”: the food cabinet, wardrobe, boxes, drawers—all locked, keys only she possessed.
Su Wanqing glanced at Liu Meilan’s waist.
The keys swayed with her motion.
Five in total: two copper (food cabinet and wardrobe), three iron (boxes and drawers).
She had to get a look at them, at least.
Opportunity came sooner than expected.
After breakfast, Liu Meilan ordered Su Wanqing to wash the dishes while she rummaged through boxes.
“Where’s that blue blouse with white flowers? I’m visiting Director Wang tomorrow—need to look presentable.” She emptied the wardrobe, shaking each item.
The keychain swayed with her movements.
After a while, frustrated at not finding it, she tossed the clothes onto the bed, and the keychain clattered to the floor.
She didn’t notice, turning to open another box.
Now.
Su Wanqing set down the bowl and stepped over. “Mom, I’ll fold the clothes.”
“Go on, don’t get in the way,” Liu Meilan said without looking back.
Su Wanqing crouched, pretending to pick up a fallen garment. Her hand swiftly passed over the keychain—
Not to steal, just to observe.
The shapes and teeth of the five keys imprinted in her mind instantly.
She had a good memory; her mother had once praised her, “Wanqing never forgets what she sees.”
The food cabinet key was the largest, copper, with smooth teeth.
The wardrobe key was smaller, also copper, with wavy teeth.
Among the three iron keys, the oldest had severely worn teeth—probably for the box with important items.
Su Wanqing returned the clothes to the bed and slipped back to the kitchen.
She had memorized the keys, but how to get the actual ones?
While washing dishes, her gaze landed on the bottle of “Dichlorvos” on the windowsill—Liu Meilan’s potent cockroach poison.
A dangerous thought arose.
No.
Su Wanqing immediately dismissed it.
Poisoning is a crime. She couldn’t destroy herself over a few scumbags.
Her mother had left her the space and a path to survive—not to turn her into a murderer.
She needed another way.
Just then, Su Jianguo finished eating, wiped his mouth, and stood: “I’m heading to the factory—inventory in the workshop today.”
“Come back early!” Liu Meilan called to the door. “Don’t forget tomorrow’s tasks!”
“Got it, got it.”
The door closed, leaving only Liu Meilan, Su Xiaobao, and Su Wanqing inside.
Liu Meilan finally found the blouse and gestured with satisfaction.
Su Xiaobao wanted to go play in the snow, and Liu Meilan coaxed him: “Be good. I’ll put on your new cotton pants, then take you to the supply store for candy this afternoon.”
New cotton pants? Su Wanqing sneered inwardly.
Probably made with her mother’s leftover cloth coupons.
“Wanqing,” Liu Meilan suddenly called, “this afternoon take that old quilt apart, fluff the cotton, make your brother a new pillow.”
The old quilt was the one Su Wanqing had slept under; the cotton was all hardened.
“Then… what do I sleep on?” she asked quietly.
“Isn’t there dry hay in the woodshed?” Liu Meilan replied matter-of-factly. “Make do for a few days—it won’t be cold by spring.”
Su Wanqing lowered her head, nails digging into her palm again.
Spring?
Next Wednesday she was being sold to Director Wang. Whether she’d live to see spring was uncertain.
“Got it,” she replied.
Humming, Liu Meilan led Su Xiaobao inside to try on the new cotton pants.
Su Wanqing stood in the kitchen, looking at the snow outside.
The small path she had cleared in the yard was already covered with a fresh layer.
Like her life—just when a little hope appeared, it was buried again.
But this time, it was different.
She turned and entered her small partitioned room, closing the door.
Focusing her mind, the scene shifted before her eyes.
When she opened them again, she was standing on the black soil in her space.
The sunlight—soft, or light similar to sunlight—fell gently, Lingquan Water steaming quietly.
The little wooden cabin’s door was open; the “Basic Herbal Guide” still lay on the table.
Su Wanqing walked to the Lingquan Water and cupped a handful to drink.
Cool and sweet, all fatigue vanished.
She walked to the cabbage plot she had planted two days ago.
Three days had passed in space time, equivalent to thirty days outside.
The cabbages were lush, leaves thick, each as large as a small basin.
Su Wanqing crouched, pulling one up.
Its roots were strong, soil moist and dark.
She carried the cabbage behind the cabin—a cleared patch she had prepared yesterday for “storage experiments.”
With a thought, the cabbage vanished from her arms and appeared in the center of the cleared area, hovering, motionless.
Time stood still.
She tried several times: put in, take out, put back.
The cabbage remained fresh, dew on the leaves intact.
Storage function confirmed.
Su Wanqing had an idea.
She left the space and returned to her partitioned room.
Dragging the old chest from under the bed, she opened it—inside were patched clothes and her mother’s “Barefoot Doctor Handbook.”
She reached into the pile, willed it, and the old cotton jackets disappeared.
The next second, they appeared in the space’s storage area.
Success! She could store things from the outside!
Her heartbeat quickened. She tested continuously: old pants, worn socks, a chipped enamel basin… each vanished and reappeared.
Anything she could touch could be stored.
But there was a limit: too large an item wouldn’t fit.
She tried the bed—no movement.
The chest—also immovable.
For now, only items smaller than roughly one cubic foot could be stored.
That was enough.
Loose food in the cabinet could be taken in portions.
Clothes in the wardrobe could be stored piece by piece.
Most importantly—
Su Wanqing looked toward the east room.
The ration tickets, cloth coupons, and cash Liu Meilan had hidden—once found, she could take them all.
No need to open the box even.
She went to the door, gently prying it open a crack.
Inside, Liu Meilan held the cloth coupons to the light: “Ten yards—enough for Xiaobao’s outfit, and I can make myself a new scarf…”
The coupons were in her hand.
Su Wanqing’s gaze sharpened.
Focusing her mind, she locked on.
The cloth coupons in Liu Meilan’s hands vanished.
“Huh?” Liu Meilan froze, flipping her hands. “They were just here! Where did they go?”
She bent to search the floor, under the bed, under pillows.
Of course, she couldn’t find them—they were already in Su Wanqing’s space, floating next to the old cotton jackets.
Su Wanqing closed the door, leaning against it, chest heaving.
Her first “remote retrieval” was a success.
Though only a few meters away, and a small target, it proved one thing:
As long as it was within her perception (currently as far as her eyesight), she could take it.
No need to touch.
This discovery made the entire plan clear.
No need to risk stealing keys, no need to pick locks, not even to enter the east room.
As long as Liu Meilan brought out the items, she could take them.
Su Wanqing went to the window, watching the swirling snow.
Next Wednesday—a blind date.
Before then, she would empty the house of all valuable items, bit by bit.
Including everything in her mother’s tin box.
Including everything Liu Meilan and Su Jianguo had no right to take.
She raised her hand, looking at her empty palm.
Empty—but she knew she already held the weight of a world.