1955, Liulin Brigade, Xinyang County, Anshi, China.
“I’m… not dead? I’m still alive?”
Liú Shūxīn looked up at the roof above, crudely covered with thatch, and whispered to herself. She calmed the thrill of being alive again, then turned to take in the room around her.
The room was small. The walls were made of yellow clay mixed with straw, and a few pieces of men’s and women’s clothing hung on the wall—blue-gray in color, faded, with several patches sewn on.
Against one wall stood a large wardrobe; on the other side, a short-legged cabinet with two broken feet propped up by stones.
By the door was a wooden rack holding a chipped wooden basin, with two pairs of black cloth shoes placed underneath.
Other than these, the room had nothing—well, except for the bed she was lying on. It wasn’t exactly a bed, more like a kang she had seen in books before.
Liú Shūxīn had been born after the apocalypse, with dual abilities in the Wood and Strength lines. Her father had Strength powers, but her mother’s abilities were unknown. She had inherited her father’s Strength powers and had also awakened a Wood ability.
According to her hot-tempered father, her mother had been an ordinary person who submitted to him for survival and later died giving birth to her due to complications.
Shūxīn boldly speculated that her Wood ability might have come from her ordinary mother.
In the early apocalypse, weak-bodied people couldn’t always awaken their abilities. Later, some could trigger them through training.
Her father often said he had raised her from infancy with his own hands.
But in truth, ever since she could walk, she had followed their mission team everywhere, and the uncles and aunts in the team had invested much effort in helping her grow.
In the apocalypse, children were precious. Even though they could survive without someone’s care, Shūxīn quietly accepted the fact that her father had indeed raised her alone.
Every day in the apocalypse was a fight for survival, for food and water, and accidents were everywhere.
So when she was fifteen, it was expected that her father and the other adults didn’t return from a mission.
Shūxīn knew that in this man-eating world, she was no longer a protected child; she would have to fight to survive on her own.
Thus, Shūxīn struggled through the apocalypse, occasionally recalling warm days with her irritable father—those were among her few joys.
At twenty-two, Shūxīn died during a mission saving a teammate. She hadn’t had such a strong resolve before, but there were children in the team—little ones, precious like she had been—and she wanted them to live.
Now, she was Liú Shūxīn again, the same as her former name, just with a different character. She was now a three- or four-year-old child.
From her faint memories, she knew the era she was in resembled the 1960s–70s she had read about in books.
She didn’t know exactly if everything was the same, and she didn’t care to investigate.
She only knew this world had no apocalypse, no zombies, no mutated beasts. Conditions were harsh, but with effort, she could eat her fill.
That alone made her feel lucky!
Knowing this world was safe, Shūxīn planned to sleep soundly. After all, she was still a small child, and after the emotional turbulence of self-detonation and rebirth, it was time to restore her energy.
The world was big; sleep could wait for everything else. With that in mind, Shūxīn drifted into slumber, and soon the room was filled with the faint sound of her snoring.
By the afternoon, the sun slanted westward, and our heroine woke.
Shūxīn opened her eyes, yawned, stretched lazily, and sat up.
She paused for a few seconds. This was the most peaceful sleep she had ever had—no zombies smelling like humans, no treacherous companions, no life-threatening beasts.
Carefully climbing down, she put on her shoes and headed to the door. It was time to step out and embrace her new world.
Opening the door, she gasped. The sun, though low, hadn’t fully set yet. Its warm rays bathed the world—not too harsh, just comforting.
Beneath the sun stood a tall persimmon tree, lush with leaves and dotted with countless tiny green fruits—just starting to ripen.
Shūxīn swallowed hard, remembering the taste of persimmons from her past memories. They had been delicious!
In the apocalypse, fruit was a luxury; even dry rations were a treat. Fruit was a dream to savor, and now it was just a month or two away—enough to stir her appetite.
Shaking off her drool, she looked around the courtyard. Like the room, the courtyard walls and other houses were yellow clay, but more finely constructed.
Three large houses stood in the middle, with two smaller houses on the left, one of which was an outbuilding for miscellaneous storage.
On the right was the room she had just exited, mirroring the left side.
The courtyard was clean; occasionally, persimmon leaves fell, adding splashes of green.
No one was around. From memory, the adults had gone to work, and the children were playing outside.
The original child had been sick recently, which was why her parents had left her at home to rest.
Shūxīn moved a small stool to sit at the courtyard gate and sorted through her thoughts.
As a young child, memories were sparse, making it easier to understand her situation.
Her family was not large or complicated. Grandpa Liú Dàlín and Grandma Yáng Yā had two sons and three daughters.
The eldest, Liú Tiězhù, married Lín Hóng and had a son and a daughter.
The second, Liú Shízhù, married Yáng Yuè and had a son and a daughter.
The three daughters of the elder couple married in nearby villages, so visits were convenient.
The grandchildren in order: eldest son’s children—Liú Jiànjūn and Liú Shūlán; second son’s children—Liú Jiànguó and Liú Shūxīn.
Liú Jiànjūn was seven, her biological older brother was six, and her five-year-old cousin Liú Shūlán followed. Her aunt was currently expecting another child.
Her mother had been weak and only conceived Shūxīn three years after her older brother. Childbirth had weakened her, and she never had more children.
Her parents, Liú Shízhù and Yáng Yuè, were her biological parents. Yáng Yuè was also her grandmother’s niece from another branch, so her grandmother naturally favored her mother more.
But this didn’t mean the grandmother disliked her aunt—the aunt was her grandmother’s carefully chosen eldest daughter-in-law. Shūxīn’s mother, being a niece, was closer, but overall, all daughters-in-law were treated fairly.
Her calling her parents by name so naturally and without hesitation reflected the harshness of apocalypse survival—most children lacked fathers or mothers. Surviving to fifteen under a caring father was a rare blessing.
Though her father was temperamental and careless, she never doubted his love. If he knew she had arrived in a peaceful era, he would be overjoyed. Whether she called him “dad” or even “ancestor,” as long as she survived safely, that was his wish for her.
Though her family had flaws, they cared for her. Even her grandmother, who in memories had been biased toward boys, did not oppress her like other families might.
No one is perfect. For Shūxīn, these were trivial matters. From now on, this was her family—she could accept them, and anything she couldn’t, she could handle. After all, surviving the apocalypse for over twenty years wasn’t for nothing.