“What’s going on here? Where’s the meal?” Yu Xiang, the second sister-in-law of the Liu family, looked discontentedly at the scene, her face clearly indicating this was a commonplace occurrence.
“He seems to have a fever.” Liu Qing Yang glanced at Liu Shuhuai. Even in the dim light, one could see his terrifyingly red complexion. He was the eldest son of the Liu family.
“Hmph, who knows if he’s just pretending to avoid cooking?” Liu Yao Zong said discontentedly.
“It’s all because of you! If it weren’t for you, he wouldn’t…” Liu Quan’s words were cut off by their grandfather before he could finish, and he didn’t dare say anything more.
Hmph, if Liu Yao Zong hadn’t pushed Liu Shuhuai into the river while he was washing clothes, would things have come to this? Fortunately, the clothes were found, but Grandma still beat Liu Shuhuai, saying he couldn’t do anything right—otherwise he could still be cooking.
Now everyone knew Liu Yao Zong was the one who pushed him. Couldn’t he have done it secretly? What an idiot.
“Enough about him. You go cook—we still need to work in the fields soon.” Liu Yan said impatiently, pointing at Sister-in-law Liu. As the head of the household, no one dared to argue when he spoke.
Sister-in-law Liu unhappily threw the boy back into the woodshed. After all, she hadn’t cooked in years—it had always been Liu Shuhuai’s job. “Useless thing,” she muttered, kicking him for good measure.
Liu Yan and Zhou Ting Ting had three sons: the eldest, Liu Qing Yang (married to Song Xiao Lan, with one son, Liu Yao Zong, 15 years old); the second, Liu Qing Zhu (married to Yu Xiang, with eldest daughter Liu Zhi, 15, and eldest son Liu Quan, 11); and the third, Liu Qing Lin (married to Su Yao, with Ge’er Liu Shu Zhun, 9 years old).
Unfortunately, Liu Qing Lin, the third son, had been forced to enlist in the army ten years earlier when the court required every household to provide one male for military service. Reluctantly, he left his newlywed wife and went to serve.
Not long after, Su Yao discovered she was pregnant. During childbirth, she suffered a major hemorrhage and, after immense hardship, finally gave birth to a Ge’er, named Liu Shuhuai. Due to complications from the delivery, she passed away when Liu Shuhuai was three. Soon after, news came that Liu Qing Lin had died in battle.
With both parents gone, the eldest aunt put young Shuhuai to work gathering pigweed and sweeping the floor—no work, no food. He looked to Grandma for help, but she remained silent. He looked to Grandpa, but Grandpa wouldn’t meet his eyes.
Grandma had a thin face with dark skin, under faint eyebrows, her kind eyes shone brightly. She gazed at me with affection.
The sun was behind her, yet it burned me. I didn’t know if it was the sun’s heat scorching my heart or that icy stare that seared my hopes with pain.
To outsiders, Grandma appeared kind and compassionate, so why did I see something different? Five-year-old Liu Shuhuai wondered: if his parents were still here, would things be different? Could he, like Liu Yao Zong, have his parents by his side?
By the time Liu Shuhuai was five, he was responsible for all household chores, big and small—including laundry for the whole family, feeding the pigs, and more.
If he finished everything, he still had to work in the fields, returning only at mealtime to cook. He wasn’t even allowed to eat his fill, and sometimes he got no food at all. Occasionally, Liu Shuhuai had to forage for wild vegetables and greens in the mountains, subsisting mostly on water.
At night, “Sss, it hurts so much. Am I going to die? Maybe that’s for the best—no more beatings, no more hunger. Being hungry is truly awful.”
Liu Shuhuai whispered softly, unable to even open his eyes or move. He felt his body stiffening, so exhausted. They wouldn’t feed him, hoping he would die sooner to save food. If he cooked, he could secretly eat a tiny bit.
If caught stealing food, he’d be starved for three days. He remembered when he was six, he stole a piece of meat, though he only took a small bite.
Yet he was immediately starved for three days, locked in the woodshed—which was also his room. Fortunately, it rained during those days, so he could drink water. He caught a cold from the chill and had no medicine, but he survived.
If there were gods, he wished he could eat a piece of meat—that would be enough. Was that asking too much? Would the gods refuse? Even just smelling it would be good, Liu Shuhuai thought to himself.
“Thump.”
What was that sound?
“Meow~” This… He Xunzhou looked at the child lying in the haystack.
He was as thin as a bamboo pole, his face pale. His hands were emaciated, bones visible, his small face dark, eyes shut, lips purple.
He lay motionless, as if already gone, looking like a five-year-old. Who would have known Liu Shuhuai was already nine?
Just like him in his childhood—locked in the basement for objecting to his father’s remarriage, given no food or drink unless he obeyed. In truth, his father never cared about his opinion; it was just an excuse to abuse him. Thinking back, it was utterly miserable.
And this child was struggling hard, unwilling to fall into eternal sleep. Back then, he had been the same, struggling while waiting for rescue. He had waited for his godfather, and now this child had waited for him.
He wanted to save his younger self.
He Xunzhou walked to the child’s side, placed his cat paw a few centimeters from the child’s mouth, and silently invoked the Spirit Spring. A few drops of water slowly trickled from his paw into Liu Shuhuai’s mouth, flowing down gradually.
Liu Shuhuai swallowed instinctively.
He Xunzhou quickly processed everything that had happened and tried to enter the Dimension. Inside, it was as large as a football field, with a thatched cottage. He Xunzhou looked around—three rooms: one for sleeping, one as a kitchen, and one as a living room.
The entire cottage was enclosed by a fence, with a well in front of the door, likely the Spirit Spring. How to drink from it? As he wondered, water emerged from his tiger paw.
Sigh!
He Xunzhou lay on the ground, put his tiger paw into his mouth, and immediately felt a cooling sensation, his entire body so comfortable it made him want to sleep. Yet, anyone could see the despair and lifelessness in his demeanor.
After waking from a nap, he immediately checked the watch outside. Three hours in the Dimension equaled six hours here. Yes, that “damned orb” had left a watch in his mind—one he couldn’t take out.
Ancient trees in the deep, remote forest stood tall with lush branches and leaves, swaying in the wind. They had witnessed countless historical changes, yet silently guarded this ancient woodland. It was like a maze—once you entered, you couldn’t get out, and even wild beasts feared it.
He Xunzhou still remembered that day, strolling slowly through the forest. Soon after, a noise came from behind. He turned to see a wild boar charging at him and immediately entered the Dimension. From inside, he watched the boar pacing back and forth.
This place was truly dangerous!
Fortunately, the Dimension had food. Different animals appeared daily, matching his age, not too powerful—otherwise, it would be unclear who would end up as the prey.
Morning, noon, and night, but he had to catch his own food. If he failed to catch anything, a chicken would automatically appear in the evening.
How considerate.
He Xunzhou would never place his hopes on the Dimension, so during the day he would hunt on his own, catching pheasants, rabbits, and the like.
He was now one year old. According to tiger years, his weight had reached 145 kilograms, and his body length measured 1.5 meters.
He Xunzhou always ate his prey raw. After all, he couldn’t even transform back into a human. Occasionally, when he caught rabbits, he would store them in the Dimension since it could hold both inanimate objects and living creatures. Whatever state they were in when stored would be exactly how they appeared when taken out.