After seeing off the production team leader, Mother Song pulled Lin Ruxia aside and asked, “Ruxia, are you really planning to buy that estate? Aside from the house itself, those bamboo groves and fruit trees aren’t worth anything. People used to pick fruit there—it’s so sour it makes your teeth ache. And that place feels gloomy and eerie.”
“Mom, if Third Sister-in-law has money to burn, why are you worrying?” the eldest sister-in-law sneered again.
Father Song sat at the doorway, puffing on his pipe. “That’s enough. Old woman, don’t meddle in their affairs. And you, third daughter-in-law, think it through carefully.”
“Mm, I will,” Lin Ruxia replied, not even bothering to look at the eldest sister-in-law.
“Da Ya, Er Ya, San Ya—hurry and pack things up. Move these into your grandma and grandpa’s room,” Second Brother Song instructed his daughters.
Second Brother had five daughters and one son. In the original story, the female lead was their third daughter, San Ya. In her previous life, her parents favored sons over daughters and married her off to an older widower for a high bride price. She suffered domestic abuse, multiple miscarriages, and later lived a life of poverty because of her stepchildren.
After being reborn, San Ya believed her suffering stemmed from her parents’ favoritism and poverty. To change her fate, she first needed the family to split—hence today’s division.
Lin Ruxia glanced at the original heroine. She was still a frail little thing—malnourished, with sallow skin. Aside from her lively eyes, there was nothing remarkable about her. Though already six or seven, she looked no taller than a three- or four-year-old.
Then Lin Ruxia looked at her own pile of sons—and nearly got a shock. They all stared at her lifelessly.
“Why are you staring at me? Hurry up and move things!” she snapped.
All her children were present, even the youngest already two years old. The slightly older ones were helping the little ones.
“Mom, where should we put our things?” asked the quick-witted Sanbao.
“Just put them in my room,” Lin Ruxia said after a moment’s thought.
There really wasn’t any extra space left in the house. The west wing near the latrine was occupied by Second Brother’s family. Her own family and Eldest Brother’s lived in the east wing near the kitchen. Father and Mother Song stayed in the main hall’s west side, while the fourth brother’s family occupied the east side—but since they rarely returned, that space was used by her younger children.
The brick house was good, but with so many people living together, it felt cramped.
Each child carried a little, and everything was moved quickly—many hands made light work. Lin Ruxia stood aside directing them, while the children did all the labor—like a boss exploiting child workers.
“Mom, what are we eating tonight?” Fifth Bao asked, dragging Eleventh Bao along.
Lin Ruxia glanced at them and forced herself to act natural. “Go ask your grandparents if we can cook together tonight.”
“Okay…” Fifth Bao looked worried. His mother still seemed the same as before—what would happen in the future?
It was already around five in the afternoon. People who had gone to work were returning home to cook. It was March, and although the production team was in the south, the sun would set around six. People were poor and rarely used candles—it was considered wasteful. There was no electricity in the village, and the nearest phone was ten li away at the commune.
After putting things away, the children quickly left the room. Watching their retreating backs, Lin Ruxia sighed inwardly. This is all the original host’s doing…
She chose to cook with Father and Mother Song because she was new and unfamiliar with everything. Though she used to cook abroad, it was very different from using a large traditional stove.
Looking around the room, she realized the original host had been heavily influenced by her younger sister—decorating everything to resemble her former home in the capital.
Opening the money box, she was shocked to find over a thousand yuan inside, along with many ration coupons—cloth coupons, grain coupons, and more.
Unexpectedly, the original host had more savings than Mother Song, the head of the household. But it made sense—her husband had been sending back most of his allowance. Now he earned 120 yuan a month, keeping only five for himself and sending the rest home.
There were also several letters—five or six from the army, likely from her husband, dated eight or nine years ago, and three from the capital, probably from her family.
Lin Ruxia opened the letters from the capital. All three were from her second brother.
One was written when she first went to the countryside, telling her about the family situation and sending money.
Another, two months later, said he had gotten married and could no longer help her—which likely pushed the original host to marry.
The last one, two years later, said her twin sister was getting married to the son of a meat factory director and hoped she would return. But she never went back—she saw that sister as an enemy, not family.
Looking at her husband’s letters, Lin Ruxia couldn’t help but think he was a typical straight-laced man. Every letter was just asking about the family and children, hinting she should reply. At first, he seemed hopeful—but when she never wrote back, his letters gradually stopped.
After putting the money box away, Lin Ruxia began thinking about her future.
Going back was impossible. And being a wandering ghost sounded even worse. At least now she was alive—and she had that mysterious mall space, so she didn’t lack supplies.
“Wait… can I take things out of the space?” she muttered.
She mentally said “enter” and appeared inside the mall office. She hurried to the food section, grabbed a piece of bread, and thought “exit.”
The next moment, she was back in her room—with the bread in her hand.
“This is great! I can take things out—I won’t have to worry anymore!” she almost jumped with joy—then froze.
“What if someone sees me disappear and reappear? Wouldn’t they think I’m a monster?”
She looked around nervously. “What should I do…?”
“Mom! Grandpa and Grandma said we can cook together, but we have to bring our own grain!” Song Dabao called from outside.
“Okay, I’ll bring it out in a bit!” Lin Ruxia replied, setting aside the space issue for now.
There were three sacks of coarse grain (100 jin each) and one sack of rice (50 jin). She calculated—thirteen people would need at least eight jin per meal, especially growing children.
She checked the coarse grain: sweet potatoes, corn, and mixed grain with husks. She rejected them—sweet potatoes at night would cause… unpleasant consequences.
The rice, though not perfect, was still better. She scooped out eight jin.
“Mom, what are we cooking tonight?” she asked in the kitchen.
“What else? Just some wild vegetables your kids picked,” Mother Song said, then suddenly exclaimed, “Oh heavens! Why did you bring eight jin of rice? You don’t know how to manage a household!”
Lin Ruxia was startled. “What’s wrong? Is there a problem with the rice?”
She quickly calculated again—older boys needed at least seven liang each, younger ones less—but still…
“Third Sister-in-law really lives well—bringing out eight jin of rice just after splitting the family!” the eldest sister-in-law said sourly.
“You don’t understand cooking,” the second sister-in-law said gently. “For your family, three jin per meal is enough. Especially at night—you only need to be half full. Otherwise, your grain won’t last a month. You can mix in coarse grain to stretch it.”
“I see… thank you for the reminder,” Lin Ruxia said. Then she added, pretending to tear up, “But I want them to eat well tonight. I saw how skinny my children are… I feel terrible. Before, we ate together, so I didn’t pay much attention. Now they’ll eat with me—I can’t let their first meal be bad…”
“Well… if you feel that way, I’ll cook this rice for you,” Mother Song said, suddenly softening.
“Oh, and Mom—can you make a few fried eggs? The vegetables are fine, but there’s no meat. Eggs would help.”
Mother Song looked at her hopeful expression, swallowed her scolding words, and nodded.
“…Alright. Bring them here.”