Those were fragments of memories belonging to the original owner of this body. Piece by piece, Ye Mengyi sorted through them, gradually assembling a complete picture of a family called the Lu family.
In those memories, the old woman known as Grandma Lu was kind and approachable.
Big or small, every matter in the Lu household seemed to be decided by her. Like a weathered pillar that had endured countless storms, she held together this family that looked as though it could collapse at any moment.
Then there was Lu Qingshan’s father, Lu Dahe.
A limping figure appeared in her mind. Years ago, he had broken his leg while climbing the mountain.
The original owner clearly remembered the family’s desperation back then—they had no money to hire a doctor and could only watch helplessly as the injury worsened until it became a lifelong disability.
From that moment on, the smiles on Lu Dahe’s face became fewer and fewer. Most of the time, he simply sat silently at the doorway, staring blankly toward the distant mountains, his back filled with helplessness and guilt.
As for Lu Qingshan’s mother, she only appeared in scattered fragments of memory.
She had been a gentle woman, but after giving birth to a pair of twins—a boy and a girl—she suffered severe bleeding.
Again, because the family lacked money for a doctor, she didn’t survive.
Those twins were the now six-year-old Lu Qingsong and Lu Qinglian.
But because their mother died giving birth to them, the innocent children were branded by the villagers as “jinxes” and “cursed stars.”
Ye Mengyi remembered scenes of the twins being chased and bullied by other children, or stared at with disgust by adults. Their tiny shrinking figures made her chest tighten painfully.
The Lu family had never split into separate households. Altogether, thirteen people crowded into several thatched huts.
Second Uncle Lu Erhe and Second Aunt Xu Ru were hardworking, practical people. Their son Lu Qinghai was the same age as her, while their daughter Lu Qingyu was ten and lively by nature.
Third Uncle Lu Sanhe’s wife, Sun Yanfang, had always been frail. In the original owner’s memories, it seemed she had worn herself down from the sorrow of never giving the Lu family a son.
Their daughter Lu Qingshuang was eight years old, timid, and quiet.
And then there was Lu Qingshan himself—the heaviest burden and brightest presence within this family.
When his mother died, he had only been twelve years old, yet he had already taken up the burden of supporting the family, carrying a hunting bow into the mountains.
After his father’s leg injury, life became even harder. Though his uncles helped as much as they could, feeding thirteen mouths was like carrying a mountain on their backs.
Yet Lu Qingshan never complained.
In her memories, he always returned silently from the mountains carrying prey, his eyes holding a resilience far beyond his years.
There was also Aunt Lu Yunxue, who had married far away into Wang Family Village.
The original owner remembered a helpless story about her as well.
When Lu Qingshan’s mother died and Lu Dahe was severely injured, the family had no money for funeral expenses or medicine. It was Wang Dazhu’s family from Wang Family Village who provided five taels of silver, and in exchange, Lu Yunxue married into their household.
Those five taels had saved the Lu family in their moment of crisis—but they had also bound Lu Yunxue’s entire life.
The flood of memories slowly settled.
Sitting on the wheelbarrow, Ye Mengyi looked toward the increasingly closer cluster of low thatched cottages ahead, her emotions tangled and complicated.
This was the life she was about to face.
A Lu family filled with hardship and entanglements.
The wooden axle of the wheelbarrow continued creaking noisily, as though playing the uncertain prelude to her future.
The dirt ground of the thatched courtyard still held traces of morning dampness.
Lu Erhe was chopping firewood with an axe. Xu Ru squatted by the wall sorting wild vegetables.
Sun Yanfang sat on a small stool mending worn-out clothes, while Lu Sanhe and Lu Qinghai organized freshly woven bamboo baskets.
Creak—
The wheelbarrow rolled over the dirt path outside the courtyard, and everyone stopped what they were doing.
When Lu Qingshan pushed the cart into the yard, sweat still clung to his forehead, and the coarse cloth on his shoulders had darkened from perspiration.
But when everyone saw the girl sitting inside the cart, the things in their hands dropped to the ground one after another.
“This is…” Lu Erhe froze mid-swing, axe suspended in the air, eyes wide.
Xu Ru had just snapped the roots off a wild vegetable. Looking up, she sucked in a cold breath.
“Why did you bring a girl home?”
Sun Yanfang put down her sewing needle, unconsciously clutching the corner of her clothes. Her eyes fell upon the cloth wrapped around Ye Mengyi’s head, where dark red blood faintly seeped through.
At that moment, Grandma Lu emerged from the main room leaning on a cane. Her cloudy eyes brightened briefly upon recognizing Ye Mengyi before she frowned.
“Isn’t this Scholar Ye’s girl? Qingshan, why did you bring her here? And what happened to her head?”
Lu Dahe sat beneath the roof overhang, his lame leg twitching slightly. His mouth opened, but no words came out.
Lu Qinghai and the younger children also gathered around, staring curiously and confusedly at Ye Mengyi on the wheelbarrow.
Lu Qingshan said little. He only replied in a deep voice,
“I’ll explain in a moment.”
Then he carefully bent down and lifted Ye Mengyi into his arms.
His movements weren’t practiced, but they were extraordinarily gentle—as if he were holding something fragile.
Ye Mengyi’s head still felt dizzy as strong arms encircled her. A faint scent of grass and earth lingered around him.
Looking up slightly, she caught sight of Lu Qingshan’s tightly set jawline and the beads of sweat rolling down his neck.
Passing through the crowded family members, Lu Qingshan carried her into a thatched room.
The door creaked open, and a stale old smell drifted out.
The room was pitifully simple. There was only a wooden bed covered with patched blankets and quilts. The stitches were crooked, and bits of gray stuffing poked out from the corners—whether cotton or something else, it was hard to tell.
“Lie here for now,” Lu Qingshan said softly.
He gently placed her on the bed.
The wooden boards were hard, and the impact made Ye Mengyi shift slightly as a dull pain throbbed from the wound on her head.
Outside, Xu Ru and Lu Erhe hurriedly brought the wheelbarrow inside. The books in the cart were carefully carried out one by one.
Lu Sanhe found several relatively flat wooden stumps in the yard and arranged them into a temporary “table,” placing the books carefully atop them.
The edges of the pages were worn, but the writing on the covers remained clear.
Inside this shabby thatched house, the books looked strangely out of place.
As soon as Lu Qingshan straightened up, he realized the entire Lu family had crowded around the doorway.
More than a dozen pairs of eyes stared at him, waiting for an explanation.
Grandma Lu stood at the front leaning on her cane, her brows still tightly furrowed.
Second Uncle and Third Uncle rubbed their hands nervously, while Xu Ru and Sun Yanfang looked at Ye Mengyi with sympathy.
The children clung to the doorframe, curiously peeking inside.
Lu Qingshan turned to face his family.
His throat bobbed once before he slowly spoke.
“Grandma, Father, Second Uncle, Second Aunt, Third Uncle, Third Aunt… She fell in the mountains. I saved her and promised to treat her injuries. She… she’s willing to marry me.”
Then Lu Qingshan carefully recounted everything about Ye Mengyi wanting to sever ties with the Ye family.
When Grandma Lu and Lu Dahe heard the whole story, both of them were stunned.