Wang Jinhua’s sharp, cutting voice was like fingernails scraping against an iron pot, grating painfully against the ears.
Before she even arrived, her voice came first.
Then, with a dull bang, she kicked the already rickety door.
The doorframe let out a painful creak, swaying—but stubbornly refusing to collapse.
Almost the instant the sound rang out, Liu Xiaoman shielded Li Xiuxiu and Liu Congming behind her.
After finishing a bowl of hot porridge and swallowing the special medicine, the deadly burning sensation in her body had mostly subsided. Though still weak, she at least had the strength to sit up.
Now, leaning against the pile of straw, her eyes were calm and sharp—completely different from the dying, frail girl she had been just hours ago.
Seeing that the door didn’t give way, Wang Jinhua cursed under her breath and circled to a hole in the wall, sticking her head inside.
Her nose twitched like a dog’s, sniffing hard, her shifty eyes darting around the dim hut, greedily searching for the source of the aroma.
“Well, well, Li Xiuxiu! The whole family is eating vegetable gruel, and you lot are sneaking good food here! What smells so good? Did you hide some meat?!”
Frightened by the sudden commotion, Li Xiuxiu trembled all over. She instinctively clutched Liu Congming’s sleeve, her lips quivering as she tried to explain.
She was terrified—afraid that the secret of this miraculous porridge would be discovered and bring even greater disaster upon her daughter.
At that moment, a cool yet surprisingly strong hand pressed down on the back of hers.
Liu Xiaoman completely blocked her and her brother behind her and met Wang Jinhua’s probing gaze, speaking first in a cold voice:
“Aunt, it’s already night. Instead of sleeping, you came all the way to our new home by the mass grave. Are you trying to pick up some bad luck?”
The way she said “Aunt” was neutral, but the sarcasm in her words struck like a needle straight into Wang Jinhua’s heart.
Caught off guard, Wang Jinhua choked for a moment before her brows shot up. She planted her hands on her hips, ready to curse:
“You little slut, how dare you curse me! Enough nonsense— I smelled meat! Hand it over!”
“As long as you’re still surnamed Liu, everything in your branch belongs to the family! If you’re eating, everyone eats!”
“Meat?” Liu Xiaoman scoffed inwardly. What imagination—to smell abalone from a bowl of plain porridge.
Her face remained calm as she seized the flaw in Wang Jinhua’s words, speaking clearly:
“Belongs to the family? Aunt, have you forgotten? Our family has already been split off.”
Meeting Wang Jinhua’s blazing stare, she continued word by word:
“Grandmother said it herself—we are bad luck, a plague. She threw the three of us out to fend for ourselves so we wouldn’t dirty the old house.”
“For that, Uncle even wrote a document and stamped it. What, in less than half a day, you suddenly remember we’re part of the family again? Or do you want to invite our ‘bad luck’ back to the house?”
Her voice was cold and precise, her logic terrifyingly clear.
She deliberately emphasized bad luck, plague, and document with a seal—each word like a slap across Wang Jinhua’s face.
The mention of the separation document and bad luck left Wang Jinhua’s face shifting between green and pale. For a long moment, she couldn’t speak.
She had never expected this timid, sickly girl—who used to keep her head down—to suddenly become so sharp-tongued.
But as a seasoned village quarrel champion, she quickly changed tactics, rolling into a shameless act:
“I don’t care! Even if you’re separated, you’re still juniors! If you have food, you must honor your elders!”
“Eating good food without thinking of your grandmother—that’s unfilial! You deserve to be struck by lightning!”
The banner of filial piety instantly made Li Xiuxiu’s face go pale.
In this era, being labeled unfilial could crush a person.
But Liu Xiaoman only let out a cold laugh.
She even raised her voice deliberately so it would carry into the night:
“Honor? When we were thrown out, Grandmother gave us less than half a sack of rice bran, not a single coin. Did she ever think we were her grandchildren?”
“And you—did you ever think we were your niece and nephew? Now you talk about honor?”
She paused, her gaze turning even colder—like two poisoned blades stabbing straight at Wang Jinhua.
“Besides, who saw us eating meat? It’s the dead of night, right next to a mass grave. Where would meat come from?”
“Oh—”
She deliberately dragged out the word, a strange smile curling at her lips.
“There is plenty of meat in a mass grave… meat no one claims. If you’re that hungry, go dig it up yourself.”
The words “meat no one claims” struck like a death sentence, instantly crushing all of Wang Jinhua’s arrogance.
She shrieked and stumbled backward, her face turning deathly pale.
Superstitious as she was, she wouldn’t even pass this place during the day without detouring. Now, with Liu Xiaoman’s eerie tone, she felt chills down her spine—as if countless ghostly hands were brushing against her neck.
Half terrified, half enraged, Wang Jinhua pointed at Liu Xiaoman, stammering “Y-you…” but unable to form a single insult.
For the first time, she felt a bone-deep chill from this fifteen-year-old niece.
Those eyes, that tone—this was no frail girl, but a vengeful spirit clawing its way back from hell.
Unable to gain any verbal advantage and too frightened to enter the ominous hut, Wang Jinhua could only stand outside, hurling repetitive curses.
Her shouting tore through the quiet night, and in the distance, faint oil lamps lit up in a few neighboring homes.
Realizing she was gaining nothing and might attract a crowd, she knew she couldn’t win against this sharp tongue alone.
She stomped her foot hard, leaving behind a blustering threat:
“Just you wait, you little wretch! You’ve really grown bold! I’m going to tell Mother right now—let’s see how you handle it when she comes!”
After shouting, she fled toward the Liu family house as if ghosts were chasing her, her curses fading into the night.
At last, the thatched hut fell into silence again.
Li Xiuxiu’s tense body finally relaxed. She looked at her daughter’s calm profile, her expression complicated—fear lingering, yet mixed with a strange sense of unfamiliar pride.
Liu Xiaoman knew Wang Jinhua was only the appetizer.
The real trouble—the final boss, Old Madam Tian, the one who had caused all the misery of their branch—would arrive soon.
They had to find a real way to survive before she came.
And survival meant money, food, and the strength to stand tall.
She turned her head, her dark eyes reflecting the endless night outside.
Her gaze passed over the nearby mass grave and settled on the distant mountains, their towering outlines visible under the moonlight.
That… was her true treasure trove.
Liu Xiaoman took a deep breath. The air still carried the sweetness of porridge and the freshness of earth.
She looked at her frightened mother and still-confused younger brother and said, with unprecedented determination:
“Mother, tomorrow… we’re going into the mountains.”