Thunder ripped the sky apart.
A blinding white flash hit the earth, shaking the cracked mud walls of a forgotten hut. The ground vibrated. Dust rained from the ceiling. Another thunderbolt crashed, and the world trembled like a dying beast.
Wei Lian jerked awake—
gasping, trembling, chest tight as if she had been drowning.
Cold mud pressed against her palms.
Ash. Straw. Damp earth.
Her lungs burned as she sucked in the heavy, moldy air.
Where was she?
Before the question formed completely, three tall bodies hurled themselves onto her.
"Mama!!"
"Mama, scared—!"
"Mama hug!!"
Three nearly grown girls clung to her with the desperation of toddlers. Their voices shook with terror. Their fingers dug into her clothes, their breath hot and panicked against her neck.
Weak moonlight flickered through a torn window.
And in the flashes, Wei Lian saw them clearly.
Her daughters.
Her triplet babies.
Except—no. Not babies.
Their bodies were wrong.
Long legs.
Long arms.
Teenage frames.
But their voices…
their expressions…
their fear…
Her daughters were still three years old inside.
"Mama," the youngest whimpered, "the boom noise is chasing us…"
A thunderbolt tore open the sky again.
All three screamed and crashed deeper into her embrace.
Wei Lian's arms tightened around them instinctively.
"It's okay. Mama's here. Mama's here," she whispered, though her heart hammered wildly.
Because suddenly—
pain shot through her skull.
Her real death returned.
Not the death of this frail, starved body—
but hers.
---
She remembered the rain.
The running.
The sound of boots behind her.
The weight of three tiny bodies in her arms.
And the man she was hiding them from.
Han Zeyu.
One mistake.
One night.
One billionaire who decided she "belonged" to him.
When she found out she was pregnant, she didn't fear him—
she feared his family.
They wanted the children.
They didn't want her.
She had overheard the words clearly:
> "Take the babies from her.
The mother is unnecessary."
So she ran.
Town to town.
Cheap rentals.
Fake names.
Changing SIM cards.
Never staying more than five days.
Her daughters were all she had—
and she loved them with a fierceness no one could break.
Until that night.
She hid them in a tiny balcony storage room, kissed their tiny cheeks, and whispered:
"Don't make a sound. Mama will protect you."
The door burst open.
A flashlight seared into her eyes.
Hands reached for her.
She held the door closed with all her strength.
Another thunder outside—
and then a gunshot.
Pain.
Falling.
Darkness.
The last thing she heard was her daughters' cries:
"Mama… Mama…"
---
And then—
She woke up here.
In a starving woman's body.
Inside a broken hut.
With her daughters alive, whole, breathing against her chest.
Wei Lian swallowed hard as the memory shattered into silence.
Her babies… survived.
They were here.
With her.
The thunder crashed again, shaking the fragile walls. The roof groaned. The hut trembled like it might collapse.
Her daughters whimpered and pressed their faces into her shoulders.
"Mama… hungry…" said the middle one, rubbing her stomach.
Hungry.
Of course.
She looked around, heart sinking.
The hut was… unlivable.
The floor was cracked mud.
The walls were peeling.
Cobwebs hung like gray rags.
A broken stool lay upside down.
A pot covered in mold sat in the corner.
It reeked of mildew, smoke, and starvation.
A wave of memories slammed into her — memories of this body's former owner:
A young widow.
Husband died in war.
His stepmother blamed her, threw her out, forced her to care for his three "simple, useless sisters."
No food.
No money.
No mercy.
The woman had starved to death here.
Wei Lian exhaled shakily.
She wasn't going to die like that.
And neither were her daughters.
She stood slowly. Her legs trembled from weakness—this body was skin and bones.
Her daughters followed her with wobbling steps, clinging to her clothes.
"Mama… no food?" the eldest asked, voice tiny.
Wei Lian forced herself to check the kitchen area. She opened broken jars, flipped old baskets, moved sacks eaten by rats.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing—
The panic rose in her throat until—
"Mama," the youngest tugged at her sleeve, "we have space."
Wei Lian blinked. "What?"
The three girls exchanged looks—
as if deciding who would explain.
The eldest stepped forward.
"Mama, in our space… Xinyu has seeds. Lots. Anything."
The middle nodded fast.
"I grow them! Big big veg in two days! I just think and boom!"
The youngest puffed her chest.
"And I have spices! Salt! Sugar! Vinegar! Soy sauce! Chili powder! And more! Infinite! Unlimited! All in my tummy-space!"
Wei Lian stared at them.
She had lost everything—
her life, her home, her freedom—
But Heaven had given her something back.
Her miracle daughters.
Stronger.
Gifted.
Boundless.
The eldest opened her palm.
Seeds appeared.
From nothing.
The middle cupped the seeds and closed her eyes.
A soft green glow.
Sprouts burst instantly.
Wei Lian's heart jolted.
The youngest held out her hands:
A perfect jar of salt appeared.
Then chili paste.
Then sugar crystals.
Wei Lian's knees nearly buckled.
This wasn't just survival.
This was rebirth.
Her daughters were no longer helpless modern babies.
They were Heaven's compensation.
"Good girls," she whispered, voice trembling. "Mama understands now."
Lightning struck again—loud enough to shake the walls. But Wei Lian no longer froze.
"Come," she said. "Mama will cook."
She searched deeper and finally found a hidden cloth pouch.
It was heavy.
Her breath caught as she opened it—
Rice.
Real rice.
Almost a full kilogram.
Another pouch—
Millet.
Enough to last.
She lit the clay stove.
Her daughters hovered behind her—curious, hungry, excited.
"Xinyu, more seeds."
"Qingmei, grow them."
"Xiaotang, give Mama a little salt."
Vegetables sprouted instantly.
The stove warmed the room.
The pot simmered.
The smell of rice filled the air, rich and comforting.
Her daughters' mouths watered.
"Mama… hurry…"
"Mama I'm so hungry…"
"Mama, want food…"
She served them first.
Three tall girls ate like little toddlers—messy hands, wide eyes, tears streaming down their cheeks as warm food touched their empty stomachs.
"Mama… tasty…"
"Mama belly feels warm…"
"Mama cook best…"
Wei Lian almost cried.
After eating, she washed their faces, wiped their tears, and cleaned their hands. Then she gathered old bedding, shook it out, and laid it on the floor.
"Come," she whispered. "Sleep beside Mama."
They crawled onto her from all directions—arms around her neck, legs draped over her waist, heads resting on her shoulders.
The storm softened.
The thunder drifted away.
The wind quieted.
Her daughters breathed evenly—safe, fed, warm.
Wei Lian stroked their cheeks and stared into the darkness.
"We survived," she whispered.
"And Mama will protect you. In this world or any other."
Outside, the storm ended.
Inside, a new life began.