The sky outside was still tinted with soft gold when Wei Lian finally straightened her aching back.
Evening had arrived quietly.
The sun had not yet set, but its warmth was fading, stretching long shadows across the courtyard. A gentle breeze carried the smell of damp earth from the earlier storm, mixing with the faint scent of smoke rising from distant chimneys.
Wei Lian wiped her hands on her skirt and looked around the house.
It was cleaner now—much cleaner than it had been in the morning—but it was still poor. The walls were cracked mud, the roof patched with straw and old tiles, and the furniture inside looked as though it would collapse if someone breathed too hard.
Her gaze drifted toward the west room.
Her daughters were sitting there obediently, legs dangling off the edge of their respective beds, watching her with bright, curious eyes.
Four beds.
That was the problem.
Originally, each bed stood alone—narrow wooden frames with uneven legs, old boards creaking at the slightest movement. They had been passable when the body's original owner lived alone and half-starved, but now there were four of them.
Four people.
Three of them still children inside.
Wei Lian walked into the room and pressed her palm against one of the bedframes. It wobbled instantly.
If they slept like this…
Someone would fall.
Someone would wake up crying.
Someone might even get hurt.
She let out a quiet breath.
"We can't sleep like this," she murmured.
The middle daughter tilted her head.
"Mama… bad bed?"
Wei Lian smiled faintly.
"Not bad. Just… not together."
The youngest perked up instantly at that word.
"Together?"
"Yes," Wei Lian said gently. "Mama wants us to sleep together."
Three identical reactions followed.
Eyes widened.
Faces lit up.
Bodies leaned forward eagerly.
"Together!"
"Mama together!"
"Sleep hug Mama!"
Wei Lian's heart softened painfully.
She nodded.
"Alright. Let's make one big bed."
Before pushing anything, Wei Lian remembered something.
She turned and walked toward the small storage room beside the kitchen—a dark, cramped space filled with broken baskets, old tools, firewood, and things no one had bothered to touch for years.
She rummaged through the clutter, ignoring the dust clinging to her sleeves.
There.
A coil of thick, worn rope lay beneath a pile of firewood.
She pulled it free and tested it with her hands. It was old but strong—frayed in places, yet sturdy enough to hold weight.
Perfect.
She carried the rope back into the west room.
Her daughters watched her with fascination.
"Mama, rope?" the eldest asked.
"Yes," Wei Lian replied. "So the beds don't run away."
That earned giggles.
She began pushing the beds together one by one. The wooden frames scraped loudly against the mud floor, protesting every inch.
Creeeak—
Thump—
Creeeak—
Sweat gathered at her temples, but she didn't stop.
Once all four beds were aligned side by side, she crouched down and looped the rope tightly around the legs—first one bed to the next, then another, pulling hard and tying solid knots.
She worked methodically.
Wrap.
Pull.
Knot.
Test.
She yanked the frame with both hands.
The beds didn't budge.
Satisfied, she wiped her palms together and stood.
"Alright," she said softly. "Now they won't move."
The girls clapped like she'd performed a miracle.
"Mama strong!"
"Mama clever!"
"Bed not run!"
Wei Lian laughed quietly.
But another problem remained.
The beds were joined—but uneven.
Some frames were higher, others lower. The surface sloped awkwardly, and sleeping on it would leave backs sore by morning.
Wei Lian looked around, then went to fetch a basket filled with old, torn clothes—faded shirts, worn trousers, cloth scraps that could no longer be mended.
She folded the cloth carefully, layering it onto the lower beds.
One layer.
Then another.
Then another.
She pressed down with her palms, adjusting until the surface felt flatter beneath her hands.
Her daughters crawled onto the beds to help—though their help mostly involved lying down, rolling around, and laughing.
"Mama! Flat!"
"No hole!"
"Good bed!"
Wei Lian tested the surface herself, pressing her weight down slowly.
It wasn't soft.
But it was even.
"It will do for tonight," she said. "Tomorrow, Mama will buy cotton cloth and cotton filling from the market. I'll make real mattresses and pillows for you."
The youngest bounced happily.
"Soft bed tomorrow!"
Wei Lian nodded.
"Yes. Tomorrow."
She spread the cleanest bedding she had over the joined beds and smoothed it out.
"Come. Sit."
The girls obeyed instantly, climbing onto the bed and sitting close together, their long legs folded awkwardly beneath them.
The sight made Wei Lian pause.
Three teenage bodies.
Three toddler souls.
So fragile.
So precious.
The sun dipped lower as Wei Lian returned to the kitchen.
It was still evening—early enough that the sky glowed orange, light filtering through the window and painting the mud walls with warmth.
She washed her hands and tied her hair back again.
Dinner.
She took out the chicken Shen Yi had given earlier and rinsed it carefully. The vegetables followed—washed, sliced, prepared with practiced hands.
The pot warmed over the clay stove.
Oil hissed softly.
She added the chicken, then vegetables, then a pinch of salt from Xiaotang's space.
The smell rose quickly—rich, comforting, familiar.
"Mama… smells good…"
"Mama cooking again?"
"Mama eat now?"
"Yes," Wei Lian replied gently. "Soon."
She cooked rice alongside the stew, stirring slowly, letting the flavors settle.
This wasn't fancy food.
But it was warm.
It was filling.
It was made with care.
She served the bowls carefully, making sure each portion was generous.
They sat together near the table, knees brushing.
The girls ate happily—laughing, talking, occasionally spilling rice.
"Mama food best."
"Mama, tomorrow eat again?"
"Mama happy?"
Wei Lian looked at them and nodded.
"Yes. Mama is happy."
And she realized it was true.
After eating, she cleaned the bowls while the girls sat nearby, watching her with sleepy eyes.
The sky outside deepened into dusk, but night had not yet fully arrived.
She wiped their hands and faces, straightened their clothes, and guided them back to the west room.
"Lie down for a while," she said. "Rest."
They climbed onto the wide bed together, settling close instinctively.
Wei Lian sat at the edge, watching them.
They weren't asleep yet—just quiet, relaxed, content.
"Mama," the middle one murmured, "tomorrow market?"
"Yes," Wei Lian replied softly. "Tomorrow."
The youngest yawned widely and leaned against her arm.
Wei Lian smoothed her hair.
The bed was hard.
The house was poor.
But the evening was peaceful.
For the first time since arriving in this world, Wei Lian felt something settle in her chest.
Stability.
Not comfort.
Not wealth.
But stability.
She leaned back slightly, watching the fading light slip through the window.
This was still evening.
There was more work ahead.
But for now—
They were together.
They were fed.
They were safe.
And that was enough.