After much deliberation, Lin Fang still couldn’t decide where to go. Her parents and eldest brother had gone to the store to clean and prepare it for opening a restaurant and growing mushrooms. She had originally wanted to help, but was ordered to either stay at home or go play with classmates—under no circumstances was she allowed to go to the store. They were afraid she’d overexert herself. Lin Fang repeatedly insisted she wasn’t tired and felt perfectly fine, but her family refused to believe her. Helpless, she had no choice but to comply, though she secretly resolved to get a CT scan when she had the chance. She wanted to see if her heart had also been “reborn” this time, as she didn’t feel any of the debilitating weakness she had in her previous life.
Staying at home didn’t sit well with her—she couldn’t stand Yan Ping’s face. Yan Ping feared her eldest brother. When he was around, Yan Ping treated Lin Fang like a treasure, but the moment he left, sarcastic remarks would spew from her mouth.
Yesterday, Lin Fang had suggested letting her brother take on the lucrative mushroom-growing business. While her parents and brother were still at home today, Yan Ping had showered her with praise, but the moment they left, Yan Ping’s expression soured. She didn’t say anything outright, but her sour face made it seem like Lin Fang owed her something.
Worse, Yan Ping wouldn’t let her touch little Yuanyuan, as if she were some kind of plague that would infect him. And this was a high school graduate—Lin Fang couldn’t fathom how Yan Ping had even passed her exams. Since when was heart disease contagious? Ridiculous.
With no destination in mind, Lin Fang wandered out of the village, strolling along the main road and taking in the scenery.
It was only early winter, but the poplar trees lining the road were already nearly bare. In the fields beyond, scattered persimmon trees still clung to a few leaves. When the wind blew, the sparse red and green leaves spiraled to the ground.
In some places, unharvested cotton plants remained, their unpicked bolls dotting the branches like melting snowflakes, adding a splash of color to the bleak early winter landscape.
The tall, pale-yellow stalks were corn stubble. The ears had been harvested for food, but the stalks were left behind by lazy farmers, to be burned come spring. The ashes would serve as fertilizer, while the roots would be dug up and discarded—or sometimes left to rot in place, acting as natural compost for the next crop.
Here and there, sweet potato fields lay empty, the tubers already stored in cellars. Those who raised livestock had hauled the vines home to dry, crush, and store as free feed. Those without animals either gave the vines away or left them piled at the edges of the fields, to be dealt with when spring arrived.
The most striking sight, and the only sign of life in the fields, were the patches of tender green wheat seedlings. Still fragile, they awaited the first snowfall, which would blanket them like a thick quilt, allowing them to rest and gather strength in the earth’s embrace, preparing for a golden harvest the following year.
“Lin Fang, where are you going in this cold? Hurry back before you freeze!”
“Oh, Granny Gao. Don’t just scold me—you’re out and about too!”
Lost in the familiar scenery, Lin Fang was startled by the voice. It was Granny Gao, a spry seventy-something woman from the village who walked with more energy than most youngsters, her once-bound-then-released feet carrying her effortlessly. She approached now, holding a few rope snares and smiling warmly.
Granny Gao was childless, widowed in middle age, and now lived alone as one of the village’s “five guarantees” welfare recipients. In her free time, she enjoyed matchmaking—many village couples owed their unions to her. She didn’t stop at introductions, either; she saw couples through courtship, childbirth, and child-rearing, earning a reputation as the most thorough matchmaker around.
Though she’d never borne children herself, Granny Gao had a knack for fertility remedies. If a young couple struggled to conceive (barring inherent medical issues), she’d find a way to help. She even delivered babies when the time came. Her other talent was treating children’s ailments—fevers, convulsions, diarrhea—with nothing but an ordinary sewing needle. A few pricks on a child’s fingertips or the back of their hand, and they’d recover. No one had ever seen her sterilize the needle, and even hospital experts couldn’t explain how her methods worked.
Perhaps because she had no children of her own, Granny Gao adored playing with kids, earning her the nickname “the village’s eternal child.”
As the two chatted, Granny Gao reached out and pinched Lin Fang’s sleeve, satisfied that she was dressed warmly enough. “I’ve been craving meat,” she admitted. “Set some snares yesterday, but just checked—nothing caught yet.”
With no snow on the ground and plenty of forage, rabbits weren’t desperate enough to fall for traps. Lin Fang couldn’t help but sympathize. “Just set more snares. You’ll catch something eventually.”
Granny Gao chuckled. “No need. Just spotted a snake hole. Heading back for my tools—if I can’t have rabbit, snake’ll do. Meat’s meat, long as it satisfies the craving.”
Lin Fang shuddered. She hated snakes, let alone eating them. Only a handful in the village dared to, while most gave them a wide berth.
Local lore held that snakes were “little dragons,” celestial beings. Some superstitious folks even bowed to them or left offerings where large snakes had been spotted. Fortunately, the area had no venomous or giant serpents—the thickest anyone had seen was about the width of a child’s arm, so snake attacks were unheard of.
The old Lin Fang had feared not just snakes but many things—even a caterpillar crawling on her could send her into a feverish panic. Granny Gao, mistaking her shudder for fear, quickly backtracked. “Ah, my big mouth. I’ll head back now. You shouldn’t linger either.”
Lin Fang nodded. “I just left home. Just stretching my legs—I’ll go back soon.”
As a professional matchmaker, Granny Gao’s persuasion skills far outstripped Lin Fang’s mother’s. If Lin Fang dared say she didn’t want to return now, Granny Gao would talk her into fleeing home on her own. Given Lin Fang’s reputation as a frail, half-dead invalid who might drop any moment, she knew the old woman meant well. So she opted for diplomacy.
After parting ways, Lin Fang continued walking until she reached a grove of trees. Inside flitted flocks of long-tailed birds—a new sight this year. Resembling oversized sparrows but slightly smaller than pigeons, they had tails ranging from body-length to triple their size. A rare few even sported colorful neck feathers.
No one knew what they were called, so villagers dubbed them “long-tailed birds,” “dumb birds,” or “whooshing birds”—the latter because they made no calls, and their wings sounded like giant fans flapping, especially when many took flight at once, creating a gust-like roar.
The neatly planted grove had ample space between trees, perfect for children to run through. Lin Fang wandered in, startling nearby birds into flight. Playfully, she chased after them, sending whole flocks rising and settling in waves. The scene would’ve made for a stunning video.
Just as she was enjoying herself, a sneering voice cut in: “Well, well. Someone’s tired of living—instead of staying home like a good little invalid, they’d rather come here to die.”
Lin Fang frowned. Was this the moment to drop all pretenses?
She turned to see a girl approaching through the fallen leaves, her steps crunching. Lin Fang remained expressionless until the girl was about five meters away before speaking: “Class Monitor, shouldn’t you be home in this cold? Wouldn’t want the wind to chap that pretty face. Such a shame—you’re the village belle, after all. Ruining your looks would be a tragedy.”
The girl halted, disdain dripping from her voice. “Spare me the jealousy. Even if I turned ugly, I’d still be a hundred times prettier than you. Today, I’m putting an end to your pathetic existence.”
Compared to Lin Fang’s beanpole frame, the girl was tall and sturdy. By all logic, Lin Fang should’ve been afraid. Yet her tone held only mockery: “Oh? What’re you planning—to kill me?”
The girl was blunt. “Killing you would be easy. But as long as you stop clinging to your brother, I won’t touch you. Otherwise…” She left the threat hanging.
Lin Fang laughed. “Hah! That’s not up to me. My brother doesn’t like desperate women.”
The girl smirked. “So what if I’m desperate? My family’s rich, I’m beautiful, and I’m an only child. Plenty of men want me—I could take my pick. But I choose to chase your brother. You? No one would want you even if you tried.”
*Idiot. Pretty on the outside, rotten inside.* Lin Fang’s thoughts leaked into her words: “Oh? So the Class Monitor admits she’s so unwanted she has to chase men?”
The girl flushed with rage. “Who’s unwanted, you sickly freak? I’ll kill you!” She lunged.
Lin Fang didn’t budge. “Try,” she said coldly. “You don’t have what it takes.”
*Thud.* Just as the girl reached out to grab Lin Fang’s neck, her knees buckled. She collapsed face-first at Lin Fang’s feet, hands hitting the ground in a kneeling position. Struggling to rise, her legs refused to cooperate, leaving her stuck in what looked like a bow of submission.
Lin Fang didn’t bother gloating. She simply turned and walked away. Over a decade of needle-throwing in another world had honed her skills. Against true masters, she was amateurish—but against brainless bullies? Two twigs were enough to keep them kneeling for hours.
*Consider this mercy for old times’ sake. Next time you run your mouth, the consequences won’t be so light.*
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