Taking a deep breath, Chen Dong stretched her arms and slowly adjusted her recovering body. The water bottle and sweet potatoes in her lap began to slip, and she quickly caught them. She let her legs dangle over the edge of the kang, sitting on its rim. Lin Fang promptly tucked the quilt back around her, while Heipi inched closer, pressing against her waist again.
Chen Dong turned and gently stroked Heipi’s smooth fur before starting to eat the sweet potatoes herself. Earlier, Lin Fang had been cautious not to feed her too much, fearing that her starved stomach wouldn’t handle a sudden large meal. Now that Chen Dong had regained some strength, there was no need to hold back—she could eat freely.
Eating sweet potatoes too quickly could easily cause choking. Despite her gnawing hunger, Chen Dong restrained herself, avoiding the usual ravenous gobbling. Instead, she ate slowly, taking small sips of water after each potato to avoid bloating.
Lin Fang watched her quietly, occasionally retucking the quilt whenever it slipped from her movements.
After finishing three small sweet potatoes, Chen Dong still wasn’t full, but she dared not eat more. Her stomach was sensitive, and too many sweet potatoes would give her heartburn. Lin Fang regretted not bringing steamed buns—she had only thought about avoiding cold food for Chen Dong, forgetting that her stomach couldn’t handle sugary foods.
With some food in her, Chen Dong regained a bit of energy. She got off the kang, wrapped in the quilt, and paced the room. After a few laps, she stopped and gazed at the whitening landscape outside. “From now on, be more cautious,” she advised Lin Fang. “Don’t be too trusting—kindness isn’t always repaid. Avoid crowded places. If you get hurt, you’re the one who’ll suffer.”
Her words sounded like a farewell. Lin Fang cut her off: “Stop talking nonsense. What are you planning?”
“What can I do?” Chen Dong’s voice was icy. “I thought I’d freeze to death tonight, but you showed up and ruined that. After what happened, there’s no way I can keep studying. The village is numb to the fights in my family—no one will report it. But my sisters won’t let this slide. Running away is my only option.”
“But where can you go?”
Lin Fang’s heart ached. She had been reborn, yet she hadn’t changed anything. Events that were supposed to happen later had been accelerated—Teacher Wang becoming the quartermaster a year early, Chen Dong leaving a month sooner. What did it all mean?
Chen Dong’s tone remained steady, unaffected by Lin Fang’s distress. “I’ll go wherever my feet take me. A miserable life is better than a clean death. I still have things I want to do. If I die, I’ll die on my own terms. There’s one last thing I need to take care of. After that, I’ll leave. Remember—burn some paper money for me at the graveyard during Qingming. We’ve disturbed the dead here often enough; it’s time to repay them.”
After a pause, Lin Fang replied, “You don’t need to tell me that.”
Chen Dong fought like a demon, but she held deep reverence for spirits. Lin Fang understood her meaning.
“You’ve been out too long. Go home before your parents worry.” Chen Dong unfolded the thin quilt, folded it neatly in the dark, and strapped it back onto Heipi.
Lin Fang protested, “The quilt doesn’t take up space. It’s easy to carry.”
“No need. Just give me the water bottle. The rest is dead weight.” With that, the quilt was secured. Though Chen Dong lacked Lin Fang’s night vision, survival had taught her to navigate darkness.
Lin Fang bent to untie the quilt. “At least keep it for now. I’ll come back for it in a couple of days.”
Chen Dong grabbed her arm, exasperated. “I just told you not to be recklessly kind, and here you go again. What if someone finds the quilt before you retrieve it and traces it back to you? Do you know the penalty for harboring a fugitive?”
Knowing Chen Dong’s stubbornness, Lin Fang sighed. “Take care of yourself,” she said before stepping out, heading back without a glance. Heipi trotted after her.
Not far away, Chen Dong called after her, “Didn’t you bring a flashlight? You came here in the dark?”
“Oh, no. The snow reflects light—I could see.” In truth, Lin Fang could see perfectly fine, but she’d forgotten to bring a flashlight as cover. Others didn’t know—and couldn’t know—about her ability.
Chen Dong strode out and caught up, scolding, “Don’t you know your own limits? When will you stop being so reckless? Do you think falling in the dark is fun? Come on, I’ll walk you back.”
Lin Fang shook her head. “No need. The snow’s brighter now—I can see better. Besides, Heipi’s with me.”
“Enough arguing.” Chen Dong grabbed her hand and pulled her along. “The snow’s brighter, but it’s also slipperier. With your legs, you’ll definitely fall.”
Lin Fang had no retort. Could she say she was fine? Could she say she wasn’t the same person anymore? Could she say Chen Dong was the one who needed help now? No. She buried it all inside, letting Chen Dong lead her as usual.
They walked in silence, Heipi padding soundlessly beside them. The only noises were the soft crunch of snow underfoot and the occasional distant car horn. The world slept deeply, leaving only their footprints stretching behind them until they reached a man-made grove.
Chen Dong released Lin Fang’s hand. “The village is just ahead. You can manage from here. Be careful—don’t fall.”
Lin Fang nodded wordlessly, took a few steps, then turned back and pressed something into Chen Dong’s hand. “Take it,” she insisted.
Chen Dong silently pocketed the money—Lin Fang’s entire monthly allowance, all twenty yuan untouched. She watched Lin Fang disappear into the distance before turning into the trees.
Back home, Lin Yuanmin and Dong Huixin were still awake. They asked if she was cold but didn’t mention Chen Dong—their way of respecting her privacy. They observed and protected without prying, though they might learn things through other means.
After settling into bed, Lin Fang finally muttered, “Chen Dong said she can’t keep studying. She’s leaving.”
Dong Huixin sighed. “After something like this, it’s the only way.”
“I gave her my money.” Her parents, hardened by decades of turmoil, needed no explanations. This simple statement said enough.
“You did well. Sleep now.”
Chen Dong’s resilience would see her through. The twenty yuan would last her a long time. But Lin Fang was too naive to hear that—it would crush her. So Dong Huixin praised her instead, hoping to ease her mind.
In the other room, Lin Yuanmin sighed and turned over. Chen Dong had been like family for years, yet she never stayed the night. Now she faced life on the run. The thought pained him.
Despite knowing Chen Dong’s future, Lin Fang couldn’t sleep. The timeline had shifted by a month—who knew what else would change?
Her mind churned until dawn, when she finally dozed off. Dong Huixin rose early to cook, while Lin Yuanmin prepped ingredients for their restaurant. They knew business might be slow, but appearances mattered.
Lin Yuanmin took out a wooden board and carefully painted “Lin’s Home-style Dishes” in calligraphy. He’d place it outside the restaurant later—a gesture to please Lin Fang, though he’d have been fine with just a simple “Restaurant” sign. In a village with only one eatery, a name seemed unnecessary.
“Who the hell did this?!”
Dong Huixin had planned to let Lin Fang sleep until breakfast was ready, but a woman’s shrill scream jolted her awake. In the next room, Yuanyuan burst into tears, startled by the noise.
“Shut up, you brainless hag! Now’s not the time for your tantrums!”
The man’s roar silenced the woman, but soon a girl’s cries and pleas filled the air, growing increasingly desperate.
“What fresh chaos is this family stirring up at dawn?” Lin Yuanmin grumbled, propping the sign against the wall. He noticed Lin Fang’s dazed expression—half-asleep but clearly disturbed. “Sweetheart, get up and eat. You can nap later. Sleeping on an empty stomach isn’t good.”
Lin Fang wasn’t drowsy—she was stunned. A gut feeling told her that the uproar in Lan Xiang’s family was connected to Chen Dong. Recalling Chen Dong’s dark expression when she mentioned Lan Xiang’s harassment, the premonition grew even stronger.
Chen Dong cared little for most people, but the Lin family was an exception. She’d said she had one last thing to do before leaving. What could be worth risking capture? Could it involve Lan Xiang?
Lan Xiang’s family lived in the alley ahead. Unless they were quiet, even moderate noise carried to the Lin household. Now, Yan Ping stood in the yard with tearful Yuanyuan, listening as the commotion escalated—voices mentioning “blood” and “hospital.”
Lin Yong had already gone out to investigate. Neighbors might quarrel, but in times of need, they helped each other.
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