On the day of the Autumn Equinox, Second Aunt passed away, following Second Uncle in death.
Since Second Uncle's ashes never made it back home, she was buried with only that cloth strip bearing his blood-written message.
It would serve as a guide, so that the two of them could meet again sooner in the underworld.
And in their next life, just like the double-fish pattern embroidered on that cloth, may they once again be a pair.
Mother fainted several times from crying.
Between sobs, she finally revealed part of the truth behind Wang Shaoyan's strange behavior.
He originally had three older brothers.
The eldest and second were twins who joined the military together—and vanished together, bodies never found.
The third was lost during a difficult childbirth, born without breath.
The trauma left Li Shi (Second Aunt) with lasting injuries and no hope for the future.
Shaoyan, the fourth, was an unexpected child, born in fear and despair.
At the time, news of his two elder brothers' deaths had just arrived, and his father Wang Erlang was away on a mission to retrieve the bodies.
The message hadn't even reached the family yet when Shaoyan was born— a disaster upon disaster.
Both parents were devastated, and they simply didn't have the strength to care for the newborn.
It was Shaoyi who stayed nearby to help, along with the support of other family members,
that allowed Shaoyan to grow up.
But mother and son… had always kept emotional distance.
Now Xia Youmi finally understood why Second Aunt's last words had made Shaoyan let go of her hand.
His mother had been eager to reunite with her husband and sons.
But it was as if… she hadn't counted him among them.
Human emotions—so complex, yet sometimes painfully simple.
When her mother spoke of the past, grief would rise in her chest,
and she would clutch Xia Youmi tightly.
The two had been sleeping in the same bed recently, comforting each other night after night.
Only now did Xia Youmi begin to understand that everyone carried pain.
And among them, their family had suffered the most.
Her eldest uncle had lost his father in youth, lost a son in early adulthood, and now a brother in middle age.
And Second Uncle's entire family was now reduced to a single person—Wang Shaoyan.
Her mother had once been the most educated in the household, always reading with books in hand.
But in a chaotic world, what future did a learned woman have?
Especially as a woman?
Her father was an outsider, a man who had fled alone and taken refuge here.
He had skills in hunting, but never dared to leave the mountains— for if his undocumented identity were discovered, at best it would mean hard labor, at worst exile.
They had mutual affection for each other,
and with the Wang family's help, they managed to survive—
though they were always mocked as a "matrilocal" marriage.
Her father, tough and thick-skinned, never cared about the gossip.
But her mother always fought back with pride.
For the first ten years of their marriage,
they tried hard to live independently, never asking her brothers for help—
not wanting to give others more reason to look down on her father.
It wasn't until her son was also sent off to war, leaving only her mother behind, that the maternal family finally insisted on helping.
Counting the years, her older brother had been in the military for twelve years. He was now twenty-eight and still hadn't returned.
For him to be discharged healthy and whole, he would have to wait until he turned sixty.
Mother feared she wouldn't live to see him come home.
Even more, she feared the one who came home might never wake up again.
She often watched Xia Youmi tearfully,
hugging her tightly in gratitude to the heavens.
They had one younger aunt, married far away to a businessman in Yangzhou.
In more than twenty years, they'd only received a few scattered letters—
the first saying she had given birth to a daughter, the second saying she had another daughter three years later.
After that, communication stopped completely.
Letters sent her way went unanswered.
When they sent someone to check, the address already had new owners.
The family had no strength left to keep searching.
They could only act as if they didn't know.
More than half a month passed.
The crops had been harvested.
The firewood stacked high.
"Nian Nian, I used to think I could just muddle through life, eat and wait to die," said Xia Youmi.
"😊" replied the system with a smile.
She had just finished a grueling battle in the kitchen and was cleaning her hands.
"Nian Nian, once we're in Chang'an, let's study some cookbooks,
practice the recipes a few more times—we'll definitely get it right!"
"These little steamed cakes won't beat us!"
She rubbed her forehead and gave a helpless, bitter smile.
Lately, she had been practicing making steamed flatcakes with her mother,
and now she realized: even a skilled cook can be stumped.
She was a true Southerner, only good at stir-frying, deep-frying, sautéing, braising, and stewing.
Her cooking was flawless—except in the art of steaming.
And in that one gap, it was as if she knew nothing at all.
In the modern world—
She bought pre-made noodles.
Her dumplings came frozen.
And mantou? She sliced and pan-fried those!
But after struggling alone with raw ingredients just once—
She learned:
Too much kneading makes the dough break.
Too little, it's not elastic.
Too hot, it cracks.
Too low heat, it dries out.
In this world, there's nothing hard—as long as you don't tell anyone how hard it is.
Quietly tidying the kitchen, she picked up the hatchet and went into the mountains with Da Huang to collect firewood.
She had long since lost count of the number of trips.
In winter, firewood in Chang'an was in high demand.
And with a breakfast stall to run, they'd need fire all the time. Consumption would be enormous.
She was like a hardworking little bee, buzzing around non-stop.
And the system didn't stay idle either. Every time it encountered a new plant or animal,
it would scan and record it, slowly accumulating over a thousand image entries.
It still couldn't identify what most of them were, nor pull detailed data,
but once it had visual references, they could be matched with illustrations in books.
Once a match was made, the book's descriptions and uses would then display directly on the scanned item.
This feature could be expanded to many fields.
The system had taken the initiative in developing this capability,
to improve its own database.
Truly diligent!
"Nian Nian, with that kind of dedication, you'll succeed at anything," Xia Youmi praised with admiration.
She also remembered that the system had been carefully selected.
The most elite system, paired with her, the most laid-back host.
"Actually, I'm still very weak now," said the system seriously.
Any species stripped of all support would appear weak among its kind.
This "reformation project" wasn't just about Xia Youmi—
It had ripped her from her peaceful life and thrown her into a world of
poison, temptation, passion, and pain.
All in the name of "life experience."
And it had also force-rebooted the system, stripping it of all functions and history.
Just to see if it would—
Give up, turn bitter, betray, or fall into despair.
Because humans are always afraid… of the success they've created with their own hands.
"But," the system said, "I've found a way to adapt."
"I'll stay with you," Xia Youmi promised.
"I believe you."
Her mother didn't actually need her help with chores,
but Xia Youmi felt guilty and used the opportunity to get exercise while handling the little things at home.
Everyone was treating her too well, too protectively.
It made her feel… uncomfortable after a while.
It had taken Xia Youmi several years to finally open up her heart.
True affection, after all, must be exchanged with sincerity.
But the system—that was another hurdle.
It was an external entity, capable of synchronizing with all her thoughts.
Would there come a day when it replaced her completely, and began operating solely based on its own logic?
Xia Youmi tried to stay alert.
But at the same time, she couldn't help but be moved by the system's loyalty.
It truly encouraged her to face life positively.
It was just that, most of the time, its words lacked depth—
not sharp or heavy enough to serve as proper "life lessons."
In the end, she had to make peace with herself.
There was nothing more she feared losing.