Chapter 1 With a single blink, one life ended and the next began.

Liuxi Town, Bluestone Village.

Chuliu hurried home with a large basket of pigweed strapped to his back. As soon as he set the basket down in the shade, an unfamiliar child’s cries reached his ears.

Just then, a woman who had just washed her hands under the eaves heard his footsteps. Turning to see Chuliu, drenched in sweat, she greeted him with a cheerful smile. “Chuliu, out cutting grass again? What a sensible child you are—raising two pigs so plump and fat, and a dozen hens clucking every day... At five years old, you’re more capable than some seven-year-olds in other families...”

Chuliu barely heard her praise; he was too anxious. “Auntie, did my mother give birth?”

This woman was Ma Fengya, wife of Chuliu’s second granduncle’s eldest son. In the countryside, midwives were rarely called for childbirth. Especially with experienced mothers like Chuliu’s, the women of the clan or neighboring families would lend a hand instead.

Ma Fengya, never short of words, had little regard for a woman who had just given birth to another money-losing girl. She was about to leave after helping out, but seeing Chuliu return, she suddenly felt a twinge of jealousy. Following his question, she replied, “Chuliu, your mother has given you a little sister. Are you happy?”

“I am! I’m really happy!” Chuliu’s face lit up.

Had it been a brother, yet another barrier would stand between him and his dream of studying. A sister was far preferable!

Of course, Ma Fengya had no inkling of Chuliu’s thoughts. Hearing the bright, innocent voice, she looked down on this nephew of hers even more.

A woman’s worth was in bearing sons, not these burdens. Daughters couldn’t work the fields, couldn’t carry on the family line, had no share in the land, and would eventually become outsiders—requiring a dowry, too. People said Chuliu was clever and sensible from a young age, but to her eyes, he was just a fool.

Ma Fengya cast him a look of disdain and strode out proudly.

Chuliu politely saw her to the door, bidding her farewell, just as his grandfather Xie Gensheng and father Xie Doumiao approached in haste.

His three-year-old uncle Maisui ran ahead, bubbling with excitement. Before he reached the door, his voice was there already. “Chuliu, what did your sister-in-law have?”

“A little sister.”

At the news of a girl, Xie Gensheng and his son’s enthusiasm instantly faded; their steps slowed.

“Doumiao, go have a look at the little girl and pick out a name for her. It’s still early before noon—I’ll go back to work in the fields,” Xie Gensheng said. Naming grandchildren wasn’t his strength; even his own children were named after plants—Bean Sprout, Wheat Sprout, Peach Blossom, Apricot Blossom, and so on. He’d long since run out of words.

With that, he turned back to his labor.

Xie Doumiao tried for a long time but failed to come up with a name, so he went inside with Chuliu.

As they entered the courtyard, they saw Grandma Wang Cuicui emerge from the birthing room. She told Doumiao, “Mother and child are both fine. Go on to the fields; I’ll handle things here.”

“Yes, Mother, I’m going.”

Xie Doumiao had wanted to check on his wife and daughter, but with his mother’s words, he had to leave.

“Chuliu, did you bring back the pigweed?”

“Yes, Grandma, I brought back a big basket. There’s some five-leaf grass too—chop it up and it’s best for the chickens...”

Wang Cuicui wiped the sweat from her grandson’s brow with her sleeve, her tone gentle. “Look at my boy, worn out and covered in sweat. Today I’ll make you an egg custard...”

Suddenly, she turned and shouted at her two granddaughters, “Are you going to chop the pigweed or what? Have you fed the chickens? All you do is eat and complain about chores...”

A barrage of questions sent Chuliu’s two sisters scurrying to chop the grass and mix chicken feed.

Maisui was playing with a bundle of little sticks, while Chuliu still basked in his grandmother’s affection.

A pang of guilt toward his sisters struck him. Yet, what could he do?

The world favored sons over daughters, and he was one of its beneficiaries. He couldn’t have it both ways.

Watching his little uncle play, Chuliu’s brow furrowed deeper. In a household as poor as theirs, every new child meant another mouth to feed; in years of famine, they could only watch as someone starved. The adults seemed oblivious, even relishing it—working the earth by day, making more children by night. Mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law competed to bear children—how could life ever improve?

Ah...

Yet, within Chuliu’s body dwelled a soul not of this world.

In a previous life, his name was Li Feng.

Through sheer perseverance, he’d entered university, passed the civil service exam, and secured an ironclad job others envied. Who would have thought that after a night’s drunken sleep, he’d awaken to a middle-aged woman exclaiming it was a boy, then feel the snip of umbilical scissors, followed by his own loud cries to the world?

His eyes wouldn’t open; he couldn’t speak. Was it a nightmare?

A few days later, when he finally opened his eyes and took in his surroundings, he realized with finality that one blink had ushered in a second lifetime.

He had been reborn as a farmer’s son, but retained all his memories.

His father, uneducated, named him Chuliu because he was born on the sixth day of the sixth lunar month.

As Chuliu gradually made sense of this world, his despair deepened. The family was far too poor and had too many mouths to feed. A year’s toil barely kept them from starving.

This was the Great Yan Dynasty—a dynasty that had never existed in his previous world. Yet the Four Books and Five Classics, the suppression of commerce in favor of farming, and the imperial examination system all remained.

Especially during New Year, the spring couplets and the character for “blessing” made it clear that this parallel world was very like the one he’d known before—at least, culturally.

After much thought, he concluded that only by studying and passing the imperial exams could he have a future. But first, his family needed a surplus of money.

Otherwise, it was nothing but idle fantasy.

So, from the age of four, he had actively asked to raise more chickens and pigs, and took on the responsibility himself.

And he did well. Family income increased, and the manure fertilized the fields.

Now, he could only take things one step at a time. No living person could let life choke them to death.

Chuliu quietly entered the birthing room.

“Mother!”

His voice was soft, for fear of waking his sleeping baby sister.

But seeing his mother, Zheng Mei, with her hair disheveled, lips pale, and exhaustion etched on her face, his eyes stung with tears.

He hurried to her side, using his sleeve to wipe her sweat.

“Mother, does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Zheng Mei replied, taking his small hand and struggling to wipe away his tears.

Fearing to burden her, Chuliu quickly wiped his tears himself. “The aunts in the village say giving birth is like passing through death’s gate. The woman at the water jar died in childbirth—I don’t want to lose you, Mother... Please, don’t have any more children, all right?”

Chuliu didn’t say this just to further his own wish to study. Though he had been reborn here, Zheng Mei was his mother—she bore him for ten months; if he didn’t care for her, who would?

Every two or three years she had another child. With no proper nutrition during her confinement, she still had to nurse the baby—her body couldn’t endure it.

Too many confinements left women with chronic ailments, and endless suffering in old age.

Zheng Mei was moved to tears by her son’s concern. She gripped his hand and promised, “My good boy, don’t cry. Mother promises you, I won’t have any more children...”

Chuliu gently wiped his mother’s tears, saying as he did, “Don’t cry either, Mother. At noon I’ll ask Father to catch some fish from the river and make soup to nourish you...”

“My sweet child...”

Once again, Zheng Mei’s eyes filled with tears.