TSWPF – Chapter 1 Rebirth

Under the dim light of a broken mosquito net above her, Li Qingling heard faint noises coming from the kitchen. She sighed softly and sat up.

After three days, she could no longer deny it—she had truly been reborn from the modern world into a poor, backward farming village of ancient times.

From the memories of the body’s original owner, the young Li Qingling, she learned that life hadn’t been too bad before. Her father, Li Laigui, could hunt; every now and then he would bring home wild pheasants or rabbits from the mountains to eat.

But three months ago, a sudden plague took his life. Her mother, Madam Zhao, was so grief-stricken that she almost miscarried and had to stay bedridden to protect her pregnancy. From then on, everything changed. Her aunt-in-law, Madam Lin, stopped showing them a kind face.

Madam Lin complained that Madam Zhao was weak and sickly and that Li Qingling and her five-year-old brother, Li Qingfeng, couldn’t do heavy labor. Keeping the three of them, she said, was just a waste of food. So she instigated the grandmother, Madam Liu, to divide the family and send them away.

The grandparents had always favored the eldest son, Li Laifu. Under Madam Lin’s persuasion, they agreed immediately.

The division was cruel and harsh—they practically wanted to throw them out with nothing. If not for the village head’s intervention, who spoke a few words on their behalf, they would have gotten nothing at all. In the end, they were reluctantly given two acres of poor land, ten jars of coarse rice, and a few old household items.

This angered Madam Liu even more. Feeling that they were ungrateful and had made her lose face, she threw them out of the Li family that very same day.

With nowhere to live, they were allowed by the village head to stay temporarily in an abandoned thatched hut at the foot of the mountain.

Two months passed. Even though they ate only one meal a day of thin rice-and-wild-vegetable porridge, the ten jars of rice eventually ran out. There was nothing left to eat—not even wild greens from the mountain, which had all been picked clean. There were still two months until the autumn harvest. What could they do?

When her little brother cried from hunger, the original Li Qingling had no choice but to go back to the Li family, hoping to beg her grandparents for some rice.

But her cousin, Li Qingfu, upon hearing her request, pushed her hard in anger. Starving and weak, she staggered backward, hit her head against the wall, and bled profusely.

She was carried home unconscious and never woke up again.

And that was when Li Qingling—from modern times, who had just died in a car accident—opened her eyes in this frail body.

That day in her past life, she had just finished renovating her new home and was planning to bring her parents to live with her. Who could have known fate would play such a cruel joke?

She only hoped her parents wouldn’t grieve too deeply when they learned she was gone.

Li Qingling sighed again and looked at her little brother still sleeping soundly. Turning around, she pushed open the door and saw Madam Zhao trying to cook porridge. She quickly walked over.

“Mom, let me do it!” she said, forcing a small smile at Zhao’s thin figure and her bulging belly. “You should sit and rest.”

Madam Zhao moved away from her hand anxiously. “Your body is still weak. Go rest some more. I’ll call you when the porridge is ready.”

Three days ago, her daughter had been carried home covered in blood. Even the doctor said there was no hope. Fortunately, the gods must have pitied them, and her daughter woke up again. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have had the will to live.

Madam Zhao never imagined that her daughter had already changed souls.

“I’ve rested for two days. I’m fine now,” Li Qingling said softly. In truth, the wound still ached faintly, but she didn’t want her mother to worry.

She took the ladle from Zhao’s hand and bent down to scoop up the last bits of coarse rice from the bottom of the jar. That rice had been a gift from her little fiancé, Liu Zhimou, who had brought it over the day she got injured. It would only last them a day or two. After that—they’d be starving again.

She lit the fire and watched the flames flare up. “Mom,” she said quietly, “I want to go up the mountain later to see if I can find something edible to bring back.”

Madam Zhao froze for a moment, then looked at her daughter’s pale face, faintly flushed by the firelight. Her heart ached. “Your body’s not well yet—don’t go. I’ll… I’ll go borrow some rice from your grandfather’s house later.”

“Borrow? They won’t lend it,” Li Qingling said bitterly. “Mom, I already died once because of this. Can’t you see what kind of people they are?!”

The kitchen fell into silence.

Li Qingling looked at her mother, whose eyes were downcast, and reached up to take the woven basket hanging on the wall. “Don’t worry, Mom. If I can’t find anything, I’ll come right back.”

Madam Zhao watched her thin figure disappear through the gate. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks, and her heart felt unbearably heavy.

The morning mist was thick, and her thin clothes quickly became damp, but Li Qingling ignored it and kept walking deeper into the mountains.

The nearby woods had long been picked clean, so she had no choice but to go farther in.

In her past life, she had grown up in a rural area and often went hunting with her father, so she wasn’t completely helpless. She hoped she could at least catch a pheasant or a rabbit.

But dreams were full and reality cruel—after nearly two hours, she hadn’t seen a single animal.

Exhausted, she sank to the ground, breathing heavily before giving a small, bitter laugh. Heaven must have sent her here just to suffer.

Even though she had been poor in her past life, she’d never known hardship like this.

She tilted her head toward the blazing sun, shaking it quickly. She couldn’t let despair take root—if she did, her fragile courage would crumble.

When she finally recovered some strength, she gathered a basketful of mushrooms and headed home.

At least she had found something—some comfort in that.

There were actually plenty of mushrooms in the mountains, but years ago, a villager had died from eating wild ones, and ever since then, no one dared to touch them. That was how she got lucky.

With these mushrooms, her family at least had a small hope of surviving.

When she got home, she set the basket down, washed the pot, and boiled water. As she cleaned the mushrooms, the water began to bubble. She tossed in half a basket of mushrooms, added a little salt—since they had no oil—and covered the pot.

About fifteen minutes later, the fragrance of mushrooms filled the air. Li Qingling stirred the pot, waited a bit, and then ladled herself a bowl. Ignoring the heat, she began to eat greedily.

After two bites, her little brother, drawn by the smell, came padding into the kitchen. Tugging at her sleeve, he said, “Sis, hungry…”

Li Qingling lifted the small, skinny five-year-old into her lap. Hearing his stomach growl made her chest tighten. She picked up a piece of mushroom, blew on it gently, and fed it to him.

He swallowed it without even chewing. “Sis, it’s tasty… more…”

“Eat slowly,” she murmured. “There’s more in the pot.” She fed him spoon by spoon. When he finished a bowl, she touched his stomach. “That’s enough. Too much will make you sick.”

Li Qingfeng nodded obediently, though he still looked longingly at the food. He knew they were poor—if he got sick, they couldn’t afford a doctor.

Looking at the mushrooms in the bowl, he said blankly, “Sis… didn’t they say eating maowowo (mushrooms) can kill people?”

Li Qingling froze mid-motion, staring at his yellowish hair. “Then why did you still eat it?”

“I was hungry…” he whispered.

Her nose stung, and tears rolled down her cheeks. In her past life, she had endured every kind of hardship alone in the city without ever crying. But here—it was too bitter, too cruel. She didn’t even know if she could keep going.

She cried as she finished the bowl and hugged her brother tightly. “Some mushrooms are poisonous, but some aren’t. The ones I picked aren’t poisonous. They won’t hurt us,” she whispered. “But don’t tell anyone, okay?”

Even if they told others, no one would believe them—worse, they’d be scolded for it.

Li Qingfeng nodded.

By late afternoon, Madam Zhao came home carrying a hoe, her belly round. Li Qingling quickly took it from her hands.

Li Qingfeng ran to fetch her a basin of water. “Mom, wash your hands.”

Smiling faintly, Madam Zhao set down the basin and glanced at the covered pot. “What’s cooking? It smells so good.”

Li Qingling lifted the lid and looked into the pot. “When I was in the mountains, I met an old white-haired grandpa. He told me these mushrooms were safe to eat. Qingfeng and I already had some at noon,” she said lightly, unsure if her mother would believe her.

There was no reply for a long time. When she finally looked up, Madam Zhao was trembling all over, tears streaming down her waxy-yellow face.

Panic surged in Li Qingling’s chest. She rushed over to help her sit down. “Mom…” she stammered, not knowing what to say.

Covering her face with both hands, Madam Zhao began to sob helplessly. Seeing her frail back shaking broke Li Qingling’s heart—her mother clearly didn’t believe her. She must have thought the two children had eaten deadly mushrooms out of hunger and despair.

“Mom…” Li Qingfeng didn’t understand why his mother was crying, but seeing her tears made him wail too.

Watching the two of them cry together, Li Qingling’s own tears fell again.

No one knew how long they cried before Madam Zhao finally quieted. Her swollen eyes lifted to look at her son and daughter. Then, without a word, she ladled a full bowl of mushrooms and began eating in big gulps.

Li Qingling’s heart clenched in shock—did her mother mean to die with them, thinking they were already doomed?

“Sister…” Li Qingfeng tugged at the stove, peeking into the pot.

Li Qingling pressed her lips together, filled two bowls of mushrooms, and handed one to him. Holding her own bowl, she sat down in silence—and ate.