"Commoner like you... you say?" Yang Mi muttered.
And suddenly—
The memories crashed into her—Merciless, Unrelenting.
A childhood shaped by the gnawing grip of Hunger.
A village where famine was not an occasional tragedy but a way of life.
The land, cracked and barren, stretched endlessly—lifeless beneath the relentless sun.
The air—thick with dust and decay, heavy with the stench of sickness and death.
And as if that weren't enough, bandits would descend, stealing the meager scraps they fought so hard to hold onto.
The orphanage—a place that existed in name only.
Not a home.
Not a shelter.
Just four crumbling walls that barely shielded them from the cold.
And yet, within that desolation, there was her.
The old granny, frail as a dying ember yet still burning with the warmth of unconditional love, cared for them with what little she had left.
She would give them whatever scraps she could find, though it was never enough to fill their hungry bellies.
