The three of them, grandmother, daughter, and granddaughter, each had a room. Every room was spacious, equipped with cabinets, tables, and heated brick beds, which were still popular amongst the villagers. Qin Xiangnuan also liked them; a single heated brick bed acted as both air conditioning and heating. In winter, the house was never cold.
Qin Xiangnuan hung her few clothes inside the closet, which still looked empty and scant. She kicked off her shoes, jumped onto the heated brick bed, and joyfully rolled around several times. It was wonderful; at last, she had her own room, her own home.
In her past life, from childhood to adulthood, her home was always that dilapidated house. After getting married, she lived with her in-laws in another rundown room. Until her divorce, until her death, she never had her own house. In fact, the last excuse Qin Xiangmei used to trick her into donating her heart for her own son was the promise of a house.
