Qin Chunhua, without the faintest trace of suspicion, smiled softly and nodded, probably touched by my filial peity. She moved with quiet familiarity, pulling a chipped wooden cup from beneath a worn cloth and using a ladle to draw water from the jar.
Even from where I sat, I could feel the subtle stir of energy rising from the water, something clean, revitalizing. It shimmered faintly in the air around her hands. I watched, barely breathing, as she lifted the cup to her lips and took a tentative sip.
Her expression changed almost immediately.
She paused, blinked, then took another sip—larger this time. Then another. Soon, she was drinking in full gulps, as if her body had finally remembered what it meant to be nourished. Her eyes flickered with confusion as she stared down at the cup. And then, without a word, she ladled herself another portion.
I almost told her to slow down, afraid she might choke from drinking too quickly. But I stopped myself. Something in me knew, instinctively, that this water wouldn't harm her.
"Weird..." she murmured under her breath, staring at the jar with a furrowed brow. "The water... it tastes so much better than before."
She turned to me with wonder still in her eyes. I straightened up and spoke quickly before she could offer me a drink.
"Lan'er wants to keep some water by my side when I sleep," I said with as much innocence as I could muster. "Can Mother do that?"
It was a feeble excuse, but it worked. Her face melted into a gentle smile, one touched by affection and relief. She nodded and patted my head lightly.
"Of course. Anything for Lan'er."
I smiled, but deep inside, I was reeling. The water worked.
"Of course! Is that why Lan'er wanted to come to the kitchen?" she asked, a warm smile blooming across her pale face. I watched as she moved, pulling out a wooden bowl from beneath the same rags as earlier. "Lan'er could've told Mother from the start, Mother would've gladly fetched it for you."
She poured the water with care, the same way she had with the cup. The faint sound of the liquid hitting the bowl somehow felt comforting.
"Here," she said gently, "let me help my daughter back to her room."
With the wooden bowl in one hand and her other hand supporting me, she guided me back slowly. I didn't rush. My eyes wandered, soaking in every detail of our modest home. The earth floor, the patched walls, the familiar dirt under our feet. Every bit of it was worn, but it was also filled with life.
When we returned, my mother urged me to lie down again. Her voice was soft but insistent.
"You just woke from a high fever, Lan'er. It would be terrible if you collapsed again," she said as she gently lowered me onto the straw mat.
My heart twisted a little. Her real daughter was gone. And yet, she looked at me—someone else entirely—with such sincere affection.
With delicate movements, she placed the wooden bowl beside my bed. Then, with surprising energy, she got up and made her way out, humming softly under her breath.
It must have been exhausting... taking care of a burden like me. A child who can't even sit up on her own. They don't even have enough food for the day, and yet they still scrape together coin for medicine I'm not even sure ever worked.
A tired sigh slipped past my lips as my gaze fell on the wooden bowl beside me. The faint scent of the well water drifted up, and with trembling fingers, I lifted it to my lips. My hands were so thin... too thin. It was as though even the weight of the bowl might snap my bones.
I drank slowly.
The moment the cool water touched my tongue, something inside me stilled, like a tight knot loosening deep within my chest.
"Is Master hungry?" The familiar, gentle voice echoed through my mind like a breeze across still water.
Green.
"Is Master worried for her new family?"
Her voice drifted like a song through my thoughts, and I realized I could feel her—roaming somewhere within me, not intrusively, but like a soothing presence brushing across the corners of my conscience.
I didn't answer aloud. I didn't need to.
But her presence... calmed me. And for the first time since arriving in this broken little body, I didn't feel entirely alone.
"Do you have a suggestion?" I asked, my voice steady only because it echoed within the confines of my mind. "I really am worried for my new family."
My eyes fell to the chipped edge of the wooden bowl in my hands. It was old, worn from years of use, probably passed down, like most things in this household. I traced the crack with my thumb, then let out a breath. "And how did you end up bound to me? I would like to know that too."
There was a part of me, buried, quiet, that simmered with anger. Anger at this situation I never asked for. Anger at being thrown into a frail body, into a life that wasn't mine, carrying a burden I hadn't chosen.
But another part of me... didn't care. If this was a second chance, then so be it. I would take it. Not for myself, but for them.
"I'm terribly curious," I whispered. "Can't you see that?"
The silence that followed was strange. It wasn't empty. It resonated, echoing within my conscience like ripples across a pond. Green was listening. Processing.
Then her voice returned, softer than before. "Would Master like to enter the farm?"
I didn't answer right away.
Instead, I lifted the chipped wooden cup again. It was empty... until it wasn't. In an instant, the water filled to the brim—clear and cool, infused with spirit.
I drank it greedily, letting it ease the gnawing ache in my stomach.
The moment I placed the cup down, the world shifted.
Gone was the scent of earth and wood, the creaking of the nipa roof, and the faint chill of the real world. In its place was the soft hum of something unfamiliar, yet welcoming—the farming dimension.
I blinked, and I was seated on the sofa again. The fabric was plush beneath me, the room cool and comfortably quiet.
Floating in front of me was Green, her wings fluttering lazily behind her. She smiled, the kind of too-sweet smile that could either comfort or infuriate depending on the mood.
"Now, please explain," I snapped, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.
The weight of hunger, fear, and powerlessness still lingered faintly at the back of my chest, and Green's ever-pleasant expression was grating against it.