Food Ran Out

He had clearly only been mechanically swinging a chopping knife, yet the system had classified it under [Cultivation Method].

He carefully recalled the sensation of swinging the blade just now.

Indeed, each time he swung the chopping knife and then brought it down with all his strength, it looked like nothing more than an arm movement,

but with the system's assistance, it engaged the muscles in his back, waist, abdomen, even his legs and feet. He had to grit his teeth and mobilize the strength of his entire body to complete it.

His breathing also rose and fell involuntarily with the movements. With every exhale and inhale, his chest expanded and contracted sharply.

So that was it.

This seemingly clumsy, tedious chopping was, at its core, a systematic way of stirring his qi and blood throughout his body, tempering his muscles, bones, and strength!

It was absolutely not some wonderful thing where he could casually move around and gain points.

There truly were no shortcuts in martial arts.

Even with the system, it merely quantified the process. Not one bit of suffering could be spared.

He glanced at the slowly rising proficiency, then felt his empty stomach and still-weak body.

At this pace, with this level of consumption, never mind becoming some master—even whether he could build himself up a little before the conscription was uncertain.

Grain... meat... medicinal herbs...

These most basic necessities had become the most tangible mountains standing in his path.

The two females, one older and one younger, stood off to the side, not daring to make a sound.

Fang Yuan straightened up, wiped the sweat from his face, and his gaze instinctively shifted toward the edge of the kang bed.

His wife had been thoroughly frightened by his earlier mad display. Only after seeing him finally stop did she dare carefully bring over a bowl of warm water.

With her head slightly lowered, she held the bowl in both hands and offered it to Jiang Ning.

"Husband... have, have some water." Her voice was soft, carrying a barely perceptible tremble. She still seemed afraid.

Fang Yuan took the bowl. When his fingertips accidentally brushed her skin, she recoiled as though scalded, swiftly pulling her hands back and lowering her head even further.

Only at this distance did Fang Yuan truly see what she looked like.

She had a tall, slender figure. Even beneath her patched coarse-cloth dress, her well-proportioned frame was apparent.

Her hair was loosely pinned up with the simplest wooden hairpin, with a few stray strands falling beside her neck.

But what drew the eye most was her face.

It seemed she had deliberately smeared ashes from the stove over it, leaving streaks of black and gray that made her look dirty at first glance and concealed most of her features.

Yet even so, her uncovered forehead was smooth, and her nose bridge high and delicate.

Especially those eyes, which now darted about uneasily. Her lashes were long, and her pupils were like black jade steeped in water. Even filled with fear, they could not conceal their clear brightness.

This was a face that... once washed clean, would surely be dazzlingly beautiful.

Fang Yuan stood there holding the bowl, stunned.

His memories of his wife were hazy. The original owner seemed never to have truly looked at this woman who managed the household and cared for the young and old for him.

He had treated her as nothing but a blurred piece of the background.

In this world, if a woman was too beautiful yet lacked the protection of a suitable family background, it often meant trouble and disaster, never good fortune.

Had she concealed herself so deliberately out of an instinct for self-protection?

For some reason, his heart clenched, and a complicated surge of emotion welled up within him.

Tilting back his head, he drained the slightly cool water in one gulp. His throat, dry enough to smoke, finally felt somewhat better.

He handed the empty bowl back, his voice still hoarse from exhaustion and his earlier panting. "...Thank you."

The woman abruptly looked up. A flash of disbelief crossed her eyes, as though she had heard something utterly unexpected.

She quickly glanced at him, then immediately lowered her head again and took the bowl, her fingers trembling slightly.

"I-it's what I should do." Her voice was as faint as a mosquito's. Clutching the empty bowl, she stood there at a loss.

The younger sister beside her still timidly clung to her sister-in-law's hem. Her large eyes moved back and forth between her brother and sister-in-law, full of confusion and unease.

Looking at his wife's younger sister standing in the corner, her face smudged with ash yet unable to hide her terror, Fang Yuan felt as though something had lodged in his chest.

He desperately searched through the original owner's lingering memories, then cautiously spoke, doing his best to make his voice sound gentler.

"Wanwan," he called his wife by the name from his memories, "is there... any food left at home?"

The woman before him shuddered violently, as though pricked by a needle.

She suddenly raised her head. Those beautiful eyes, unable to conceal themselves even beneath the ash stains, were filled with disbelief as she stared straight at Fang Yuan.

Even the little sister forgot to be afraid. Her small mouth fell open as she tugged at her sister-in-law's clothes and muttered in an extremely quiet voice,

"Brother... has Brother really been possessed?" The moment the words left her mouth, she realized she had misspoken.

She hurriedly covered her mouth with her little hands, fear rising in her big eyes once more.

There was no other reason. The former Fang Yuan would never have spoken to them in such an almost gentle tone.

Though the original owner had been a scholar, the pressure of the imperial examinations had weighed on him year after year. His family's poverty and the bleakness of his future were like two massive boulders pressing upon his heart.

His temper had always been gloomy and irritable. After returning home, he was often silent and withdrawn, but the slightest displeasure could easily provoke his anger. Sometimes, he would even beat and scold this younger sister.

That was why the two women in the household were both so afraid of Fang Yuan.

At that thought, Fang Yuan inwardly cursed the original owner as a bastard.

But then he sighed. Perhaps it could not all be blamed on him.

Every resource in this household, every scrap of hope, rested upon him alone. If he failed the county examination, then his ten years of studying by the cold window would truly have amounted to nothing.

This family would lose all hope entirely.

If anyone was to blame, it was this damned world, forcing ordinary people toward a dead end.

Liu Wanwan's voice was thin and weak. "Yesterday... Brother San Zhuang from the eastern end of the village, ah, no, I mean, San Zhuang..."

It was as though something had stung her. She hurriedly corrected herself, stealing a glance at Fang Yuan's expression as her voice grew even quieter.

"...When he brought you back, he secretly gave us a small bag of millet."

She paused, unconsciously twisting the frayed hem of her clothes between her fingers.

"At the bottom of the jar... there's still some coarse grain bran ground before. If we mix it in and eat it, it can... can last us a few days."

After saying that, she immediately lowered her head, her shoulders drawing in slightly as though she were ready to endure a scolding.

Seeing how cautious she was, as if treading on thin ice, Fang Yuan felt as though something had viciously twisted his heart. It was sour and bitter.

The original owner, who had become excessively sensitive and narrow-minded due to his own hardships and pressure,

was weak toward outsiders, yet vented his pent-up resentment on those closest to him.

If Liu Wanwan so much as exchanged a few extra words with any man in the village, he might respond with a dark expression and cruel suspicion.

"Brother San Zhuang," an ordinary form of address carrying a hint of respect, had become a taboo she needed to correct at once.

Damn it!

Fang Yuan cursed fiercely in his heart, cursing both this man-eating world and that bastard original owner.

He had married her, yet not only failed to give her a good life—he had instead made her live every day in fear and oppression.

He took a deep breath and forcibly suppressed the complicated emotions rising to his lips.

Now was neither the time for explanations nor comfort. Any words or actions beyond the "ordinary" would only deepen their unease and suspicion.

Rather than darkening his face to press her for answers or losing his temper as before, he merely nodded silently to show that he understood.

Then he walked over to the gray, dusty grain jar.

Lifting its heavy wooden lid, he was met with the stale scent of old grain mixed with a faint moldy smell.

The situation at the bottom of the jar was even worse than Liu Wanwan had described. That pitiful amount of bran and millet was mixed together,

spread so thinly that the rough pottery wall at the bottom was nearly visible. Its color was dull, and its quality abysmal.

Even if they added a great deal of water and boiled it into thin porridge, this little bit would not last more than a few days.

His brows furrowed again without his realizing it.

Training in martial arts consumed an enormous amount of food. Without enough to eat as a foundation, never mind gaining strength—it would be a blessing if he did not train himself into collapse.

This tiny amount of bran and millet was not even enough to fill the gaps between his teeth.

Liu Wanwan had been nervously watching him from the corner of her eye. Seeing his brows tightly drawn, her heart became even more unsettled.

After hesitating, she still timidly spoke. Her voice was so quiet it was nearly inaudible.

"I... recently, Old Madam Chen next door and I took on laundry and mending work for Master Chen's household... Though it's cold, we... we can still earn a few Copper Coins..."

The younger sister also added softly, "I-I can help mend clothes for others too..."

They were trying to prove that they still had some value in this household. Their cautious manner was heartbreaking.

Fang Yuan suddenly turned. His gaze swept over Liu Wanwan's hands, which were visibly red, swollen, and cracked despite her deliberate attempts to hide them, then shifted to the wind and snow still raging outside the window.

In this frozen, snowy weather, soaking her hands in river water cold enough to pierce the bone to wash clothes?

He could almost imagine what kind of torture that was.

"No!" His voice abruptly rose, carrying an unchallengeable resolve, even harsher than before.

Liu Wanwan and the little sister both flinched at his sudden shout. Their faces turned pale, and they fell silent as cicadas in winter.

Seeing their frightened expressions, Fang Yuan's chest tightened painfully.

He knew he had overreacted, but he could not control it. He drew a breath and tried to soften his voice, though his tone remained firm as iron.

"The snow outside hasn't even melted. The water is cold as knives. In weather like this, you want to do laundry? Do you still want your hands?"

His gaze lingered briefly on Liu Wanwan's hands. That look held both anger at her failure to care for herself and an indescribable ache.

"I'll figure out the food."

His voice was not loud, but it carried a quality that allowed no doubt.