Cheng Ying looked at the low shed before her, then glanced toward the distance where Uncle Chi had called her stepfather away.

This chance wouldn't come again; it was now or never. She closed her eyes and urged herself on.

It’s just a bit of a gamey smell, what of it? Right now, mutton is all we crave. How can we be afraid of a little odor?

Cheng Ying built up her resolve, touching the towel jammed against her face. Didn't this completely block her nose? She wouldn't smell a thing.

She looked down at the broken padded shoes on her feet, and the bare toes inside, and Cheng Ying resolutely walked into the sheep pen.

Cheng Ying’s face was masked by a piece of yellowed, washed-out towel. To be honest, the towel’s breathability was quite good, but it barely blocked any of that pungent scent.

One sheep might be endearing, but a flock’s smell was absolutely suffocating.

Holding a handful of straw in one hand, Cheng Ying coaxed the old lamb in front of her, making it lean docilely against her side.

With the other hand, she ruthlessly plucked wool from the sheep's body.

It must be said that this move was actually prompted by a hint from Song Dandan.

Since Cheng Ying was reborn into this era—the time when shearing wool was equivalent to undermining socialism—she had been observing from every angle how to discreetly pilfer resources without being dragged out and publicly shamed.

Truly, the people here were destitute; so poor they couldn't eat or dress warmly.

Putting that aside, this was Cheng Ying’s first taste of what it meant to have a heart wholly devoted to the Party; the indoctrination was incredibly potent.

The people here were incomprehensible to Cheng Ying; this era’s hallmark was giving all grain and good things to the state, with not a trace of selfishness.

In this place, in this time, starving and cold was considered glorious.

If she found a stone by the roadside, it belonged to the state, to the production team, to the collective of the masses.

A woman who had just enjoyed the comforts of bourgeois life truly couldn't endure this feeling of having no personal property.

Sharing things might be manageable, but the crucial issue was that Cheng Ying currently owned nothing.

But hunger was unbearable. Especially the sensation of having no socks—it was agonizing.

The Northeast wind sneaked right up her trouser legs and chilled her body.

This situation was truly bitter for Cheng Ying, a woman described as selfish, petty, and highly resentful.

Cheng Ying had once despised herself; fortunately, this wasn't the War of Resistance era, or she definitely wouldn't have held out under interrogation.

But thinking about it, since she could be reborn, why couldn't she have landed in an era of greater material, spiritual, and cultural development?

The people of this era relied purely on spiritual support, with absolutely no material conditions.

Thinking of it made Cheng Ying’s heart turn completely cold.

For the sake of socks, Cheng Ying set her sights on the production team’s flock.

Learning from Song Dandan’s mistakes, Cheng Ying knew she couldn't pull wool from just one sheep again.

In the crowded flock, she pushed aside the old lamb in front of her and searched for the next target.

It wasn't that she lacked compassion, forcing herself to steal their wool in this bitter cold.

It was simply that she couldn't tolerate the weather, and going without socks felt too bizarre.

She just wanted to grab a couple of handfuls of wool to knit a pair of socks; she had no other demands.

Only when the cloth sack slung across her chest bulged did Cheng Ying, covering her nose, climb out of the sheep pen.

The stench almost made her vomit.

Taking a deep breath, the outside air was infinitely better.

She cautiously surveyed her surroundings, moving like a thief.

If anyone discovered this act, their whole family would be labeled sinners. This was plundering socialist resources; they’d be singled out for criticism in the commune.

So, caution was paramount. She had to keep it hidden from her family, but being alone was too difficult, so Cheng Ying pulled in one accomplice:

Her younger brother, Chi Wu, who was currently keeping her stepfather occupied outside as a lookout.

Confirming the area was clear, Cheng Ying tugged at the hem of her padded trousers, trying her best to keep her ankles covered.

Then she made two cat sounds—this was the signal for Chi Wu, meaning the mission was complete and he could withdraw.

Cheng Ying clutched the wool sack against her chest, and wisps of that familiar gamey smell escaped from the top, making her dizzy.

She endured it all to create better living conditions for herself.

Sometimes, women will go to great lengths for material comforts, much like their relentless pursuit of beauty.

She sighed. It’s not like seeing something good means it automatically belongs to you; similarly, having wool doesn't automatically mean having socks.

The path from wool to socks was still fraught with complications.

Facing the howling northern wind, Cheng Ying rubbed her hands. In this freezing weather, washing the wool would be an ordeal.

She’d probably have to break the ice for water. Just thinking about it was suffering.

Moreover, this wool couldn't see the light of day; trying to get it onto her bare feet would be difficult. The road ahead was long and arduous.

Cheng Ying walked to the door of her home. At this hour, no one should be inside.

The adults were all out earning work points. The only one not working, the old grandmother, had gone to deliver eggs to the production team.

This was an age where sustenance was exchanged for labor.

Money, as an object, wasn't truly circulating; in other words, this was an era where even having money might not secure you goods.

Because the consumption allowance for each person in this era was strictly defined.

Everything had to be converted through labor achievements into grain coupons, cloth coupons, and oil coupons—many different forms of ration tickets.

She’d heard the team leader say that when going to town for supplies, bringing only money was useless; without the proper coupons, it was less effective than an IOU.

When Cheng Ying heard this, her expression was one of sheer bewilderment. The team leader held such immense power?

Cheng Ying looked around. While Chi Wu hadn't returned, she grabbed a shovel from beneath the wall.

She entered the house and closed the door. In a flash, she stepped into her spatial dimension with the shovel.

Cheng Ying entered the space rumored to be a bonus accompanying her rebirth.

As for the scientific feasibility, Cheng Ying had long stopped dwelling on it. If a person could be reborn, having an extra space in one’s head was hardly anything shocking.

It was certainly better than waking up to find a tumor in her brain.

Honestly, if life weren't so desperately hard, Cheng Ying wouldn't want to enter this place at all. This thing made her feel deeply uneasy.

This space was as poor as the society outside. Worse, it was aloof.

How aggravating! When people are starving and freezing, unable to survive, what good is all that lofty pretension?

Inside, besides the soil, there was only one irritating feature: a large stone capable of displaying script; otherwise, there was nothing.

The first time Cheng Ying entered this space, she saw a hazy expanse.

Before her stood only this one large stone, inscribed with: “The pursuit burned by life, attained in a moment of surging resentment.”

As for the second half, Cheng Ying somewhat understood—perhaps her resentment upon death had been so intense that this space manifested.

As for the first half, Cheng Ying truly didn't know what pursuit she had burned her life for. The old lady sincerely had no persistent ambition.

For someone who had just died and then been reborn, a few more strange occurrences weren’t surprising.

Cheng Ying placed her hand on the large stone. It was warm, permeating deeply into her core.