The conditions had only just improved slightly, but Chiwu felt that for the first time his stomach wasn't filled with just water every day. The transition from porridge to flatbreads marked a significant change in their lives.

For Chiwu, these were near-sacred days—until Cheng Ying's mind stretched far beyond their current comfort. She'd already taken him along to secretly sell their family heirloom for cash. Honestly, Chiwu didn't understand her recklessness. Their situation was improving daily; they had a peaceful home and enough food. Yet here she was, dragging him into risky ventures that made his legs numb from pedaling.

The summer heat soaked through the tiger skin wrapped around his waist, leaving damp patches and heat rashes. Still, he gritted his teeth in silence—the heirloom's value became clear when they heard its price at the apothecary: five thousand yuan. Chiwu gazed at Cheng Ying with newfound reverence, their actions suddenly feeling monumental.

The weight of those bills left him numb. He'd never seen such numbers—not even the village elders could claim similar wealth. Watching Cheng Ying casually stuff the money into a sack made his feet shake as he half-feared passersby might rob them in broad daylight.

Only when Cheng Ying's calm demeanor returned did Chiwu regain some confidence. She handled crises with an ease that made him feel inadequate, until they reached the hospital and saw her tense posture—then the fear returned like an old wound.

He pedaled without feeling, legs burning until they reached familiar territory where pain struck like needles. When he saw Cheng Ying crying, his chest ached with determination to never let her suffer so again. Holding her in that moment, the world narrowed to just their two hearts.

The return home blurred into haze. His swollen legs bore silent testimony to their boldness. But when old Mrs. Yang punished Cheng Ying, something primal took over—Chiwu shielded her without thinking, later realizing it wasn't fear or duty driving him but raw protectiveness.

During his recovery period, Chiwu found strange comfort in the attention from both women. Cheng Ying's delicate fingers massaged his legs with such care he almost wished they'd never heal. She bathed him daily with meticulousness that transformed her into his perfect vision of beauty.

He grew taller and fairer-skinned, especially noticing changes in his hands—those same hands that now washed obsessively to match Cheng Ying's elegance. He studied strangers' hands through this new lens, yet found none comparable to hers.

Mrs. Yang's sudden kindness toward him became clear later: she saw their shared struggles as proof of familial bond. As Chiwu convalesced, he marveled at how the incident forged their connection stronger than any blood relation could create.

Watching Cheng Ying labor in the mountains alone made new regrets surface. He vowed to work harder in school, determined to match her brilliance even if it meant staying up hours later studying by lamplight.

The first time he sold honeysuckle on his own, the thrill of earning money changed him completely. Now whenever they carried herbs into town together, Cheng Ying's praise filled him with more pride than any treasure ever could.

Their growing secret stash of cash became a symbol of their bond—until old Mrs. Yang returned from the city. Chiwu couldn't comprehend why she'd leave Cheng Ying behind when he and Cheng had become inseparable through hardship and triumph alike. But that only strengthened his resolve to prove himself worthy in ways no parent ever could.

The tension with Aunt Yang lingered, but Chiwu soon realized his love for Cheng Ying transcended family obligations. From this point forward, their shared struggles would be the foundation of everything they built together—because Cheng Ying had always understood one truth: true strength came from standing on your own two feet.