The old Mrs. Cheng's family had been well-to-do before she married, though she never dared mention it again after she did. She was fortunate enough to marry a man of character who treated her kindly; when she preferred not to speak of her past, he never pressed her.

When others spoke of her maternal uncle's family, Mrs. Cheng would always fend them off with one line: "They live too far away, and their family is poor." But only Mrs. Cheng knew the truth in her heart: her own family wasn't quite as impoverished as she claimed; if one truly traced it back, they were a noticeable step above the peasantry.

The perspective Mrs. Cheng possessed wasn't innate; it was cultivated through years of subtle observation and absorption from her childhood home. However, the Cheng lineage was sparse, and those were turbulent times.

By the time Mrs. Cheng married into the family, little wealth remained. Her own father, entrusting his daughter to a reliable man, offered only one plea: "I don't ask for great riches, only for a stable life." As for the belongings at home, he told his daughter not to concern herself with any of it.

"A person is worth more than anything," he'd said. "For a young woman, having too many possessions without support isn't fortune, it's disaster." Mrs. Cheng married without ceremony shortly after her father passed.

She offered no farewells to relatives, friends, or neighbors, simply stating that since she was marrying far away, visits would be inconvenient. It was as her father had said: she shouldn't covet her family's things, and even if she did, they wouldn't be hers anyway; those people were ungrateful wretches who hadn't considered leaving even a little something for their daughter. If Mrs.

Cheng hadn't left so cleanly, taking nothing and claiming nothing, she might have been targeted by someone, and her marriage prospects might have changed. Thus, Mrs. Cheng departed unencumbered, a woman marrying into the Cheng family with nothing more than the clothes on her back.

At that time, Old Man Cheng was a bachelor in the village, living a meager existence; when Mrs. Cheng arrived, the windows weren't even patched with paper. The poverty was real.

Mrs. Cheng sometimes regretted not listening to her father and at least bringing out something from home to help supplement their meager means. However, she never once entertained the thought of returning.

Aside from the distance, she knew that nest of relatives would likely never welcome her back. The only comfort was that Old Man Cheng was genuinely handsome. The young man stood tall and straight, possessing considerable strength.

The matchmaker had even said that if it weren't for his poverty and lack of connections arranging a wife, Cheng Da wouldn't still be unmarried at his age. Old Man Cheng knew how to cherish his wife; finding a spouse at his age was no easy feat. He treated Mrs.

Cheng with utmost kindness, always bringing back any food he managed to procure outside. Mrs. Cheng was no idle woman either, and together they set about building their life.

She proved herself capable, giving Old Man Cheng a son with her very first birth. Old Man Cheng was ecstatic, weeping as he held the child, telling Mrs. Cheng, "I never thought I'd hold a son in my lifetime; I thought I'd be a bachelor forever.

I will treat both of you well." Mrs. Cheng felt her day and night of hardship had been worthwhile. A man with a woman to manage things was certainly more respectable than he had been as a bachelor.

Old Man Cheng became a respected figure in the village; their life together was built by their own two hands. Mrs. Cheng truly had no regrets, not a single one.

When the third child was born, things changed; the Liberation had arrived. When land classifications were assigned, Mrs. Cheng regretted nothing further; her back became exceptionally straight.

Old Man Cheng was a genuine poor peasant; when she married him, they didn't even have proper bedding—only straw mats covered the kang. Tracing back several generations, no one in his family had ever possessed wealth. Mrs.

Cheng never spoke a single word of her maternal family. She figured if anyone ever pushed the issue, she would claim she had been kidnapped by traffickers and didn't know her home village, all to protect the life she and her husband had painstakingly built for their children. Mrs.

Cheng felt blessed that she had followed her father's advice: saying nothing about her background and simply settling down with her husband. She dared to proclaim loudly in front of everyone, "My family has been poor peasants for eight generations; our class standing is excellent." In her heart, she took bitter satisfaction in knowing that those ungrateful vultures who had snatched things from her family were finally facing their due. Life improved.

Though food and clothing remained somewhat scarce, everyone endured similarly, managing to survive, and importantly, there was hope; the security of decent people was guaranteed, and the unrest had ended. Mrs. Cheng bore Old Man Cheng three sons and one daughter, none of whom suffered any hardship; she raised them all safely.

Old Man Cheng adored his wife from the bottom of his heart. He never let her lift heavy burdens. Once the children were older, he and the third son handled the physical work, requiring no effort from her.

Old Man Cheng was industrious and clever. He took care of building houses for his sons when they married without ever troubling his wife. By village standards, Mrs.

Cheng lived a comfortable life. Every household had its worries, but Mrs. Cheng didn't—she had no mother-in-law above her and no daughters-in-law below to cause her distress.

As for the daughters-in-law, her husband managed to secure a separate dwelling for each son. What a fortunate woman she was. The eldest and second daughters-in-law married in one after another.

Although the third daughter-in-law hadn't entered the household yet, her father-in-law had already arranged the match, a family they knew well; word was the girl was easygoing. Just as Mrs. Cheng was preparing to enjoy her later years in comfort, Old Man Cheng passed away.

The hardships of his youth had taken their toll; his demise was long foretold. Left with the youngest son and the daughter, Mrs. Cheng had no choice but to stand strong.

Her children were young and sensitive; they couldn't shoulder the burden. From that moment on, Mrs. Cheng’s twenty-plus years of good fortune ended.

A widow with sons—how could her troubles be few? Despite Old Man Cheng’s capability and the property he left behind—which was respectable by village standards compared to when she first married—all that had changed was that she now had several children, and they were old enough to help. Managing the family estate wouldn't be difficult, especially under the collective system where they only occupied a few dwellings.

From that time onward, Mrs. Cheng’s face never looked full or radiant again; she appeared sharp, someone not to be trifled with. It was unavoidable; a widowed woman had to be fierce or risk being bullied.

When the third daughter-in-law married and had children, Mrs. Cheng finally breathed a sigh of relief. Had this been a different era, she would be considered the esteemed matriarch, and with her children settled and bearing children of their own, she naturally deserved veneration.

But just as she was preparing to enjoy the blessings of her youngest son, the one she cherished most, the one who looked most like her husband, the third son, died. A white-haired parent burying a black-haired child—Mrs. Cheng grieved more deeply than when her husband died.

The third son left behind an infant daughter and a heavily pregnant wife. How would this family survive? Having endured widowhood for years, Mrs.

Cheng knew better than anyone the hardships faced by women alone. Moreover, how young was her daughter-in-law? The plight of a young widow was even harder.

Mrs. Cheng wept for the dead and wept for the living. Life was unbearable.

Why was Heaven so blind? The one who deserved death did not die, while the one who shouldn't have died perished senselessly. She wished she, the useless old woman, had died instead of her son.

But Heaven didn't listen. Mrs. Cheng gathered her resolve, aligning herself with her two elder sons and living alongside the youngest daughter-in-law's family.

For the sake of the third son's orphaned wife and child, something she might have otherwise avoided, she took charge again. She had to hold things together. Begging for a meager existence under her in-laws’ roof was easier than depending on her brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law.

When she watched the third daughter-in-law miscarry, Mrs. Cheng was too numb to feel further sorrow. Her son hadn't left even a single male heir—no continuation of the family line to rely upon.

Looking at Yingzi, Mrs. Cheng’s heart was filled with bitterness, but she was, after all, her son's blood. Whether boy or girl mattered little now; this was his only legacy.

Mrs. Cheng favored her granddaughter disproportionately. However, it wasn't too obvious.

The third son's family was currently clinging to the elder brothers for support. Mrs. Cheng dared not openly favor them; managing a large household required considerable subtlety.

Fortunately, Yingzi lived with her. At night, Mrs. Cheng would sneak the child some melon seeds to nibble on.

In the winter, when food was scarce, she would secretly roast some corn kernels over the fire basin for her granddaughter to eat. Yet, in front of others, Mrs. Cheng showered affection only upon her elder grandsons.

Little Yingzi, being young, didn't comprehend these subtle matters. During the day, her little face was tightly drawn, and her disposition grew increasingly withdrawn, making her seem less endearing. Mrs.

Cheng couldn't help it; how could she ever voice her true feelings? Mrs. Cheng was certainly unwilling for Yang Zhi to marry, but after Yang Zhi's father pleaded with her for days, she finally relented, considering that her granddaughter needed a father figure lest her future character be compromised.

Thus, she grit her teeth and agreed to Yang Zhi remarrying. And for her granddaughter's sake, Mrs. Cheng even sacrificed the house Old Man Cheng had built, insisting the daughter-in-law take a live-in husband—all so her granddaughter wouldn't suffer mistreatment elsewhere; she wanted to watch over her herself and see who dared upset her girl.

It was around that time, perhaps due to the emotional shock, that the child suddenly became much more sensible—a true stroke of luck. The child’s temperament improved; she was no longer gloomy. And she appeared sharp-witted.

Mrs. Cheng certainly noticed the change in her granddaughter, and she treasured this transformation. Otherwise, how could an immature child navigate such a complex environment later on?

Mrs. Cheng felt Heaven was compensating her son, having suddenly altered her granddaughter. Mrs.

Cheng specifically tasked Yang Zhi with secretly offering incense and tribute to her husband and son. Back then, during the campaign against 'ox-demons and snake-spirits,' superstitious activities like these were forbidden. Word was, engaging in such things in the city would lead to public denouncement.

Since they were far from the city and the villagers didn't make a fuss, they carried on their customs secretly. Furthermore, the villagers were close-knit; every family had ancestors, and everyone paid respects during the New Year. No one reported them, allowing Mrs.

Cheng the space to maneuver. Mrs. Cheng's feet were small and couldn't carry her that far, so she sent Yang Zhi to go alone.

The offerings were prepared by Mrs. Cheng herself—such was her deep affection for her granddaughter's sudden awakening of sense. If Cheng Ying at that time had known how delighted Mrs.

Cheng was by her change in demeanor, she would have patted her own chest and echoed the sentiment: Heaven bless us. It was a worry that had plagued her for ages—the fear that Mrs. Cheng would discover the soul inhabiting this body was no longer her granddaughter.