The person marked with "**" showed signs of waking up after staying overtime until nearly 3 a.m. Lin He felt like she had slept for an unusually long time, yet it was comfortably dreamless - the best rest she'd had in ages since work and life pressures had been suffocating her ever since starting her job.

Old-timers always said Post-80s generation were fortunate, having grown up sweetly without hardships. But reality didn't match their nostalgic tales. The younger generation's rising material demands forced constant striving to avoid being left behind in this society obsessed with possessions. Oh well, enough of these thoughts - if she didn't get up soon, her weekend would vanish into sleep again. She had promised friends a relaxing outing after all.

Opening her eyes, Lin He blinked against confusion. This wasn't the one-bedroom apartment she rented. The small room held little more than two beds made on wooden planks over makeshift bricks, an ancient table with chipped bowls and equally worn-out stools. Her own mattress was a thin cotton blanket that felt barely thicker than sheeting.

"Where am I?" she murmured. Then her breath hitched - these weren't adult hands! Tiny fingers trembled as she shook her head to clear the fog, though dizziness persisted.

The door creaked open and in stepped a woman in threadbare clothes, hair pinned with wooden at the nape like those period dramas showed married women wore. The woman had striking features - large eyes, high cheekbones, yet gaunt cheeks spoke of malnutrition.

"Honey child," she cradled Lin He gently, "does your head still hurt? Let me know when you're feeling better. Papa and I need to tend the fields today. You must look after your siblings. Breakfast is outside."

Lin He nodded silently as the woman left. Pinching her arms confirmed this wasn't a dream - she had definitely joined the time-travelers' ranks! But why now? Why not after death like in stories? She accepted it quickly; her past life held no family, only institutional walls at the orphanage where neither intelligence nor beauty spared her from neglect.

Now this new family might be real. Better to adapt than resist.

Pushing open the door, she surveyed a courtyard with four sunken earthen houses under thatched roofs. A little girl emerged - "Big sister!" she cried in a voice already worn thin by hunger. The child wore patched red floral coat and bore the same haunted look as her mother.

Lin He replied to questions about family members while sitting on a splintered stool. When informed of head injuries from falling against walls, she rolled her eyes at five-year-old caretakers' competence before following instructions to find breakfast in another room - only to discover a single steamed bun and rice porridge waiting under the thatched roof.

The cold water splash revealed her new face: seven parts like her mother's, eight years old with a scar above the brow. Compared to her previous life ending at 28, this was actually an upgrade. Still shivering from the icy washcloth, she decided to accept this strange beginning.