Chapter 2: A Bowl of Plain Porridge Settles All Matters

She staggered to her feet, almost collapsing before the blurry bronze mirror hanging on the wall.

In the reflection was the face of a woman in her early thirties. Though worn and sallow from years of labor, the delicate features of her youth could still be faintly seen, and her eyes were filled with shock and confusion.

This was not the frail, white-haired old woman she had been at death’s door. This was... her younger self!

She glanced around. This low, dilapidated room was the one she had lived in for decades.

She dressed, her hands finding the patched coarse cloth garment on her body. The rough fabric rubbed against her skin, sending a faint sting that sharpened her senses.

An indescribable ache welled in her heart.

She was truly reborn! Heaven had granted her a second chance at life!

She had returned to the fifth year after her husband Shen Dashan’s unexpected death. That year, her son Shen Yongzhi was exactly ten, and her daughter Shen Xiuwei only six.

It was also that year when her mother-in-law, Mrs. Zhang, citing that “children cannot be fatherless,” completely seized control of the household finances, gradually seizing every penny she earned from endless toil under the pretense of safeguarding it, but in truth spending it all on her precious grandson Shen Yongzhi.

As for her, for the sake of the two children and this so-called “family,” she had been worked like an old ox her entire life, only to be driven out by her own son and mother-in-law, left to freeze and starve to death on a cold winter’s night!

How absurd! How tragic!

Her chest burned with hatred and fury, nearly overwhelming her. Shen Guilan clenched her palm tightly, the sharp pain pulling her instantly back to calm.

No, she could not act impulsively.

Hadn’t the lessons of her past life been enough?

Brute strength alone would not suffice.

Since Heaven had given her a chance to start anew, she must never repeat the same mistakes!

In this life, she would live for herself and for her daughter, who shared a similarly tragic fate! The cruel end that claimed both their lives last time would never happen again!

A rumbling sound rose from her empty stomach, pulling her thoughts back to the present.

Only then did Shen Guilan realize how empty and hungry she was.

She pushed open the door, a cold wind carrying the faint scent of thin porridge washing over her.

In the kitchen, a large black pot simmered with watery rice soup so clear it reflected her shadow. The broth was pale and sparse, barely containing any grains.

In the corner, a small, frail figure curled up—her six-year-old daughter Shen Xiuwei.

The little girl’s hair was dry and yellowed, her face pale as wax, her wide eyes fixed blankly on the pot. Her small hands rubbed her belly incessantly, clearly starved.

Seeing her daughter like this stabbed Shen Guilan’s heart like a thousand needles.

Just then, her mother-in-law Mrs. Zhang carefully ladled out another bowl of porridge from the pot.

This bowl was entirely different—full, plump grains, snow-white in color, thick and sticky, steaming with a rich fragrance of rice.

Mrs. Zhang carried this precious bowl without even glancing at Shen Xiuwei in the corner, heading straight toward Shen Yongzhi’s room, murmuring endearingly, “Ah, my precious grandson, studying is so hard, he must eat well to strengthen his body. He can’t go hungry.”

Shen Xiuwei’s gaze followed the bowl, her small throat swallowing hard, her eyes filled with unhidden longing and hurt.

This scene was an exact replay of memories from her previous life.

A suffocating fire flared up inside Shen Guilan, scorching her until her blood seemed to flow backward.

Instinctively, she wanted to rush forward, overturn that bowl, and fiercely scold Mrs. Zhang.

But her outstretched hand froze midair.

She saw the smug, self-righteous expression on Mrs. Zhang’s face—and the fleeting fear in her daughter’s eyes.

No, now was not the time.

She took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the overwhelming rage within.

Shen Guilan’s eyes flickered. Suddenly, she turned toward the stove corner, picked up a coarse earthenware bowl by the firewood pile, and deliberately struck it hard against the edge of the pot with a loud clank.

Mrs. Zhang flinched in surprise, nearly spilling the hot porridge.

“What do you think you’re doing? You scared me!” Mrs. Zhang snapped, glaring.

Shen Guilan lowered her gaze, her voice calm: “Mother, this bowl has a crack. I’m afraid if we use it to serve food later, it might break and burn Yongzhi’s hand. That wouldn’t be good.” She lifted the cracked bowl, deliberately showing Mrs. Zhang the long, winding fissure snaking across its base like a venomous serpent.

Mrs. Zhang frowned. “Bad luck! Throw it away immediately!”

“Yes,” Shen Guilan replied, but instead of discarding it, she placed the bowl carefully on the stove.

Mrs. Zhang watched coldly, about to sneer, “Poor and miserly, unwilling to throw away a broken bowl,” when suddenly her foot slipped—