Feng Qingxue carried back to her home more than a dozen bundles of firewood in one breath and brought a few bundles of thatch. Once at home, she quickly built a mud stove with stones at one side of the door, setting a pottery pot on it.
The water in the pottery pot had been scooped from the river.
The fire was lit with matches, which, she told Qingyun, were given to her by a kind person.
But were they?
In reality, she was afraid that the lighter might become unusable one day, so she stored a lot of matches in her space for such an eventuality. Now, they were coming into use.
It wasn't due to her foresight, but because she understood the fact that an ordinary lighter becomes useless once its liquid fuel is used up.
Qingyun squatted in front of the stove, lighting the fire, and the flame reflected on her excited face. "Sister, that kind hearted person was so nice!" she exclaimed.
Feng Qingxue shook her head and smiled faintly.
