Chapter 1: The Arrival
The thunder rolled like a drumbeat in the heavens, shaking the small, dilapidated cottage. Jian Yiling bolted upright, her heart pounding as if it would burst out of her chest. Her vision blurred momentarily, and she clutched her forehead, trying to make sense of the sudden pounding in her skull.
"Where… am I?"
The words left her lips, but the voice wasn't hers—higher-pitched, softer, and alien. She blinked rapidly and took in her surroundings: mud-brick walls, a thatched roof with holes big enough to let rain drip through, and two small children huddled together on a threadbare straw mat in the corner. The boy was staring at her, wide-eyed and wary, while the girl sucked on her thumb, her ribs visible beneath her too-small shirt.
Pain coursed through Jian Yiling's chest—not physical pain, but something deeper. Memories that didn't belong to her rushed in like a dam breaking. This body wasn't hers. She was no longer the corporate powerwoman climbing the ladder in modern China. No, she was a widow in 1960s rural China, a mother of two abandoned children barely clinging to life.
As reality settled over her like a suffocating fog, a wave of determination pushed through her fear. If fate had given her a new life in a broken world, then she would take it. She would survive. And so would these children.
Outside, the storm roared on, but within the little cottage, Jian Yiling's resolve became the spark of a new beginning.
The girl whimpered first, a soft sound that sent a pang of unfamiliar guilt through Jian Yiling's chest.
"Mama, please don't go," she whispered, her tiny voice trembling as tears welled in her wide, frightened eyes.
"Little Zhi said you won't come back… please don't leave again," she added, clinging tighter to her brother.
The boy stiffened but didn't look away. His gaze wasn't filled with the warmth a son should have for his mother—it was hard, almost accusing. Yet, there was a crack in his armor, a desperate plea beneath his bravado.
"You always say we're better off without you," he said bluntly, his words far too mature for someone his age. "But we're not, Mama. Yun'er cries every night. And I—I can't do this alone."
Yiling staggered slightly, clutching the edge of the wooden table to steady herself. Flashes of memories—memories that weren't hers—assaulted her mind. The original owner of this body had stood in this very spot, her emotions drowning in despair, whispering promises to leave, to end it all, while the children begged her to stay.
Her heart twisted at the realization. These children had seen their mother, their sole lifeline, contemplating abandoning them, and it had broken something inside them.
Yiling's voice was raw as she said, "I… I'm not leaving. Not ever again."
Yun'er sniffled, rubbing her eyes with a trembling fist. "Promise?"
She crouched low to meet the girl's eye level, her expression soft yet resolute. "I promise, Yun'er .From now on, no matter what happens, I'll protect you and your brother."
Little Zhi's jaw tightened. He didn't believe her—she could see it in his dark, wary eyes—but he said nothing. Actions spoke louder than words, and Yiling knew earning his trust would take time.
She reached out hesitantly, placing a hand on Little Zhi's shoulder. He didn't flinch, but he didn't lean into the touch either. "I'm sorry for everything," she whispered. "But I'll make it right. You'll see."
For the first time in what felt like hours, a hush fell over the room. The storm outside had finally quieted, but in the cottage, the battle had only just begun. Yiling straightened and took a deep breath.
"First, we need food," she said, more to herself than anyone else. "Stay here. I'll figure something out."
"Mama—" Little Zhi hesitated, then looked away. "Be careful," he muttered gruffly.
Yiling smiled faintly at the first sign of his concern. "I will."
She stepped out of the cottage into the misty air, the scent of rain lingering around her. Each step was heavy with responsibility, but her resolve had never been stronger. These children needed her—and for the first time, she realized she needed them just as much.