Shen Miao’s heart pounded as she listened, realizing the situation of her original self’s younger siblings was even worse than she had imagined! Now, as she looked at the three aunties before her, her gratitude grew more sincere. She took their hands and said earnestly, "Thank you all for taking care of my brother and sister. Once I’ve settled in, I’ll visit each of your homes to express my thanks properly!"
Aunt Gu, the warmest of them all, lived right across from the Shen family. She waved off the thanks, saying, "We’ve been neighbors for years—no need for such formalities! Go see Ji Brother and Sister Xiang first. I’ll have Second Brother Gu carry your two trunks for you. Don’t worry about them."
Shen Miao thanked her repeatedly before entrusting the luggage to her and hurrying through the narrow alleyway cluttered with all sorts of odds and ends.
Willow East Alley was actually the back lane of Yanqiu South Street in Bianjing. Here, every household had two gates—one facing the bustling market street, often converted into shops alongside the front hall, and the other opening into the alley, serving as the entrance for daily life.
Halfway down the lane, Shen Miao recognized the Shen residence—what remained of it, at least. The charred beams had collapsed, half the wall was gone, and the ground was strewn with rubble. The place was nearly reduced to ashes.
Her original self’s aunt had written that the fire hadn’t been too severe. How could this be considered "not too severe"?
Fortunately, Bianjing was densely populated, and fire prevention measures were strict. From Shen Miao’s memories, she knew that every neighborhood had military patrol stations every three hundred paces, with five soldiers keeping watch at night. Each street also had brick watchtowers at both ends, manned by vigilant guards. Below these towers, a hundred garrison troops stood ready, equipped with buckets, ladders, axes, saws, and fire hooks to rush to any blaze.
The Shen family’s fire must have been spotted early by these patrols, preventing it from spreading to neighboring homes. Otherwise, the compensation for damaged properties would have been an unbearable additional burden.
Now, with the house in ruins, staring at it wouldn’t help. Shen Miao’s thoughts were with her younger siblings as she stepped carefully over the debris, her feet sinking unevenly into the wreckage.
Had it rained recently in Bianjing? The scorched wood and broken tiles underfoot were damp, and the faint, choking smell of smoke still lingered, adding to the desolation.
Before she had taken more than a few steps, she heard the muffled sound of coughing and the quiet sobbing of a little girl.
Pushing aside a doorframe burned down to its blackened skeleton, Shen Miao entered what seemed to be a storage area. Shattered wine jars littered the ground along the wall, stacked in rows across the backyard. Beyond them stood a relatively intact structure—the kitchen, she realized after a moment.
The Shen family had run a noodle shop, so the kitchen had been built sturdier and more spacious than the rest of the house, with brick walls and long counters lining them. Though it, too, bore the marks of the fire, it was the only part of the back hall that hadn’t been completely destroyed.
To the right of the kitchen, a small door led to the front shop. Peering through, Shen Miao saw collapsed cabinets and broken furniture scattered haphazardly.
She’d deal with that later. Following the sounds, she stepped over the blackened threshold into the kitchen.
The light dimmed, and the air carried a mix of herbal and medicinal scents. As her eyes adjusted, the scene inside wasn’t as bad as she’d feared.
The roof had a gaping hole where the tiles had burned away, but the walls and stove remained intact, though blackened by smoke and streaked with scorch marks.
Behind the stove lay a straw mat with a quilt and pillow—likely donated by a kind neighbor. Though worn, they were clean and well-kept.
Beneath the quilt, the muffled crying continued.
Shen Miao moved closer and saw a boy around nine years old slumped against the wall, his hair disheveled. His features bore a striking resemblance to her current body—the same peach-blossom eyes, the same slight upward curve of the brows.
He was clearly feverish, his lips pale but cheeks flushed. Despite his own condition, he was gently patting the little girl curled against him. The child was asleep but still weeping in her dreams, tears streaming down her face.
Shen Miao froze, her feet suddenly heavy.
The boy, half-delirious with fever, noticed her first. His bloodshot eyes fixed on her, and for a long moment, he simply stared, as if struggling to recognize her. When he finally did, his lips pressed into a thin line, and he looked away.
Ignoring his resistance, Shen Miao reached out and pressed a hand to his forehead. The heat radiating from him seared her palm like a flame. Softening her voice, she said, "Ji Brother, you’ve suffered."
"Your elder sister is back. I’m not leaving again."
At those words, the defiance in Shen Ji’s eyes crumbled. A rush of emotion clogged his throat, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. He blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall, his eyelids growing redder with the effort.
Shen Miao sighed inwardly.
Buried deep in the original owner’s memories were the wails of these two orphaned siblings. Too cowardly to defy her mother-in-law, she had abandoned them at Uncle Shen’s house. When she boarded the carriage to leave, three-year-old Sister Xiang had clung desperately to her skirts, sobbing, "Don’t go, Elder Sister, don’t go!"
Uncle Shen had pried the child’s fingers loose and carried her away, but even in his arms, she had kicked and screamed, straining to reach her sister until her voice gave out. Shen Ji hadn’t cried at first—not until the carriage started moving. Then he had broken free and sprinted after it.
He hadn’t called out, just as he didn’t now, his eyes red and brimming with tears as he ran and ran, until the distance grew too great. Only then had the wind carried back a single, heart-wrenching cry: "Elder Sister!"
The original owner hadn’t dared to look back, weeping silently in the carriage.
Their cries had haunted her, leaving her restless and guilt-ridden in the Rong household. Though she sent letters and gifts to Bianjing, nothing could ease her remorse.
Now, standing before these children in her place, Shen Miao felt the lingering regret—foreign yet persistent—finally dissipate like mist.
Bending down, she carefully lifted Sister Xiang from Shen Ji’s arms and onto her back. The child, still caught in her tearful dreams, didn’t wake but settled more peacefully against her.
Shen Ji watched silently.
"Can you walk?" Shen Miao asked, one hand supporting Sister Xiang, the other reaching for him. "Let’s go to Chief Physician Zhao’s and get you more medicine."
Shen Ji struggled to stand up by leaning against the wall, his body still unsteady. Shen Miao quickly moved to support him, but he dodged her again. After catching his breath, he asked, "Why did you come back?"
Shen Miao had never seen such a stubborn child in both her lifetimes—so young yet so sharp and mature. Since there was no hiding the fact that she had been divorced, she briefly explained what had happened, speaking calmly. "The Rong family is greedy and shameless. Being divorced is for the best. These past few years, I’ve regretted my choices. Now, it’s just as well—I’m free of them and can come back to take care of you two..."
To her surprise, Shen Ji, whom she had assumed harbored resentment toward her, flushed red with anger after hearing her story and burst out with a string of crude curses. "The Rong family dared to mistreat you? Those spineless, filthy beasts!"
He was so furious he broke into a violent coughing fit. Once he caught his breath, his voice turned icy, as if he wished he could devour the Rong family whole. "They must have thought that with no parents and me being too young, no one would stand up for you! If only I’d been born earlier—I’d march straight to Jinling and break Rong Dalang’s three damned legs!"
Shen Miao chuckled. "So you finally acknowledge me as your elder sister?"
Shen Ji’s face stiffened. He snorted and reverted to his earlier sulky demeanor.
"Come on, let’s get your medicine."
Shen Miao hoisted Sister Xiang onto her back and firmly took Shen Ji’s hand. The three of them took shortcuts through the winding alleys until they reached Chief Physician Zhao’s clinic. The Zhao family, descendants of imperial physicians, boasted a plaque inscribed with "Apricot Grove in Full Bloom" bestowed by the late emperor. Renowned for pediatrics and gynecology, their clinic was one of the most prestigious in Bianjing.
However, since their fees were higher than most, common folk only visited for serious illnesses. Compared to the overcrowded "Yang Family Clinic" nearby, Chief Physician Zhao’s establishment had only a handful of women waiting with their children for prescriptions.
The white-bearded doctor on duty, drowsy under the warm spring sun, was nearly nodding off.
Shen Miao’s mindset differed from most people of this era—she believed that neglecting minor ailments until they became severe only led to greater suffering, especially for children.
Fortunately, Shen Ji merely had a chill. After the white-bearded doctor examined him, he declared it nothing serious and prescribed five days of herbal decoctions, along with a three-day supply of licorice and platycodon syrup for cough relief—pre-brewed and stored in bamboo tubes, much like modern cough syrup. He also gave three medicinal plasters to apply to the soles of his feet at the Yongquan acupoint to reduce fever. Relieved, Shen Miao watched as the doctor applied two plasters on the spot and took the opportunity to learn where the Yongquan point was located so she could change them daily at home.
With the medicine in hand, the trio retraced their steps. Along the way, Sister Xiang, still asleep on Shen Miao’s back, began snoring softly.
"Is Sister Xiang sleeping so much because something’s wrong?" Shen Miao asked.
Shen Ji lowered his head, his expression darkening. "Last night, my fever spiked badly. She stayed up crying and taking care of me the whole time, afraid to close her eyes in case I... died too."
Shen Miao fell silent for a long moment before readjusting Sister Xiang on her back. Clenching her teeth, she muttered, "Once you’re better, I’m going to Uncle Shen’s house to demand justice!"
Shen Ji, unusually childish in his defiance, retorted, "I never want to step foot in Uncle Shen’s house again. After you left for Jinling, Uncle and Aunt Shen kept pressuring us to transfer ownership of our family’s shop. They said I was too young, that I’d need money for studies later, and that keeping the shop was pointless—better to hand it over to them so they could manage it properly and support Sister Xiang and me for life. When I refused, they threw a fit. Then, after our house burned down and they couldn’t collect rent, they treated us even worse with their cold glares and cutting remarks. I didn’t want to stay there anyway."
Shen Miao thought, Just as I suspected.
The original owner of this body had received letters from Uncle Shen demanding money. Despite Granny Rong’s scolding, she had been determined to bring the siblings to Jinling—likely because she had sensed something amiss. Sadly, she fell gravely ill before she could act, driven to despair by the Rong family’s cruelty.
The Shen family’s noodle shop was located in a bustling part of the inner city, not as lively as Rainbow Bridge but just two streets away from the imperial palace. Near Golden Beam Bridge, where many officials resided and close to the Great Xiangguo Temple, its location was prime—akin to a shop facing Beijing’s Chang’an Avenue in modern times. How could it not be valuable?
The Shen family had once been prosperous. Grandfather Shen had built four shops from scratch. After his death, Uncle Shen, as the eldest son, inherited one inner-city shop, one outer-city shop, farmland, and two chests of silver. Father Shen, the second son, received two smaller shops—one being the now-burned noodle shop and another in the outer city, which had been sold off long ago to fund Shen Miao’s dowry.
While Father Shen and Mother Shen were alive, Uncle Shen’s family hadn’t envied their younger brother’s assets—they were better off themselves, running the largest grain shop in the outer city and collecting rural rents, earning at least half a tael of silver daily. But with both parents gone, leaving only an underage son to inherit, greed had taken hold.
Under Song law, if Shen Ji died, the shop would automatically pass to Uncle Shen’s family.
But Shen Ji, though young, was sharp-witted and far less pliable than the original Shen Miao. No doubt Uncle Shen’s family had grown furious and driven the children out in frustration.
Shen Ji had downplayed their suffering with just "cold glares and cutting remarks," but Shen Miao knew the truth—life under someone else’s roof was never easy. They must have endured much hardship.
"Don’t worry," Shen Miao said, gripping Shen Ji’s hand tighter. "After what I’ve been through, my mind is clear now. I won’t let anyone bully you again. Come on, let’s go home. I’ll make you dough drop soup. Even though you’re sick, plain congee isn’t enough—you need something heartier to warm your stomach."
Shen Ji didn’t reply. He stole a sidelong glance at Shen Miao. He knew his elder sister’s nature better than anyone—had she not been so soft-hearted and timid, he wouldn’t have grown up so fiercely independent. But now, the hesitation in her eyes was gone, replaced by a clarity and resolve that made him feel, just for a moment, that he could rely on her.
Yet he quickly buried that fleeting weakness, vowing silently: Now that A-Jie is back, people will talk. I must stand firm and protect our family.
Unaware of Shen Ji’s increasingly solemn expression, Shen Miao continued chattering warmly. "I still have some purple yam I bought in Caizhou—perfect for the soup. But our luggage is still at Aunt Gu’s... Oh, we’ll need to buy firewood and cooking utensils first. The key to good dough drop soup is controlling the heat..."
"...Dough drop soup?" Shen Ji blinked.
A sudden dampness touched the back of her neck, and Shen Miao turned in surprise, only to see Sister Xiang—who had been sound asleep—abruptly lift her little head, drowsily wiping away the drool that had escaped the corner of her mouth.
Shen Miao couldn’t help but laugh: Was her little sister truly such a foodie?
