She grew up breathing the bitter scent of dried roots and scorched herbs, their acrid smoke clinging to the rafters of the humble thatched hu. On the visits from the traveling healer who came only when the snow melted and the roads were safe. On useless tonics that kept her breathing one more day, one more week, but never gave her the strength to leave her mat.
Qin Ruolan's weak body had drained her family dry.
And they gave willingly, quietly, without a word of resentment. But that made the burden feel even heavier.
As I sat there, wrapped in this frail shell that had cost them everything, I felt a knot form in my chest. I had survived death, only to wake in a life shaped by sacrifice.
I looked down at my hands, pale and thin, the skin nearly translucent in the dim light.
"Lan'er is awake?"
The voice came from the doorway, deep, rough, and edged with disbelief.
I turned my head slowly and saw a tall, broad-shouldered man stepping into the room, the fading light outlining his sun-weathered features. His clothes were patched in more places than not, and his hands were stained with river silt and calluses from a life of hard labor.
I didn't need anyone to tell me who he was.
Qin Bolin. My father now.
There was something unreadable in his expression as he looked at me.
Something between hope and caution, like a man afraid to believe in a miracle. His gaze lingered, searching my face for signs of life beyond the fever and stillness that had clung to me for so long.
Behind him, three boys clustered in the doorway, each with the same sun-browned skin and thin frames marked by hunger and growing too fast.
Qin Shanyuan, the eldest at thirteen, stood with his arms stiff at his sides, his gaze fixed on me with cautious intensity. He looked like someone who'd been forced to become a man too early—his worry worn like armor. His cheeks were hollow, skin stretched tight over high bones; arms like brittle bamboo stalks, he looked smaller in personal rather than the boy in the original's Qin Ruolan's memories.
Qin Yaoting, twelve, followed close behind — his face more open, emotions unhidden like a scroll laid bare. At his age, a boy should've had round, healthy cheeks, but like his elder brother, his were sunken, as if hardship had carved hollows into them with a patient knife. His brows were tightly drawn, and he moved as if holding his breath.
And the youngest, Qin Yubing, only eleven, peeked from behind his brothers. His eyes were wide, hopeful, and a little scared—like he hadn't dared to believe I'd open my eyes again.
"I'm alright, Father," I said softly, my voice rasping in my throat.
Qin Bolin paused, then gave a stiff nod, though his eyes betrayed him. There was something wet clinging to the corners—unshed tears, maybe. Relief. Exhaustion.
A miracle he didn't dare trust.
"Lan'er Meimei..." Shanyuan's voice wavered as he stepped closer, "...are you sure you're alright?"
His face was thin, sullen, but tender in its concern. My chest ached with guilt I didn't quite understand.
"Mmm. Yu'ge, I'm alright," I said, forcing a weak smile. It felt foreign on my lips—like it didn't belong to me, but to the girl whose place I now occupied.
I shifted slightly, wincing as my body protested. "I'm still tired... I think I need to sleep a bit more."
They didn't question me.
One by one, they nodded, turned, and left the room quietly—though each step seemed reluctant. Qin Yubing was the last to go, glancing over his shoulder before disappearing behind the curtain.
And just like that, I was alone again.
The silence crept in like fog.
I stared at the ceiling, barely breathing. These people loved her so much. Cared so deeply. And I...
I wasn't her.
Not really.
My mind drifted back to the blue box—that strange, glowing thing that had appeared before everything turned to black. It couldn't have been a hallucination. I was dead... wasn't I?
I frowned.
It had felt too real—too solid. I remembered touching it, expecting my hand to phase right through, only to feel resistance like cool glass. I remembered the glowing letters, the swirling particles, the sensation of being peeled away from the world—
Was that really a system? I thought.
And as if summoned by my thoughts, the very same blue box reappeared.
Floating. Right above my face.
I froze, blinking up at it.
"...Seriously?"
The box hovered inches from my nose, pulsing gently like a lazy firefly. I wasn't sure whether to be terrified or impressed. It was silent for a moment—ominously so—before a familiar line of glowing text scrolled across its surface:
[ W E L C O M E , Q I N R U O L A N ]
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered weakly, staring up at the glowing text like it had personally offended me.
The box gave no reply. It simply hovered there. Pulsing like a heartbeat. Or maybe that was just my eyes playing me.
My thoughts scattered like startled birds, instantly retreating to the dozens—no, hundreds—of novels I'd devoured over the years. System novels. Reincarnation. Transmigration. The overpowered protagonist gets a magical screen, cheats death, and bulldozes their way through an entirely new life.
Was that... happening to me?
Of course.
Of course.
Somewhere in the universe, a writer was laughing.
As if it had heard my thoughts, a soft, clear bell chimed inside my head, echoing with a strange resonance that seemed to vibrate all the way to my bones.
{[Enter Farm]}
[Yes] [No]
My heart lurched in my chest. What now?
I stared at the glowing options, my mind racing. The "Yes" button beckoned like a trap, and yet... I couldn't look away.
I reached out, hands steady, and tapped [Yes] before I could second-guess myself.
As soon as my finger made contact with the option, a strange warmth spread through my body, like the sensation of stepping into sunlight after a long, cold day. It was almost soothing.
And then—
The ground beneath me trembled slightly, and the air shifted. I barely had time to react before a burst of energy so bright that it was almost tangible, rushed through me. My vision blurred, and a sudden wave of dizziness swept over me.