The hut was silent except for the whistling wind and the shallow breathing of her family. Lin Wei sat in the dark, the adrenaline from discovering the Space fading into a bone-deep exhaustion. But her mind was racing. The Spirit Water had put Xiayu into a deep, peaceful sleep, but water wasn't food. They needed calories.
A wet, hacking cough tore through the silence.
"Wei'er?" a weak female voice called out. It was her mother, Zhao-shi. "Are you... are you still with us?"
Lin Wei's heart ached. Her mother sounded like she was preparing herself to find a corpse.
"I'm here, Mother," Lin Wei whispered, moving to the straw pallet where her parents lay. "I'm awake. The fever broke."
In the dim moonlight filtering through the roof, she saw her mother try to sit up, squinting nervously with eyes clouded by cataracts from years of fine embroidery work by poor candlelight.
Beside her, Lin Wei's father, Lin Dazhuang, groaned. His leg, crushed months ago by a falling timber and poorly set by a village quack, was a twisted source of constant agony that had dragged the family into ruin.
"Water..." he rasped, his voice tight with pain.
"I have water," Lin Wei said quickly. She went back to the clay pitcher she had secretly refilled from the Space and poured two bowls. "Drink slowly."
She helped her mother hold the bowl. Zhao-shi took a sip, and her eyes widened in the dark. "This water... it's so sweet. Like spring rain."
As they drank, Lin Wei watched them closely. It wasn't a miraculous instant cure—that would be too suspicious—but the effect was undeniable. The tight lines of pain around her father's eyes loosened. Her mother blinked, rubbing her eyes as if a layer of gauze had been lifted from her vision.
"I... I don't feel so tired," Zhao-shi whispered, awe in her voice.
"It must be a blessing," Lin Wei lied smoothly, tucking the thin quilt around them. "Sleep now. The gods haven't abandoned us."
Once their breathing deepened back into sleep, Lin Wei knew it was time. She needed real sustenance. She touched the burning mark on her wrist and willed herself inside.
Shift.
The cold, fetid air of the hut was instantly replaced by the warm, sunlit valley. It felt like stepping from winter into mid-summer.
Lin Wei didn't waste time admiring the view. She walked over to the wooden crate and grabbed the bag of Hybrid White Radish seeds from her lab. In her past life, these were engineered to grow fast and huge in poor soil. Here, with the spirit soil and water, plus the accelerated time, they would be monsters.
She found an old, rusted hoe leaning against the tool shed. The work was grueling. Her new body was weak and unused to labor. She had to till the black soil, turning it over row by row. Sweat soaked her ragged clothes. Her muscles screamed.
She planted the tiny seeds, spacing them carefully. Then, she hauled buckets of water from the Spirit Spring, drenching the thirsty soil.
And then, she waited.
Inside the Space, there was no night, just an endless, perfect day. Lin Wei had no way to track time except by the growth of the plants.
She watched as tiny green shoots broke the surface.
She felt hunger return and drank from the spring to sate it.
She felt exhausted and lay down on the soft grass to sleep, waking up to water the plants again.
To her, weeks seemed to pass. It was monotonous, back-breaking farm work. Her soft hands became blistered, then calloused. Her arms grew tighter.
Finally, the green leaves were huge and bushy. The tops of massive white radishes pushed out of the black earth, glowing with a faint pearlescent sheen.
It was harvest time.
Lin Wei grabbed the leaves of the first one and pulled with all her might. With a wet shluck sound, the radish came free.
It was enormous. Easily the size of a chubby toddler, smooth and flawless, radiating a fresh, pungent energy.
She harvested ten of them, piling them by the spring, filthied and exhausted but exhilarated. This was food. Real, solid food.
She grabbed two of the smaller ones—still huge by normal standards—and willed herself back.
Shift.
The shock of the cold air hit her hard, making her teeth chatter. She looked through a gap in the door. The moon had barely moved.
It had been, perhaps, two hours outside. Inside, she had lived a month of a farmer's life.
The hut was still dark. Lin Wei crept to the corner where a small, blackened clay stove sat. She nursed a tiny flame from the few remaining twigs and placed their only chipped clay pot on top, filling it with water from the pitcher.
She used a dull kitchen knife to slice one of the radishes. The flesh was crisp and white, juicy like a pear. She dropped the chunks into the water. No salt, no oil, just radish and spirit water.
As the water came to a boil, a smell began to fill the hut.
It wasn't just the smell of boiled vegetables. It was a rich, sweet, savory aroma that seemed to penetrate the soul. It smelled like life itself.
Behind her, there was a rustling of straw. Little Brother Xiayu sat up, rubbing his eyes, his nose twitching.
Then Father woke up, followed by Mother. The smell pulled them from sleep like an irresistible hook.
"Wei'er?" Mother sat up, confused and a little scared. "Is someone cooking... meat? Where did we get meat?"
Lin Wei stirred the pot. The radish chunks had turned translucent, dissolving into the water to create a thick, white broth.
"It's not meat, Mother," Lin Wei said, her voice thick with emotion. She ladled the hot soup into four chipped bowls. "It's just a wild radish I found near the creek. But it's a very good one."
She carried the bowls over. The family huddled together for warmth, staring at the steaming white soup as if it were gold.
Xiayu didn't wait for permission. He lifted the bowl with trembling hands and took a big gulp. He froze.
"Xiayu?" Mother asked anxiously. "Is it bitter?"
Xiayu lowered the bowl. Tears were streaming down his thin, dirty cheeks, cutting clean tracks through the grime.
"It's..." he choked out, then shoved another spoonful into his mouth. "It's warm! My tummy is warm!"
Father and Mother took tentative sips. Silence fell over the hut, broken only by the sound of frantic slurping.
The radish melted in their mouths, releasing a burst of sweet, earthy flavor that was incredibly satisfying. The hot broth, infused with the spirit water's energy, spread through their freezing bodies like fire, chasing away the bone-deep chill they had lived with for months.
Father Dazhuang finished his bowl and looked down at his leg. A look of utter disbelief crossed his face.
"Dazhuang?" Mother asked.
"The throbbing," he whispered, his voice shaking. "It stopped. For the first time since the accident... the pain just stopped."
He looked up at Lin Wei, his eyes red-rimmed in the flickering firelight. "Wei'er... where did you really find this?"
Lin Wei held her own bowl, feeling the warmth seep into her hands. She looked at her family—their faces no longer grey with despair, a faint flush of life returning to their cheeks.
"I told you, Father," she said softly, her gaze unwavering. "Our luck has turned."
She took a sip of the soup. It tasted like hope.
"Eat up," she said. "Tomorrow, we have work to do."