Chapter 1

Song Dingxiang lay sprawled on the bed, her face ghostly pale and her body battling a faint fever. She clung to the cocoon of thick bedding wrapped tightly around her, seeking solace in its smothering warmth. It was the only thing keeping her fragile body from unraveling entirely.

At her bedside, Fang Shi buzzed around like a relentless storm, tearing apart scraps of old clothing while her tongue ran wild without pause. "That Xu family? Absolutely vile! And the Zhou family? Even worse—a pack of scheming hyenas! Your grandfather must have been out of his mind to tie you to the likes of the Xu family. The moment things got rough, they dumped you faster than a hot coal. And as for the Zhou family, sure, Tiezhu's boy might have a decent head on his shoulders, but the rest of them? Opportunistic leeches! Always scheming, always wanting more. Dingxiang, listen to me—you’re only fourteen. You’ve got plenty of time to figure things out, but you cannot afford to be soft or naive anymore. My heart breaks just thinking about it!"

Song Dingxiang, forcing a weak but knowing smile, interrupted the tirade. “Mom, let’s drop it, alright? The more you talk about it, the angrier you get.”

But Fang Shi wasn’t one to let things go easily. She shot her daughter a sharp look, her voice dripping with exasperation. “And you, don’t think I’ve forgotten! How many times have you gone to the river to wash clothes? Yet somehow, this time, you manage to fall in? And don’t even get me started on that Xu family engagement—when it fell apart, you tried to hang yourself! You nearly gave your father and me a heart attack! Never, ever pull a stunt like that again. Do you hear me, Dingxiang?”

Dingxiang sighed deeply, her chest heavy with words she couldn’t find the strength to say.

The truth was, she wasn’t really Song Dingxiang. The soul inhabiting this frail, fevered body didn’t belong to the naive girl her family mourned. No, she was someone else entirely—a lost spirit, cast adrift and bound to a foreign life she could barely begin to understand.

Born into the rigid confines of a society steeped in tradition and power plays, Song Dingxiang—her given name before fate took its toll—was a young woman with a spark of promise. Her family owned a modest but thriving soy sauce factory, a symbol of modest wealth and ambition. With access to education, she seemed destined for a life of progress, but destiny had darker plans.

Her world shattered when her father, on a business trip, was brutally cut down by the Japanese. The grief struck her mother like a lightning bolt, leaving her frail and broken. Within six months, her mother too succumbed, leaving eighteen-year-old Song to shoulder the unbearable weight of survival with her thirteen-year-old brother and eight-year-old sister clinging to her.

As if her losses weren’t enough, her extended family descended like vultures. Their once-concealed greed burst into the open, their eyes fixed on the daily profits of the soy sauce factory. They were ready to toss her and her siblings onto the streets to claim it for themselves. But Song wasn’t one to bow. She dropped out of school, clenched her jaw, and plunged into the chaos, determined to keep the factory running while raising her siblings with a ferocity no one had anticipated.

Marriage? That was out of the question.

She wouldn’t risk leaving her siblings vulnerable to the whims of an indifferent spouse. She became both mother and father, a protector whose resolve burned like a fire.

It wasn’t until the tides of history shifted, with the factory nationalized and eventually returned to her family, that Song Dingxiang allowed herself a breath of relief. Her siblings, now grown and capable, took on the responsibilities she had carried for so long.

But that reprieve came at a steep cost. Her body, pushed to its breaking point for decades, gave out. In her early forties, Song Dingxiang’s eyes closed for the last time in a sterile hospital room.

Yet death wasn’t the end of her journey. Her soul didn’t descend into the void. Instead, she lingered, tethered by an unrelenting love for her siblings and the life she had built for them.

From the shadows, she watched them thrive. The soy sauce factory became a force of its own, forging a brand synonymous with quality and success. Her brother and sister aged, their children grew, and her country blossomed into strength and prosperity.

But as the years wore on, her once-burning spirit dimmed. The relentless march of time drained even her ethereal presence, leaving her a fragile remnant of the unyielding force she had once been.

......

When Song Dingxiang first stumbled into this world, disoriented and aching, the confusion was palpable. Her throat burned raw, and not a sound escaped her lips. She found herself surrounded by a cacophony of sobs and heavy sighs, a haze of unfamiliar chaos. It wasn't until her eyes fluttered open that a startled cry finally tore free.

The shock was undeniable—gone was the wrinkled shell of a ninety-year-old woman. Instead, Song Dingxiang now inhabited the body of a fresh-faced fourteen-year-old, wide-eyed and alive. Across from her stood the thirty-something Fang Shi, her gaze unexpectedly soft and matronly.

Yet, absurd as it seemed, protocol demanded that Song Dingxiang call this younger woman “mother.” Without that pretense, Fang Shi couldn’t in turn refer to her as “grandmother.” The layers of familial farce were as intricate as they were maddening.

Before she could fully grasp her predicament, the door curtain flapped aside. A towering man with bronzed skin and a robust frame strode in, his presence filling the room with an unassuming authority.

This was Song Zhiyuan, her father—or so this strange new world insisted. He was a butcher by trade, a man of simple virtues, his perpetually grinning face a familiar sight in both the village and the nearby town.

“Wife, that Zhou boy’s sniffing around here again...” he rumbled, his voice rough but not unkind. Then, spotting his daughter stirring for the first time, his expression shifted.

“Second daughter, you’re awake!” he exclaimed, a wide smile breaking across his face. “Do you need water? I picked up a jar of honey—thought it might soothe your throat.” Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and bustled away to prepare the honey water.

The customs of the Song family were as peculiar as they were pragmatic.

Generations ago, their ancestors had been driven to this village by the fires of war. Settling here, the first patriarch married a local woman and raised six sons, each of whom he saw fit to set up with their own household. The old man kept a modest five acres for himself and, buoyed by the occasional offerings from his daughters-in-law, lived out his days in relative comfort.

Before his death, the patriarch laid down a piece of unconventional wisdom for his sons: “Don’t cling to the idea of living under one roof. As families grow, so does conflict. Better to part ways early and build separate lives.”

This foresight paid off.

The six sons flourished, their clay-brick homes standing tall and spacious in River Mouth Village. By the third generation, the Song family tree had branched into more than twenty members. Now, with Song Dingxiang’s arrival in the fourth generation, they reigned as one of the most prosperous and sprawling households in the region.

As the old saying goes, the Dragon has nine sons, each unique and unlike the others—so how could ordinary people be any different? Take the six brothers, for instance: while they shared a seemingly harmonious bond, their descendants played by different rules entirely.

With every marriage and every generation, the family tree grew wilder, its branches twisting with shifting perspectives, petty grievances, and brewing conflicts.

The eldest son of Song family was a prime example of dysfunction—fractured by separation, they teetered on chaos.

The second son of Song family handled their division with apparent peace, but beneath the surface, bitterness simmered. Tensions between brothers and their sharp-tongued wives ensured that civility remained a fragile façade.

The third family? Straightforward, hardworking, and perhaps a touch too naïve. They stuck together, heads down, content with their meager existence as the poorest of the six sons.

Now, Song Dingxiang’s grandfather—fourth in line—was a calculated man. He believed in severing ties at just the right time, separating households as soon as a family member married.

He lived quietly now, sharing his space with his youngest son, a beacon of hope in a world of ambition.

This year, that youngest son burned the midnight oil, chasing dreams of imperial glory. Unlike the other squabbling households, his siblings stepped up, offering financial support and unspoken unity that made theirs the most harmonious family of the six.

Then there was the fifth family, whose courtyard had fallen under the domain of the eldest son. Their patriarch, the fifth grandfather, had long since departed, leaving behind a withdrawn widow.

The family leaned heavily on their eldest, a wandering peddler chasing profit on dusty roads. The second son was a craftsman, crafting paper goods in town and showing up only when tradition demanded his presence. Daughters outnumbered sons in this family, but little was said of their roles.

Finally, the youngest grandfather, still robust at forty-five, had a household buzzing with quiet success. His two eldest children were married off, and the daughter-in-law they’d welcomed into the fold proved to be a gem—sharp, diligent, and commanding. Her presence alone ensured their household remained united, unbroken, and thriving against the odds.

Each family was a world unto itself, driven by pride, frailty, and ambition. If the Dragon's nine sons were a legacy of contrasts, these six families proved no less dramatic.

Song Dingxiang’s father wasn’t just a nobody—he was the second in command at home, though only the eleventh in line in the entire Song family. People outside the family just called him "Eleventh Song," a nickname that stuck like glue.

Now, his older brother?

Well, he was a decent guy. He married a solid woman, and even though they ran separate households, his sister-in-law still took the reins of the family affairs. It worked out perfectly, and they all lived in the same massive courtyard. It was loud, it was bustling, and it was filled with life.

......

Fang Shi let out a tired sigh as soon as she heard that the Zhou family boy had arrived.

The Zhou family boy was an adopted kid, but there was a lot of mystery surrounding how Zhou Laosan had gotten his hands on him. The kid came with a hefty sum of money—money that raised more than a few eyebrows.

When he showed up at the Zhou household, he was just over a year old. Cute as a button, with pale, delicate skin and a face that would make anyone stop and stare. Not long after he arrived, the Zhou family built a massive brick house, one so big it rivaled the village head’s place. People were buzzing about it, wondering just where the hell all that money came from. But then, as the years passed and the kid hit five or six, the Zhou family's treatment of him took a sharp nosedive.

And don’t get it twisted. When we say he wasn’t treated well, we’re not being coy. The truth is, they’d given him some love and care in the beginning, but once he was old enough to do work, they treated him like an outsider. While the Zhou family’s own kids lazed around on their heated beds, munching on snacks, this poor bastard was out there hauling grass for the pigs every damn day.

Now, everybody knew Zhou Laosan had a thing for playing favorites, but nobody dared speak up about it. Hell, the kid called them "mom and dad"—they had taken him in, so who could really say anything?

Fast forward to now: the kid’s seventeen, practically a man, but in the village, where even kids as young as fourteen or fifteen are getting hitched, Zhou Tiezhu—this adopted son—is still sitting there, tight-lipped, with no sign of a marriage in sight.

What the hell is going on with him?

But that's not the worst part.

The real problem this year? News of the war up north spread fast, and now conscription is in full swing. Every family’s being forced to send a male member to the army. Of course, if you don’t want to or can’t spare someone, you can always pay a fee.

Simple, right?

Now, Song Dingxiang’s family? They paid up—ten silver taels, and they got a pass. No one’s going to war from their house.

But Zhou Laosan’s family? Well, they’re a different story.

They’ve got that big blue-brick house, the kind of comfort money can buy. It’s not that they couldn’t afford the ten silver taels—it’s just that they decided to throw Zhou Tiezhu’s name on the list. Come spring, Zhou Tiezhu’s off to the army. No question about it.

And right when things are heating up, Song Dingxiang finds herself in a damn mess.

The village, River Mouth Village, got its name from the river that runs nearby. It’s not just any river, though—it’s the lifeline for irrigation, and the place where the village women gather to bathe and do their laundry. Even with the weather getting colder, the river hasn’t frozen yet. As long as the sun’s out, you’ll find the young women and housewives down by the water, washing clothes, gossiping, whatever.

Now, for years, Song Dingxiang had been washing clothes by the river with no issues. It was a simple routine.

But that day? It all went south.

She slipped and fell right into the river. Sure, it was a spectacle—people were watching, some laughing, others just staring. But all Song Dingxiang could think about was that smug little grin on her fifth cousin’s face.

That’s right.

Her fifth cousin had jabbed her in the waist, throwing her off balance, making her weak enough to slip and tumble right into the water. Of course, Zhou Tiezhu from the Zhou family pulled her out. But nobody noticed that part. No one saw how she was saved. Before she even had time to process the humiliation, the whole village was buzzing with the news—Xu family had called off the engagement.

Everything unfolded in such a twisted, almost absurd way that it seemed like pure luck—and not the good kind, mind you.

Song Dingxiang falling into the river?

An accident that just so happened to work out in the strangest of ways. Then, out of nowhere, the Zhou family boy, conveniently nearby, comes to her rescue. Lucky for her, though he didn’t get involved beyond that, which was probably for the best. Then, as if to make sure the universe wasn’t done toying with her, her fifth cousin—who had every reason to be tied down—remained single, too. Like the universe had decided to play her like a fiddle.

But the real kicker? The Xu family—oh, they came, full of fire and venom, tearing into Song Dingxiang.

The nerve of them, berating her, and then, just like that, calling off the wedding. There was something seriously off about this whole mess, and anyone with half a brain could smell it.

As for Song Dingxiang? She wasn’t buying any of it.

No way. Not for a second.

If she hadn't been sharp enough to think on her feet back then, there’s no way she could've held the whole damn household together, let alone raise her younger siblings and carry that weight on her shoulders like it was nothing. But she did it, because she’s tougher than people give her credit for.

Just then, Song Zhiyuan entered, holding a bowl of honey water, handing it to Song Dingxiang as he spoke up, "That boy even brought back two wild rabbits, claiming they’d help our second daughter recover. I told him we’ve got enough meat from the pig slaughtering, but he insisted... What do you think he was really thinking?"

Fang shi scoffed, the cold, biting chuckle escaping her lips. "What else could he be thinking? He’s probably hoping to get a cheap bride. At seventeen, he’s no child anymore, yet the Zhou family still treats him like an outsider. And now he’s off to serve in the military—who even knows if he’ll make it back? And don’t even get me started on how the Xu family treated our second daughter. Calling off the engagement was one thing, but to drag her through the mud like that? How cold-hearted can they be?"

———T/Note: This story focuses more on the complexity of family relationships than on some cliché love story.

The male lead doesn’t make his grand return until about three-quarters in, but when he does, the connection between them is nothing short of genuine and uplifting. It's a healthy, real bond, not the sugar-coated nonsense you often get.

I truly hope you get as much enjoyment from this as I do.