The next morning came with the soft clatter of wooden buckets and the distant crow of a rooster that sounded like it had smoked too many herbs. Zhang Wei woke up slowly, blinking at the pale light leaking through the paper window. His leg still ached, but the sharp burn of the poison was gone—only a dull throb remained, like a reminder not to be stupid again. He sat up, tested his weight, and found he could stand without the room spinning.
Mei poked her head in, carrying a bowl of warm water and a clean rag. "Dad says you can walk a bit today if you're careful. But don't run or anything dumb, okay?"
Zhang Wei gave her a small grin. "No running. Got it."
He spent the first hour helping Uncle Li—Li Jian insisted on being called "Uncle" now—sweep the hard-packed dirt floor of the small house. The broom was rough, made of dried twigs tied together, and every stroke kicked up a little cloud of dust that made Mei sneeze and complain. Zhang Wei didn't mind. The simple rhythm of sweep, step, sweep felt good. Real. Nothing like the endless scrolling or the hollow ache of his old life.
After the floor, they moved to the small vegetable patch behind the house. Rows of green onions, leafy greens, and a few scraggly tomato plants fought for space in the rocky soil. Uncle Li handed him a short hoe.
"Pull the weeds gently, don't yank the good ones," the older man said, demonstrating with slow, practiced movements. "Soil's thin up here. Everything fights to live."
Zhang Wei nodded and got to work. The sun warmed his back through the thin rags. Dirt got under his nails, sweat trickled down his neck, but for the first time in either life, he felt… content. No one was laughing at him. No one was locking him away. Just the quiet sounds of birds, the rustle of leaves, and Uncle Li humming an old tune under his breath.
At one point Mei wandered over, carrying a small basket. She plopped down beside him and started picking tiny stones out of the soil, chattering away like kids do.
"You're weird, you know that?" she said, tossing a pebble over her shoulder. "Most boys your age would be complaining about the work. Or trying to sneak off to the river to catch frogs."
Zhang Wei chuckled, wiping his forehead. "I've had worse days than pulling weeds. Besides, it feels nice. Calm."
Mei tilted her head, studying him with those bright, curious eyes. "You really don't remember your family?"
"Not much," he lied softly, keeping his voice light. "But right now, this is enough."
She grinned and flicked a small clump of dirt at him. It landed on his arm. Zhang Wei flicked one back—gently—and soon they were laughing, chasing each other around the patch in short bursts, careful not to trample the plants. It was silly, childish play, the kind he'd never really had time for in his first life. For a few minutes, he was just a fourteen-year-old boy messing around with a girl his age, dirt on their faces and sunlight in their hair.
Uncle Li watched from the side, shaking his head with a fond smile but saying nothing.
By midday the simple chores were done. The house felt a little cleaner, the garden a little tidier. Zhang Wei sat on the low wooden bench outside, sipping cool water from a clay cup, feeling the kind of quiet happiness he hadn't known existed. His body was tired in a good way—honest tiredness, not the crushing emptiness of starvation.
Then the afternoon sun started to slant.
Uncle Li shouldered his big carrying frame—a sturdy wooden contraption with straps—and tied on his wide-brimmed hat. "Time to head up the slope for firewood. Got to sell a good load in the village market tomorrow if we want rice for the week."
Zhang Wei stood up immediately. "I'll come with you, Uncle. I can help carry."
Uncle Li paused, bushy eyebrows drawing together. "It's not a stroll, lad. The path gets steep, and there are loose rocks. Snakes, too. You're still recovering from that bite. Better stay here and rest."
Zhang Wei met the older man's eyes, his gaze steady and determined. Not begging. Not childish pleading. Just quiet resolve—the kind that comes from someone who's already died twice and decided he wasn't going to be useless anymore. "I'm stronger than I look now. And I want to pull my weight. Please."
Uncle Li studied him for a long moment, the kind of look that weighed a person's soul. Finally, he sighed and gave a small nod.
"Alright. But you listen to me. If you feel dizzy or your leg starts hurting bad, you stop. No arguments. And stay close."
"Yes, Uncle."
They set off together, the afternoon light painting the mountains in warm gold and deep green. Uncle Li led the way, his steps sure on the familiar trail. Zhang Wei followed, the empty carrying frame on his back feeling surprisingly light at first. The path wound upward through pine trees and thick underbrush, the air growing cooler as they climbed.
Every so often Uncle Li would point things out in his gruff, practical way.
"See that plant with the red berries? Don't touch it—makes your skin itch for days. And watch your footing here; the ground likes to crumble after rain."
Zhang Wei listened carefully, storing every scrap of knowledge. He adjusted his mental sliders in the back of his mind—curiosity up a notch, pain tolerance steady. The system stayed quiet, but he could feel the faint presence of it, like a volume knob waiting for the right moment.
They reached a good spot where dead branches and fallen logs lay scattered. Uncle Li started gathering, breaking larger pieces with practiced twists and stacking them neatly. Zhang Wei did the same, his smaller hands working steadily. The work made his muscles burn in a clean way, sweat soaking his rags, but he didn't complain. Every piece of wood he added to his frame felt like a small victory.
As the load grew heavier, his legs started to protest again, but he kept going, teeth gritted in a small, private smile.
Uncle Li glanced over, noticing the boy's quiet determination. "You've got fire in you, Zhang Wei. Most kids your age would've quit by now."
Zhang Wei wiped his face with his sleeve and kept stacking. "I've learned the hard way that sitting still doesn't get you anywhere. Might as well move forward, even if it's slow."
The older man gave a low chuckle. "Wise words for a kid who can't remember his own village. Alright, that's enough for today. Let's head back before the light fades."
They started down the path, both frames now heavy with firewood. Zhang Wei's back and shoulders ached under the weight, but there was something satisfying about it—the solid thump of each step, the creak of the wooden frame, the way the load pressed him into the earth and reminded him he was alive.
Halfway down, Uncle Li slowed and looked back.
"You did good today, lad. Real good."
Zhang Wei just nodded, a quiet warmth spreading in his chest that had nothing to do with the system or levels or poison. Just the simple feeling of belonging, even if only for a little while.
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the trail. Birds called their evening songs. Somewhere in the distance, smoke rose from village chimneys.
For now, this was enough.
Life moved on—one swept floor, one shared laugh with Mei, one heavy bundle of firewood at a time.