1.2

Liu Wushuang, formerly Amara, stood in the cozy warmth of the snow house, her gaze drifting to Mrs. Bai, her newfound mother in this ancient, wintry world.

It was strange, Amara thought, how quickly she'd adapted to this life—the biting cold, the desperation, the tiny flickers of hope.

But there was no time for comfort; survival was the mission, and her thoughts were already racing ahead.

"Yaya, wait here. I'll go look around the house to see if I can find some food," Mrs. Bai's soft voice broke the silence, her figure already halfway to the door. Amara—or rather, Liu Wushuang—watched her with a mixture of affection and concern.

She knew the 'food' her mother spoke of was little more than withered roots of wild vegetables, dug up and saved from seasons past. A bland, bitter sustenance, but better than nothing.

Not exactly a feast fit for a heroine , Amara mused inwardly, her eyes trailing the shadows cast by the flickering fire.

Then again, beggars can't be choosers, and right now, we're all begging.

Amara stood up, brushing the icy cold from her knees. "Mom, I'll go look with you," she offered, unwilling to let the woman brave the biting cold alone. Mrs. Bai nodded, grateful for the help, and together they stepped outside, bracing against the wind that cut like a blade.

The scene outside was one of bleak determination. Snow drifts towered where homes once stood, and scattered villagers, clad in threadbare garments, were now imitating Amara's earlier efforts, packing snow into makeshift bricks. The sound of scraping and grunting filled the air, a symphony of survival.

Mrs. Qian and Mrs. Ma, two widows who had taken shelter in the igloo with them, were already gathering supplies from their own collapsed homes.

Amara noticed their shivering frames, bent over with effort. Widows, out in the cold with nothing but each other and this strange new hope.She felt a pang of sympathy for them.

"We'll get what we can and hurry back," Mrs. Bai said as they approached the spot where a small cellar lay buried under snow and debris. The two women worked in tandem, clearing away the debris with swift, practiced movements, revealing the hidden entrance. Mrs. Bai descended, her form disappearing into the dark below, while Amara stood guard, scanning the horizon.

If only there were a "skip" button for the hardship, she thought dryly.

A little cheat code to get some real food, maybe even a soft bed… Her thoughts trailed off as she considered the reality.

No cheats here, Amara. Just cold, hunger, and hard work.

Mrs. Bai resurfaced, her arms laden with the scraggly remains of last season's roots. They were brittle and discolored, but they were food. The pair made their way back to the igloo, finding Mrs. Qian and Mrs. Ma had also returned, each clutching their own meager finds—a small sack of black flour, a ceramic pot, and a handful of utensils.

"Not much," Mrs. Qian remarked as they pooled their supplies. "But it'll do."

As they huddled around the fire, Mrs. Bai set to work, mixing the black flour with the vegetable roots and boiling them into a thin, unappealing porridge. The steam wafted upwards, a faint, earthy scent that promised nothing but survival. Amara accepted her bowl with a grimace.

It's like drinking the essence of a mud puddle, she thought, forcing herself to take a sip.

Better than starving, though.

After their meager meal, the group continued rummaging through the remains of their homes, returning with firewood, a few threadbare quilts, and, to Amara's quiet delight, a small stash of salt. As Mrs. Ma set it down triumphantly, Amara felt her spirits lift.

Finally, some flavor! Even if it's just salt, it's something.

Night fell quickly, wrapping the world outside in a deeper chill, but inside the snow house, the warmth was palpable. The fire crackled, and its glow bathed the women in a soft, comforting light.

Mrs. Ma, lazily turning a piece of firewood, spoke with a hint of awe, "I really envy you, Bai. Yaya's such a capable girl. Who would've thought we'd be so warm on a night like this?"

Mrs. Qian nodded in agreement. "This room is something else. Warmer than any house I've been in since the snows started."

Mrs. Bai's face lit up with pride as she glanced at Amara. "My Yaya has been sensible and smart since she was a child. Her father used to say she learns faster than any boy."

Amara smiled at the compliment, feeling a small rush of warmth.

It's nice to be appreciated, even if it's not exactly me they're praising.

The conversation lulled, and Amara's thoughts drifted. This wasn't just about warmth or finding food; she was here to rewrite Liu Wushuang's story, to change her fate. But how?

One step at a time, I guess, she thought, staring into the fire.

Save the mother, secure some warmth, survive the night. Tomorrow… well, tomorrow's another challenge.

As the others began to settle down for the night, Amara took a moment to look around. The walls of the igloo were smooth, the ice that had formed from the fire's heat glistening in the low light.

The air was filled with the crackling of burning wood and the faint scent of damp earth and smoke—a scent she'd come to associate with survival.

First day in, and I haven't frozen to death. I'd call that a win, she thought, pulling her quilt tighter around her.

Next goal: not getting beaten to death by princes. A wry smile tugged at her lips.

Baby steps, Amara. Baby steps.

As she lay down, Amara couldn't help but marvel at the strange twists her life had taken. From just joining a Quick Travel Department's employee or rather time traveler changing destinies, and now… to Liu Wushuang, a girl who just wanted to survive.

It's not glamorous, but hey, it's a living.

She closed her eyes, the warmth of the fire lulling her into a rare, peaceful sleep.