Chapter 50: A House Full of Warmth, A World Full of Change

The morning sun rose sluggishly, its golden light weak and pale as it trickled through the frost-covered windows of the Jia household. Steam curled gently from a clay kettle as Jia Lan, wrapped in a thick padded robe embroidered with tiny plum blossoms, padded barefoot across the heated brick bed.

She hummed softly, her breath puffing out in pale clouds as she tightened the sash around her waist. Outside, icy wind whistled low through the trees, and rooftops were capped with frost. Winter had arrived, blanketing the courtyard with silence and chill.

Jia Lan stretched lazily, then sprang into her routine with a practiced ease. Her hair, braided the night before, was let loose and brushed until it shone. She clipped it into a neat half-up style, leaving the rest cascading down her back. Her outfit today—chosen carefully—was a smart pine-green wool dress with an embroidered mandarin collar, paired with a soft cream shawl her grandmother had woven years ago.

Before heading downstairs, Jia Lan stepped quietly into the back garden storeroom—the old wooden one no one really used anymore. Her boots crunched over dry leaves and soil, and a few bees buzzed lazily near the hives.

She paused.

> [Sign-In Location Registered.]

[Daily Sign-In Reward: 1000 yuan and a Winter Honey Blend (Fortified Immune Tonic)]

Jia Lan blinked at the message in her mind. "Oh, we're being generous today, aren't we?" she whispered to the system, grinning.

She slipped the envelope with crisp bills into her pocket and tucked the honey jar under her arm, already picturing the reactions.

---

Downstairs, the kitchen buzzed with life. Her mother stirred a bubbling pot of millet porridge while preparing preserved ginger slices beside a jar of sweet fermented beans.

Jia Lan slid into her seat just as her father placed the morning paper on the table. She popped the honey jar onto the table with a flourish.

"New jar?" her grandfather asked, squinting over the rim of his glasses.

"It's a special blend. Made from the garden's late-blooming herbs. Try it with the warm rolls."

Xu Li, bundled up with a wool scarf, leaned in and took a sniff. "Mmm, smells like ginger and warmth."

Jia Zhe frowned. "Is it safe?"

"It's honey, not explosives," Jia Lan deadpanned.

They laughed, and soon everyone was tearing into the breakfast. Jia Lan happily drizzled the honey on her steamed sweet buns, watching as Xu Li dipped a spoon into her porridge and sighed with contentment.

"That's magic," Xu Li said.

"I'm magical," Jia Lan replied proudly.

As the family talked and chewed, the morning air inside felt warm and fragrant. It wasn't just the food. It was the feeling of abundance.

---

Outside, the courtyard shimmered under a thin crust of ice. Smoke curled elegantly from the tiled chimneys, and the tall plum tree stood still, its branches dusted with frost like powdered sugar. The stone paths had already been swept clean, leaving neat trails along the mossy edges.

At the far side, Aunt Hong—who had served Grandfather and Grandmother Jia for years—was setting out a small pot of hot water on the stone bench, her breath clouding in the winter air. She worked quietly and with practiced familiarity, her movements unhurried.

A wind chime made of delicate ceramic fluttered beneath the eaves, its soft clinking adding life to the still winter air. The calm was dignified, a tranquility built on generations of harmony and respect.

Inside the house, the heat from the kang bed warmed the rooms, and the scent of cedarwood mingled with the gentle aroma of ginger tea. It was a quiet morning, rich with the softness of winter and the steadiness of a home deeply rooted in its traditions.

---

"Lan'er, bring the red quilt from the back room," Grandma Jia called, her voice firm but warm. "It's time we start layering the beds."

"Yes, Grandmother!"

Jia Lan skipped to the back room, retrieving not just the red quilt but an extra jar of pickled vegetables she'd stored during summer. She paused at the doorway to watch her grandmother and mother humming while folding linens, the scene oddly serene. Her mother's sleeves were dusted in flour, her grandmother's hair tied back with a navy scarf.

"This is what peace looks like," Jia Lan thought, her heart warm. "Even in a world that keeps changing."

---

Xu Li entered next, bundled in a thick, peach-colored sweater and holding her back with a slight grimace.

"You shouldn't be lifting anything, Sister-in-law," Jia Lan chided gently, guiding her to sit.

Xu Li pouted. "If I don't help, your brother will say I've turned into a queen."

"You are our queen. For now," Grandma Jia chuckled. "But your job is to rest and grow a healthy little commander."

Everyone laughed. The air smelled of ginger, rice, and gentle affection.

Just then, Jia Zhe walked in from the hallway, catching sight of Xu Li shifting in her seat. His brow furrowed slightly and he crossed the room in a few quick strides.

"Didn't I tell you not to strain yourself?" he said, gently adjusting the shawl around Xu Li's shoulders and placing a warm hand on her back.

"I only walked in from the hallway," she said playfully.

"Even so. Let me get your foot warmer."

He returned a moment later with a freshly heated warmer and tucked it carefully at her feet.

"Now sit still and enjoy being spoiled. Doctor's orders," he said firmly, but his eyes were filled with affection.

Xu Li smiled, a little misty-eyed. "You've become such a nag lately."

"Because you don't listen," Jia Zhe said, but his tone was soft, and he rested a hand lightly over her stomach. "There's two of you to worry about now."

Jia Wei laughed from the corner. "Look at this transformation. My older brother used to be scared of feeding goldfish, and now he's a full-time house dragon."

"Mock me all you want," Jia Zhe said without turning. "As long as she's healthy and the baby's fine."

---

Later in the morning, Grandfather Jia called for Jia Lan.

He sat by the study window, a stack of old military notebooks and rolled-up community rosters by his side. A map was spread across the table.

"Xiao Lan," he began, his voice low, "I've been working with a few old comrades. We're organizing a relief fund—for families of those who didn't return."

Jia Lan sat beside him quietly.

"There are widows with children who haven't had a grain surplus in two winters. No one looks after them," he muttered. "So we will."

She reached for a pencil and began helping him tabulate the list.

"We have enough?" she asked.

"I'll make sure we do. And you—keep your eyes open. Those with skill and heart, they'll need help navigating what's coming."

She nodded. That was her grandfather. Stern, with thunder in his spine—but soft where it counted.

As they worked, she added neat notes, organized donation channels, and highlighted addresses for future outreach. He looked at her, eyes filled with something close to pride.

"I'll visit one tomorrow. Zhang Qiumei. Her husband died two years ago in the south. Three children. One sickly. One too bright for his age. The youngest—still nursing when the telegram came."

"What does she live on now?"

"Stitching and scraps. Some of the local men send rice when they can. But winter is cruel."

Jia Lan fell silent for a moment, the image forming clearly in her mind: A tired woman with cracked hands and tired eyes, struggling to feed her little ones. And yet she endured.

"We'll prepare something for her," Jia Lan said firmly. "Clothes. Dried goods. And books. Something for the clever one."

Grandfather Jia gave a faint smile. "That's my girl."

That evening, Jia Lan sat cross-legged in her room, surrounded by a small pile of high school textbooks. The light from her desk lamp pooled softly on the pages as she jotted notes into her workbook.

She stretched her back and yawned, glancing at the stack of subjects she had already conquered. More than half of her high school curriculum was done—math, history, even literature. The rest? Manageable.

Her mother's knock interrupted her thoughts. "Lan'er, drink this while it's still warm."

Jia Lan turned with a smile. Her mother entered holding a small white porcelain cup filled with steaming ginger-red date tea.

"Thank you, Mama," she said, accepting the cup gratefully.

Her mother brushed her hair gently. "Don't overwork yourself. It's still winter."

"I know. I'm pacing myself," Jia Lan replied, sipping the tea. The warmth seeped through her like comfort.

She looked at her notes again, then at the golden liquid in her cup. "Still... it wouldn't hurt if tomorrow's sign-in reward was memory enhancement tea or something." She grinned at the thought.

---

That night, curled up in bed beneath a double-layered quilt, Jia Lan stared at the ceiling and made a few playful guesses about what tomorrow's reward might be.

"A gold pen? A calculator? A beauty perk?"

The possibilities were endless, and Jia Lan couldn't help but feel a small, excited flutter. The system had been generous today. Maybe tomorrow would be even better.

As she drifted into sleep, one final thought crossed her mind:

"Just don't give me something useless, like extra socks. Or worse—knitting needles. Wait... actually, maybe I'd like those."

She giggled softly and let the warmth carry her into peaceful dreams.