As Li Ziqing placed the final dish on the table with her mother's help, the front door creaked open and two figures stepped inside. One was Li Zian, her twin brother, and the other was Li Jianping.
Li Jianfang's family consisted of five siblings. She was the third child and the eldest daughter in the Li household, with two elder brothers, a younger sister just four years her junior, and the youngest—Li Jianping, who was only twenty-five this year.
In most households, the eldest son is revered, while the youngest is often showered with affection. But the Li family defied even that imbalance. The eldest sons were indeed held in the highest regard, given the best food, education, and privileges. But the youngest—Li Jianping—was largely overlooked, treated not with indulgence, but with indifference.
The old couple of the Li family had been steeped in patriarchal traditions, a mindset common among rural families born in the early 1950s. Daughters were seen as burdens—temporary guests in the household destined to leave—and treated as such. Li Jianfang and her younger sister were raised with barely concealed disdain, their value measured only by how little trouble they caused.
Li Ziqing still remembered her previous life all too clearly. When her mother, Li Jianfang, was abused by Zhao Shide in that remote backwater village, and she, as a child, had called her grandfather in desperation, his cold response shattered her. "Married daughters are like spilled water," he had said sternly. "It's normal for a husband to discipline his wife." It was then that Li Ziqing gave up all hope for her maternal family.
In contrast, Li Jianping had been born during slightly better times. While the old Li couple did not spoil him, neither did they starve him or treat him with the disdain they reserved for daughters. Still, with the eldest son already enjoying success as the first in the family to attend university in Wuhan, Jianping's presence was largely eclipsed.
Jianping, however, never seemed to care. The cold stares and unfair comparisons no longer wounded him—because from childhood, his sister Li Jianfang had been his world. Seven years his senior, she had raised him like a second mother, pouring into him all the affection she had been denied.
He had never been good at academics, and after failing his high school entrance exams, the scorn from their parents grew harsher. Then, when Li Jianfang gave birth to twins out of wedlock and was cast out of the Li family, Li Jianping hadn't hesitated. He packed his things and left with her. Ever since, he had lived as part of her little family.
"Mom, I'm home!"
"Sis, I'm home!"
The cheerful voices of Li Zian and Li Jianping rang out in unison as they stepped into the house. But their footsteps paused mid-way. A divine aroma wafted toward them—rich, layered, almost otherworldly. It immediately wrapped itself around their senses, and both men instinctively swallowed the saliva pooling in their mouths.
"Sis, is someone visiting today?" Jianping asked as he tiptoed toward the modest dining table nestled in the corner of the living room. All the dishes had been carefully covered, but the intoxicating aroma made it difficult to stay away.
"Yes, Mom, what's the occasion? Why are there so many dishes tonight?" Li Zian echoed, his face mirroring his uncle's curious and hungry expression.
Li Jianfang chuckled softly and gestured toward the washroom. "Just go wash your hands and get ready for dinner. Today, A Qing prepared the entire feast. She has something she wants to discuss with all of us."
The room fell silent.
Jianping and Li Zian blinked in surprise before turning in unison to look at Li Ziqing, who stood quietly in the corner. Her posture was composed, but her expression was unreadable.
"A Qing, you made all of this?" Jianping asked, his tone soft with disbelief and affection.
"I didn't know you were so good at cooking," Li Zian added, a warm smile spreading across his face as he looked at his sister.
But Li Ziqing didn't respond.
Both men's smiles slowly faded as they noticed her gaze. She wasn't looking at the food or the praise—it was fixed on Li Jianping. Her eyes were slightly red, shimmering with emotion.
Li Jianping's brows furrowed in confusion. He stepped closer, concern etching into his features. "What's wrong, A Qing? Did Uncle do something? Is there something on my face?"
Startled by his genuine concern, Li Ziqing shook her head immediately.
-----
The moment Li Ziqing saw her uncle, Li Jianping, step into the house, her gaze froze.
She stood motionless in the corner, her eyes locked onto him as memories from her previous life surged forth like an unstoppable tide. The noise around her—the warmth of conversation—faded into a hollow hum, swallowed by the echoes of grief and longing that stirred within her heart.
It was after Li Zian's car accident—sudden and cruel—that everything began to unravel in her previous life. Her mother, already weathered by hardship, broke under the weight of loss. The food stall that had barely sustained them closed its doors. Her mother couldn't bring herself to face the world anymore.
And then, Li Jianping—the so-called "useless one"—stepped forward.
Her uncle, the boy who was always laughed at by the neighbors, the man they sneered at for doing odd jobs and never settling into a proper career, the one they dismissed as a burden—he was the one who quietly carried their broken family forward.
He had always been her Lin Jianfang's pride and joy, more like a son than a younger brother. Raised with love by Jianfang, who gave him all the warmth she was denied herself, he repaid it in silence, with unwavering loyalty.
Li Ziqing remembered clearly: in her previous life, after her brother's death, her uncle had changed. The light in his eyes dimmed, replaced by quiet determination. He started taking on two, sometimes three jobs at once—anything that would keep food on the table and her mother from falling apart completely.
He worked as a delivery man in the mornings, washed dishes in a small restaurant at night, and in between, he toiled on construction sites, breaking his back for the little he could earn. The fatigue showed in his gait, in the way his shoulders slumped at the end of each day—but he never once complained. Never once asked for gratitude.
Until one rainy afternoon, when a scaffolding collapsed at the site.
He had been buried beneath the rubble, crushed by the very weight he had taken on for their sake.
His death had come as another cruel blow—merciless and without warning. By then, Li Ziqing had become numb. There were no tears left to cry.
And now, here he was. Alive. Laughing. Warm.
He was still good-looking in a rugged, unpolished way—not as striking as her twin brother, but with a sun-kissed charm that made people feel at ease. His eyes, always bright with mischief and tenderness, were fixed on her with concern.
He was alive.
And seeing him, Li Ziqing's throat tightened, her vision blurred. A single thought consumed her:
If he had lived in her past life… would everything have been different?
"What's wrong, A Qing?" he asked gently, crouching slightly to meet her gaze. "Did Uncle do something wrong? Is there something on my face?"
Li Ziqing snapped out of her trance and shook her head quickly, biting her lip to hold back the swell in her chest. Her emotions had no words yet, only tremors.
She lowered her eyes, afraid that if she spoke now, the dam would break.
[Ding... Host, please don't worry. Your uncle will be safe and healthy this time. With the help of the system and your determination, he will not only be protected but will thrive in his career.]
The moment the system's mechanical voice echoed in her mind, something inside Li Ziqing shifted. Her tightly wound nerves relaxed, and the suffocating heaviness in her chest gradually lifted.
That's right… I've been reborn. I have the system now. This time, I will protect him.
A flicker of steel lit her eyes.
I'll make sure Uncle stays safe, healthy, and lives a life of dignity and fulfillment. I won't let anyone call him useless ever again.
Just then, a familiar voice pulled her from her thoughts.
"Are you still not over that nightmare, A Qing?" her twin brother, Li Zian, asked casually as he walked over.
Li Jianping turned toward him with a curious expression. "Nightmare?"
Li Zian shrugged and replied, "She was acting the same way this morning with Mom. She even cried. I think it's because of that horror comic she's been reading lately—it's gotten into her head."
At that, Li Jianping burst into laughter. He walked over to his niece and affectionately ruffled her hair, his eyes warm and doting.
"A Qing, it's just a dream," he said reassuringly. "Don't let it linger in your mind."
Li Ziqing blinked back the emotion threatening to rise again and nodded softly. "Yes, Uncle."
She lowered her gaze, her heart slowly calming. The air around her still carried the warmth of his presence, a presence she had once lost. But this time, she would never take it for granted.
Across the room, Li Jianfang watched the entire exchange with a gentle smile tugging at her lips. Her eyes softened, the corners crinkling with warmth.
"Alright, that's enough talk. Go wash your hands, dinner time," she said, her voice tender but firm.
The moment the words left her mouth, both uncle and nephew dashed off to the bathroom like excited children, practically racing each other. The tantalizing aroma that had teased them since the moment they stepped through the door had clearly gotten the better of their patience.
The small dining table in the corner of the living room, though modest in size, had never looked more inviting.
Li Ziqing sat across from her mother, her hands resting lightly in her lap. Then, with a small nod from her, one by one, the dishes were uncovered.
And for a moment, no one spoke.
The gentle steam curled upward from the hot plates like whispers from another time, carrying with it the layered, almost sacred fragrance of a royal kitchen.
Li Jianping blinked, then leaned slightly forward, his eyes wide. "Is this… even real?"
Li Zian's brows rose, his mouth already slightly ajar as he stared in disbelief. "What the hell, A Qing… this is like something from a five-star restaurant. No—this looks even better."
Even Li Jianfang, calm and composed as ever, seemed briefly stunned. Her gaze drifted slowly across each dish, as if trying to understand how her daughter—who had only ever helped slice scallions before—had produced something this extraordinary.
There were eight dishes in total.
At the center sat the Braised Sea Cucumber with Scallion Essence, glossy and rich, nestled in a pool of deep amber sauce, the scallions curling around like jade ribbons.
Flanking it on a chilled platter were the Crystal Duck Tongues in Osmanthus Jelly, delicate and jewel-like, the golden osmanthus blossoms suspended in translucent jelly, shimmering like frozen sunlight.
Beside them, the Stir-Fried Deer Tendon with Chestnut glistened with caramel tones, the tender slices of tendon entwined with chestnuts and red chili threads, releasing a warm, spiced aroma.
The Lotus-Seeded Shrimp Dumplings, neatly arranged in a lotus-lined bamboo steamer, looked like pale pink blossoms kissed with gold leaf, their delicate skins barely concealing the plump shrimp inside.
The Steamed Mandarin Fish, whole and silver-skinned, lay elegantly on a plum-blossom porcelain plate, dressed in fragrant oil and garnished with paper-thin scallions and chili slivers—visually perfect and mouthwateringly aromatic.
The Braised Quail in Yellow Wine and Ginseng Broth simmered gently in a clay pot, the golden broth rich with herbal steam, and the quail tender and inviting, almost melting into the liquid.
Jade Tofu with Minced Abalone, cool and gleaming, was arranged like a checkerboard of green and ivory, each tofu cube topped with a glistening dollop of abalone—refined, delicate, divine.
And finally, the Dragon Beard Pastries, spun into golden nests and dusted with sugar snow, hid their molten jujube centers like secret treasures, crisp to the bite and sweet to the soul.
Li Jianfang's fingers unconsciously tightened around her chopsticks. "These… these aren't just dishes," she murmured. "This is art."
Li Jianping swallowed hard, then smiled sheepishly. "Sis, I think I might cry. This looks like the food they serve to emperors in TV dramas."
Li Zian nodded quickly, already lifting the lid from the rice pot. "No kidding. Hurry up, let's eat before I pass out." But Li Jianfang gave him a pat on his hand reaching to eat.