Morning came softly.
The sky outside was still pale when I stirred, pulled from sleep by a faint sound.
Not loud.
Not sharp.
Just a thin, fragile whimper.
Ziyang.
It was quieter than any baby cry I had ever heard. Almost as if he didn't expect anyone to respond.
I was already sitting up before I fully woke.
The space responded to my thoughts, and I retrieved a small tin of infant formula and a clean bottle. I prepared it quickly, testing the temperature against my wrist before lifting him into my arms.
He was warm. Too light.
"Good morning," I murmured.
His eyes opened slowly, unfocused but calmer once he felt the support behind his head.
He drank weakly at first.
Then a little stronger.
Halfway through the bottle, I added a single drop of spiritual water — diluted enough not to overwhelm his fragile body.
I watched carefully as he swallowed.
No rejection.
No coughing.
Good.
By the time he finished, his small body felt a fraction less tense. His eyelids fluttered, but he stayed awake this time, staring blankly at my collar instead of drifting back into that detached stillness.
"That's better," I whispered.
The other children were still asleep.
I laid him down carefully and rose to prepare breakfast.
When I reached the kitchen area, I stopped.
There was almost nothing.
A small jar of coarse salt.
A handful of wilted greens.
Less than two bowls worth of grain.
That was it.
Chenxi had truly been stretching every scrap to keep seven children alive.
I exhaled slowly.
From the space, I retrieved a sack of rice — plain, common rice that wouldn't raise suspicion. I measured carefully. Enough to fill stomachs, but not so much that it would look unnatural.
Congee would stretch the grain further.
Soon the pot was simmering, steam rising softly into the morning air.
From the space, I also retrieved eggs.
One for each child.
Protein was necessary — especially for Ziyang.
By the time the children began to stir, the congee was thick and fragrant.
Jinhui entered first, eyes sharp and alert.
He froze when he saw the food.
"Eat," I said calmly. "Before it cools."
He didn't move at first.
Then his gaze shifted to Ziyang.
The baby was in my arms, alert and quiet.
After a moment, Jinhui stepped forward.
The others followed — Yixuan rubbing his eyes, Wenzhi clinging to his sleeve, the twins whispering to each other.
They ate cautiously at first.
Then faster.
The bowls were scraped clean.
Even Jinhui finished every grain.
When I handed him Ziyang so I could clean up, he hesitated — but took the baby immediately.
He held him securely.
Protectively.
"I'll take him outside," Jinhui said.
It wasn't a request.
He didn't trust me alone with his youngest brother yet.
"That's fine," I replied easily.
Yixuan followed him without a word.
The twins toddled after them.
Wenzhi lingered a second longer, glancing at me uncertainly before hurrying after his brothers.
Good.
Let them watch.
Once they were outside, I moved quickly.
The wooden bathtub came out of the space again.
Water.
A single drop of spiritual water.
Lice treatment shampoo.
Fine combs.
Clean towels.
And clothing.
Simple, well-mended garments from the space — nothing fancy, just sturdy and appropriate for village children.
When I stepped outside, the children fell silent.
Jinhui narrowed his eyes.
"We're washing today," I said calmly.
Yixuan instinctively touched his hair.
Wenzhi immediately looked anxious.
The twins only blinked.
Jinhui stood slowly. "We can wash ourselves."
"I know," I replied. "And you will."
His jaw tightened, but he didn't argue further.
Jinhui and Yixuan went first.
They washed stiffly, clearly uncomfortable but determined not to need my help.
I didn't interfere.
But I did hand them the lice treatment.
Jinhui's expression darkened when he saw what came out of his own hair.
Yixuan went pale.
Neither complained.
When they finished, they stepped aside — but they didn't leave.
They stood nearby, watching.
Evaluating.
Wenzhi trembled when it was his turn.
"It's okay," I said quietly.
He flinched at first when I poured water over his head.
Instinctive.
Not pain.
Memory.
I moved slower.
Gentler.
"No one is angry," I told him softly. "We're just getting clean."
His small hands clenched in the edge of the tub, but he didn't cry.
The twins were easier.
Ruxue splashed immediately.
Ruilin clung to her sister but relaxed once she saw no harm came to her.
Jinhui and Yixuan never stopped watching.
Not when I rinsed.
Not when I carefully combed through strands of hair, removing lice one by one.
Not when I wrapped their siblings in clean towels.
When I finally helped them into fresh clothes, the difference was obvious.
Cleaner skin.
Shining hair.
No scratching.
The twins spun in place, admiring their sleeves.
Wenzhi touched his shirt like he wasn't sure he was allowed to.
Yixuan said nothing.
Jinhui's eyes lingered on the clothes.
"These aren't ours," he said quietly.
"They are now," I replied.
He looked at me for a long moment.
Still suspicious.
Still guarded.
But no longer purely hostile.
Ziyang made a small sound in his arms.
Softer than before.
Stronger than yesterday.
Jinhui adjusted him automatically.
I noticed.
And so did he.
He didn't say anything.
But he held his brother just a little closer.