At three o'clock in the morning, the sound of banging was heard across two streets and entered the alley. It was muffled, like someone knocking on an empty coffin. The firewood shed in the Jiang family's backyard was leaking, and a few tiles had collapsed due to the weight of the snow in the past few days. The moonlight streamed in through the hole, shining right on the person huddled in the corner.
Jiang Xing woke up late.
The astringency and bitterness in the mouth has not dissipated, the base of the tongue is numb, and the throat feels like a ball of water-soaked cotton is stuffed. She wanted to move her fingers, but there was only a pinprick-like tingling on her fingertips - the effects of the sweat medicine had not worn off yet.
The pile of firewood hurt her back, and she remembered that she was embroidering a handkerchief. Stepmother Wang said that it was the end of the New Year and she wanted to embroider more to sell. She lit an oil lamp and hurried for three days. Finally, the red thread was used up and she went to the main house to beg for it. Mrs. Wang was rarely kind and handed over a bowl of sweet soup: "Look at how thin you are, drink it."
