Time traveled.
When Chen Zhiyu woke up, there was a leaky thatched roof above his head and a moldy hay mattress beneath him.
The carpenter's father squatted by the threshold, trembling all over. The weaver's mother huddled in the corner, unable to cry.
The younger brother who studied agriculture was quite calm - he calmly mocked the whole family, calmly pointed out that they knew nothing, and calmly made them realize one fact:
A family of four, one acre of thin farmland, needs three days to store food. In this hellish place where even a cold can kill, they might not survive more than a month.
To make matters worse, the village chief arrived.
He stared at their faces and narrowed his eyes: "The Chen family has lived here for three generations. Why didn't I know that you are like this, elder Chen Song?"
The household registration does not match, the origin is unclear, the house is empty, and the fields are uncultivated.
Chen Zhiyu clutched the only copper coin in his sleeve, with only one thought in his mind:
Don't reveal your secrets. Don't get caught. Live today first.
