The Woodshed Suffered at the Beginning, but I Signed in and Counterattacked

In the woodshed of the twelfth lunar month, an orphan mother and her three sons were dying. When she was about to die, the sign-in system awakened. She camped in chicken coops, ancestral halls, and dark corners, using jujube thorns as blades and sleeping grass as shields to fight for a way out among the patriarchal clan and fists.