Silver Flowers in a Flaming Tree

After transmigrating, Yun Zhuo found herself in a disastrous situation from the start.

The good news: She had transmigrated into a wealthy, distinguished family.

The bad news: The family had just been arrested and stripped of its assets, and everyone was being exiled.

Yun Zhuo: Heaven, are you messing with me?

Yun Zhuo looked around. Her family was practically a collection of the elderly, the weak, the sick, and the disabled.

Her mother was gravely ill, and her little brother was still a babe who needed feeding.

What could she do?

Roll up her sleeves and get to work, of course.

She looked down at her slender, fair hands. Her palms and the backs of her hands were still free of the ugly, jagged scars she'd gotten in her previous life while learning to make molten iron fireworks.

Luckily, she still had a skill she could use to make a living.

As someone who had read plenty of novels, how could Yun Zhuo fail to recognize that Zhao Shu was no ordinary man?

His clothes were ragged, and he seemed delicate and aloof.

He was practically the picture of a male lead waiting to be rescued.

Yun Zhuo hadn't wanted to take on this trouble.

But then she thought of the drafty house, the moldy bed, and the coarse-grain buns that stuck in her throat.

Fortune favors the bold. She'd risk it!

Having a powerful patron really made all the difference.

After she innovated the art of molten iron fireworks, it became famous far and wide.

Literati and poets praised it as elegant.

High officials and nobles called it a miracle.

Yun Zhuo's business flourished, and more and more orphaned girls and beggar children received her help.

Until one day, much later, Yun Zhuo noticed the mottled wounds on Zhao Shu's hands.

The man narrowed his eyes, the corners reddening as he refused to look at her.

"I just wanted to have more to talk about with you, A Zhuo."

Theme: Keep going, and hope is just ahead.