Dad Died in Battle in 1970, and Three-and-a-Half-Year-Old Me Takes Care of the Whole Family

"The 320 yuan in compensation is mine. Sell that little burden, and marry off my daughter-in-law for a bride price."

Winter, 1975. The notice of her husband's death had barely arrived when her wicked mother-in-law decided to sell three-year-old Niannian.

Her timid mother was cornered, her hand trembling as she clutched a sickle.

Niannian stopped crying.

Because she saw a line of text no one else could see:

[Father Shen Weiguo, status: trapped and suffering from hypothermia, 71 hours remaining.]

Her father wasn't dead.

But no one would believe a three-year-old.

It didn't matter.

She could also see the black cloud floating above Grandma's head.

Three years of allowances, over 400 yuan in all, hidden in a biscuit tin in the kang.

Niannian revealed where the money was. They dug it up, and every last coin was there.

Her second aunt tried to climb through the window and steal her away in the middle of the night? One ceramic jar smashed her face in.

Who says a three-year-old is easy to bully?

"Whoever laid a hand on my wife and daughter, step forward."

A jeep rolled through the snow at the village entrance. The man everyone thought was dead had a new star on his shoulder. Leaning on a crutch, he limped into the courtyard.

The whole family of bullies went weak at the knees.

But as Niannian clung to her father's shoulder, she saw the countdown above his head start ticking again:

[Crisis not yet over. 29 days remaining.]