He Yunsheng frowned and asked, “What did you say?”

He Yan remained motionless, seriously repeating, “I said, you’re not chopping the wood correctly.”

The youth grew impatient. “He Yan, if you’re sick, go back inside. Don’t make trouble here.”

“At this rate, you won’t finish before dark,” He Yan didn’t budge.

He Yunsheng suddenly flared with anger. The axe slipped from his hand, crashing heavily onto the bluestone slabs with a loud bang. He stepped forward angrily, “If it weren’t for spending money on your illness, Father wouldn’t have had to dismiss the servant. You talk about chopping until dark, but you’ve never chopped wood before, so don’t act like you know everything. If you’re so good at it, why don’t you do it yourself!”

He Yan’s heart stirred slightly. So they had a servant before, but due to family poverty and medical expenses, the servant was dismissed, and this youth had taken over the servant’s duties. Looking at his demeanor, he had long harbored resentment toward this sister, letting loose a barrage of cold mockery without any consideration for her feelings.

Poverty had its advantages – for instance, the courtyard was empty, so no one witnessed this awkward scene between siblings. If this were at the former He family or Xu family, there would likely be enough watching maids to form an army.

After speaking, He Yunsheng waited for He Yan to fly into a rage, but to his surprise, this time He Yan didn’t scold him. Instead, she bent down and picked up the axe he had thrown on the ground.

The heavy axe pulled at her, her delicate white wrists seeming too fragile to bear the weight, making onlookers anxious.

He Yan looked at her own hands, slightly frowning. She could barely lift the axe – compared to her previous self, this was far too weak.

He Yunsheng stared in confusion, asking suspiciously, “What are you doing?”

“I’ll show you how to chop,” He Yan answered.

Hearing this, He Yunsheng grew angrier, saying furiously, “Stop making trouble, you…”

Before he could finish, a “bang” interrupted his words.

He Yan had already swung the axe, cleanly splitting the wood in two.

“Look,” she said, “It’s simple. Don’t grip the front of the axe handle, hold the end instead. Chop along the wood grain, it saves energy.”

He Yunsheng stared at her blankly. After a moment, the youth’s face turned bright red, his tone almost furious as he pointed at He Yan: “You, you, you… you are up to no good! Your hands… Father will surely scold me when he returns! He Yan, you’re truly scheming and cunning!”

“Hm?” He Yan was confused. The next moment, a panicked female voice rang out: “Young Miss, you’re bleeding!”

He Yan instinctively looked down. Her palm had been scraped raw without her noticing, the blood stark against her palm, strangely beautiful in its vividness.

She had only chopped one piece of wood with the axe, and her hands were already torn. How delicate was this body? Had Young Lady He ever lifted anything heavy in her entire life? Was she made of cotton and tofu?

As He Yan fell into contemplation, the maid Qingmei rushed over to pull her inside, speaking urgently, “We need to apply some ointment first, I hope it won’t leave a scar…”

He Yunsheng glared at her hatefully, throwing out the words “He Yan, keep acting up, you’ll end up dead from your own doing,” before turning and running away.

He Yan didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. In her previous life until her marriage and death, this was the first time anyone had accused her of “acting up.”

It felt novel. Among soldiers, “acting up” was probably a very distant concept.

Qingmei cradled He Yan’s hand in her lap, carefully applying ointment to her palm, then began crying, “What if it leaves a scar? We need to find some scar removal cream.”

“It’s fine,” He Yan couldn’t bear to see a young girl cry, especially one who was fifteen or sixteen, even younger than she had been in her previous life. She comforted her, “A scar is just a scar, as long as it heals.”

Qingmei stared at He Yan with wide eyes, tears forgotten, speechless.

“What’s wrong?” He Yan asked.

“No-nothing,” Qingmei wiped her tears and stood up. “I’m just glad Young Miss isn’t angry.”

That tone… He Yan looked again at the cosmetics and ornaments on the dressing table, understanding somewhat. The original Young Lady He had been extremely particular about beauty, and this delicate skin had surely been pampered. Usually, even a small scratch would have been treated as a major incident.

Perhaps heaven, seeing how rough her previous life had been, never experiencing what it meant to be a daughter, had given her this delicate flower of a body this life, unable to withstand wind or rain.

Qingmei asked, “Young Miss, shall I pour you some hot tea? You were just out in the rain and might have caught a chill.”

“Wait,” He Yan stopped her. “I just remembered something. When I woke up earlier, some things were unclear… How did I fall ill?”

They previously had a servant, who was only dismissed due to He Yan’s medical expenses, suggesting this illness wasn’t congenital. But if it was a sudden illness, she hadn’t felt any discomfort these past days. Everyone in the house treated her with careful protection, afraid something might go wrong. He Yan found it strange.

Hearing this, Qingmei turned pale with fright, grabbing He Yan’s hands, nearly crying again: “Young Miss, you’ve already grieved once over Young Master Fan, you mustn’t go through it again. If not for yourself, think of Master and Young Master!”

Young Master Fan? A man?

He Yan asked, “Which Young Master Fan?”

“Young Miss, what do you mean… Well, Young Master Fan was so heartless, not worthy of you. It’s right for Young Miss to forget him. This servant won’t mention Young Master Fan again, as long as Young Miss stays well.” After speaking, Qingmei wiped her eyes again.

This little maid cried too easily – even the recruits in her camp didn’t cry this much on their first battlefield. After just a few questions, her collar was already soaked. At this rate, the place would be flooded before an incense stick could burn down.

“Alright,” He Yan said helplessly. “Let’s not mention it. Go change your clothes first, they’re wet.”

Qingmei stared at He Yan with wide eyes, seeing He Yan’s calm expression showing no signs of breaking down. After hesitating a moment, she said, “Then I’ll go change… Young Miss, please wait, I’ll be right back.” She left, looking back with every few steps.

The room grew quiet again.

He Yan stretched out her hand, opening her palm before her.

The ointment Qingmei applied was still on her hand. She stared at these delicate, tender hands thoughtfully. Women were naturally weaker than men. Back then, to build hand strength, He Yan would sneak out the back gate of the mansion before dawn from childhood, climbing Eastern Imperial Mountain to help the temple monks carry water and chop wood. At first, her hands were scraped raw like this, but after calluses formed, it got better. Later, she could easily carry two water buckets and practice punches with stones suspended from her wrists.

She wasn’t clever, and could only use crude methods, but day by day, she earned the right to compete with men.

Now, everything had returned to the starting point. Forget about taking back what was rightfully hers – this fragile body couldn’t even bear the thorny path ahead.

“Then we’ll train,” He Yan said to herself, “Just like before.” Perhaps this was heaven’s test, the price for her rebirth, but what was there to fear?

It was just starting over from the beginning.