After a short rest, the weakness in Shen Wei’s limbs had receded, but it was replaced by a hollow, insistent growl from his stomach. It was nearly noon. The single bowl of thin, mixed-grain porridge he’d had for breakfast had long since vanished, leaving him with an aching emptiness. His gaze fell on the kitchen. This family ate only two meals a day, and the next wouldn't be until evening. He knew he couldn’t wait that long. A man was iron, but food was the steel that forged him. To go without was to be left weak and wanting. “Daughter-in-law, start cooking!” Shen Wei’s voice cut through the quiet courtyard. Lady Wang, who was sweeping near the doorway, stopped her broom. “Dad, cook now?” The family only ever ate twice a day. A meal at noon was unheard of. “Yes. From now on, we will eat three meals a day,” Shen Wei stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Three meals a day!” Lady Wang’s eyes widened. “Dad, there isn’t much grain left.” No one wanted to go hungry, but their stores were already low. Without rationing, they might not make it to the next harvest. “I know. This afternoon, the eldest and I will go to the county town and buy more,” Shen Wei said dismissively. He wanted more than just grain. He wanted meat. It had been far too long since this family had tasted it. The body’s previous owner had been frugal to a fault, but he refused to deny himself. Besides, he needed to rebuild his strength. The Jade Spring could heal, but retraining in the martial arts would require proper nutrition. Lady Wang gave her father-in-law a surprised look but said no more. He was the head of the house; it was not her place to question his decisions. Soon, she had a simple meal prepared: cornbread, more mixed-grain porridge, and a dish of stir-fried leeks with egg. It was more leek than egg, really, with only two eggs scrambled into a mountain of greens. Shen Bowen and Shen Mingzhi returned from the fields to find the food on the table, their faces a mask of confusion. They looked at Lady Wang, silently asking why she had cooked lunch. “Dad asked for it,” she whispered to her husband, Shen Bowen. Shen Bowen glanced toward the house just as Shen Wei stepped out. He opened his mouth to ask, but seeing the stern, expressionless set of his father’s face, he swallowed the words. “Wash up and eat.” Shen Wei saw no need for explanations. He was their father. His will was reason enough. In this feudal society, filial piety was absolute. For a son to question his father was a grave disrespect. Shen Wei took his seat at the head of the table and began to eat. He was truly famished. The meal was plain. Had he not been so hungry, Shen Wei might have struggled to get it down. But he couldn’t blame Lady Wang. It’s hard for a cook to work miracles with nothing. A quick look in the kitchen earlier had revealed only a small jar of lard and some coarse salt. No other spices, no other seasonings. Under such conditions, one couldn’t hope for delicacy. For now, having something to eat was enough. Shen Family Village rested at the foot of Changqing Mountain. From the village entrance, one could see the unbroken green of the forest to the north and a vast expanse of fertile fields to the south. Most of the villagers shared the surname Shen, all belonging to the same clan. Shen Wei’s own branch was a thin one, however, with only a single male heir for three generations. He had few close relatives. Shen Wei had Shen Bowen hitch the ox to the cart, and they began their slow journey to the county town. The country roads were rutted and uneven, and the cart, lacking any suspension, jolted them with every bump. By the time they arrived, Shen Wei felt as if his bones had been rattled loose. Shen Family Village was only about ten miles from the town, but the trip had taken a full half-hour. The absurdly slow pace made him shudder to think of traveling hundreds or thousands of miles. As they entered the county town, Shen Wei looked around with curiosity. The bustling streets taking shape before him were a far cry from the faded images in his memory. This was a prosperous place, with shops lining the road and a constant stream of people. It was no sterile tourist attraction but a genuine, living ancient town. The architecture was quaint and authentic, and the people, dressed in traditional clothing, gave it a true sense of a bygone era. The town was called Ning Prefecture, situated in the northeast of the Da Rong Dynasty. Three hundred miles further north lay the border, and beyond that, the lands of the nomadic tribes. It was on that very border that this body’s previous owner had served in the army, defending against their raids. “Dad, should we go see Third Brother first?” Shen Bowen asked from the driver’s seat. Shen Wei blinked, the memory surfacing. He had a third son, an apprentice at a blacksmith’s shop here in town. It wouldn’t be right to come all this way and not see him. “Let’s go to the market first.” He couldn't very well show up empty-handed. He recalled from the original owner’s memories that life as a blacksmith’s apprentice was not easy. An apprentice was little more than a laborer. They did all the dirtiest, most tiring work, and whether they learned the trade was entirely up to the master’s whim. Worse, there was no wage—only room and board. His third son, Shen Minghao, was thirteen. The original Shen Wei had sent him to the smithy just a year ago. Thirteen. Not even out of primary school in his old world. The thought soured in his gut. At the market, Shen Wei bought two stones of grain, then cooking oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar. Finally, he purchased ten pounds of pork and a good number of pork bones. Remembering his son, he added twenty freshly steamed meat buns to their haul. After just one round of shopping, the ten taels of silver he’d brought had dwindled to less than two. Leaving the market, Shen Wei sighed at how quickly money disappeared. There was so much more he wanted, but a glance at his remaining silver forced him to curb his desires. The ironworks in Anning Prefecture was a large enterprise. It forged not only agricultural tools but also weapons—sabers, spears, swords, and halberds. The Da Rong Dynasty had a strong martial tradition. While true masters were rare, many people practiced some form of combat. In Shen Family Village, it was a family tradition; nearly everyone had some skill. Clans were a cornerstone of this feudal society. Great clans were like noble houses, while smaller ones formed the bedrock of local communities, each with its own customs. Anning Prefecture’s proximity to the border and the constant threat of northern tribes meant that its people were more martial than most. It wasn’t uncommon for families to own weapons. And with Changqing Mountain so near, there were many hunters who were skilled with a bow. The ironworks before them was the largest in Anning Prefecture, employing five master smiths and more than a dozen apprentices. It was one of the Lu family’s properties. “Third, what brings you here?” A burly man with a pronounced limp greeted them as they entered. This was Lu Zhou, a member of a side branch of the Lu family and an old comrade-in-arms. When the original Shen Wei had first joined the army, Lu Zhou had been his flag officer. It was through Lu Zhou’s connections that Shen Minghao had secured his apprenticeship here. “Brother Lu. I came to see Minghao,” Shen Wei said with a faint smile. In the army, the original had been the youngest soldier under Lu Zhou’s command, earning him the nickname ‘Third.’ The two had been through battle together, and Lu Zhou had always looked out for him. It was a shame he’d been so badly injured in that last fight; the limp was a permanent reminder. “Minghao! Minghao!” Lu Zhou’s voice boomed, powerful enough to cut through the ceaseless clang of hammers on anvils. A sturdy, bare-shouldered young man with sun-darkened skin came running over. Shen Wei nodded at his third son, then handed a three-pound cut of pork to Lu Zhou. “Brother Lu, I need a word with Minghao.” “What’s this? No need to bring gifts just for a chat,” Lu Zhou protested. Shen Wei didn’t argue, simply pressing the pork into his friend’s hands. “I have to head back today, so I can’t stay long.” With that, he turned and led his son out of the ironworks. He knew from his memories that Lu Zhou was a good man and wouldn’t hold the gift against him. But this was a matter of principle. His son was under Lu Zhou’s care, and a small gesture of gratitude was only proper. Lu Zhou looked down at the pork, then at Shen Wei’s retreating back. He made a mental note to look after Shen Minghao even more diligently. It was a pity, though. As a member of a collateral branch, he had little real power in the Lu family’s business. There was only so much he could do. Outside the ironworks, Shen Minghao’s face broke into a boyish grin at the sight of his father and older brother. “How have you been? Are you working too hard?” Shen Bowen asked, his voice warm with concern. A trip to the county seat was a rare occasion, and he was eager to catch up with his younger brother. Shen Wei stood aside, watching them quietly. He felt a certain distance from these stepsons and couldn’t bring himself to join their small talk. Besides, the man whose body he now inhabited had never been one for words. His silence was not out of character. After the brothers had spoken for a while, Shen Wei stepped forward. He gave five of the meat buns to his third son, along with a string of one hundred copper coins. “Everything at home is fine. Don’t worry.” He patted Shen Minghao’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself.” Shen Bowen climbed back onto the ox-cart. As they pulled away, Shen Minghao stood before the ironworks, his eyes filled with a longing reluctance to see them go. To leave home so young, to see one’s family so rarely—it was a heavy burden for a boy to bear. Sitting on the cart, Shen Wei watched the ironworks shrink in the distance and let out a deep, internal sigh. Their life was a hard one. He had to find a way to improve things for this family. At the very least, they deserved full bellies and warm clothes.

Chapter 4: Food is the Steel