Chapter One: Father-in-law, Please Don’t Die!

"Xiao'e, check if your father-in-law is still breathing."

"Father-in-law... he... he... it seems he's not breathing..."

As soon as the words fell, wailing and sobbing erupted from inside the room.

Zhao Zheng jolted awake, his eyes snapping open.

Kneeling before his bed were two young women, their clothes tattered, faces sallow with hunger. They looked barely into adulthood, their figures thin yet naturally well-shaped—a little care would surely make them beauties.

Wait a minute!

What had they just called him?

Father-in-law???

Everyone knew he was single and never married, an eligible bachelor with no wife, let alone daughters-in-law.

At that moment, a surge of overwhelming memories flooded his mind.

In an instant, he understood everything.

Damn it!

He had become a billionaire at a young age, took the helm as the CEO of a publicly listed company, and just as life was getting good, he ended up transmigrating after a late night reading historical novels. Now, he found himself in the Great Kang Dynasty—a world closely resembling ancient China—inhabiting the body of a middle-aged widower with the same name, who had recently lost his sons.

The original host was nearly forty. A few months prior, both sons were conscripted by soldiers and became cannon fodder on the battlefield. The two young women before him were their yet-unwed wives.

Moreover, the original host's health was poor, and those two sons had been adopted with no blood relation.

As he absorbed these memories, Zhao Zheng felt as if the sky had collapsed.

What a joke! Others who transmigrate end up as young men. Why had he become a middle-aged man? And to make matters worse, he'd skipped straight past marrying and having children, raising someone else's sons instead.

That wasn't the end of it—before he could enjoy a day of peace, both sons died on the battlefield.

Zhao Zheng was utterly despondent.

"This must be a drunken hallucination from last night."

He closed his eyes again.

"Father-in-law, please wake up!" cried the elder daughter-in-law, Yang Zhaodi, shaking him desperately. The younger, Zhang Xiao'e, wiped her tears beside her.

To them, their father-in-law was their last hope for survival. Though he was known to be quick-tempered, timid, and fond of drinking, their husbands were gone. In this famine-stricken age, if he died too, with no man left in the family, they were doomed to starve.

Meanwhile, outside the house, villagers had gathered to watch the commotion.

"Old Zhao, that fool, gave all the death compensation for his sons to his elder brother, hoping he'd arrange a marriage for him. His brother took the money and immediately found himself a wife instead."

"He went to demand an explanation, got beaten bloody by his brother and nephew, and now he's probably dying."

"Can't even feed himself, yet still dreaming of marriage. Everyone knows he can't father children—just a useless drunkard."

The gossip grew louder, nearly causing Zhao Zheng to choke with anger.

He could stand it no longer. Accepting the reality of his transmigration, he decided to face his new life. He slowly opened his eyes.

"Father-in-law, you’re alive! You’ve finally woken up!" Yang Zhaodi wept even harder.

Zhao Zheng sighed. Though the original host had treated them poorly, they were now part of the Zhao family. In this era, without a man at home, women simply couldn't survive. Here, the father-in-law was the true head of the household.

Steadying himself, he said, "Xiao'e, go and close the door."

The constant chattering outside was giving him a splitting headache.

Zhang Xiao'e, snapping back to herself, wiped her tears and went to close the courtyard gate. Only then did the crowd outside gradually disperse.

With some peace restored, Zhao Zheng surveyed his surroundings: mud-brick walls, a dirt floor, a thatched roof with two gaping holes letting in the cold wind. Even in the depths of winter, the two young women wore nothing but patched summer clothes, barefoot on the icy ground, their hands and feet purple with cold, looking for all the world like beggars.

Poverty—nothing but poverty.

The family couldn't scrape together two complete sets of clothing. The only presentable outfit was the one he was wearing.

The room contained just a hard wooden bed cobbled together from planks, a mattress worn shiny from years of use, a few cracked bowls, and a clay pot for cooking. That was all.

When the sons were alive, the whole family slept on that bed. After their deaths, the daughters-in-law let him sleep there alone, while they laid straw on the floor, often waking shivering from the cold.

Touching the large bump on his head, Zhao Zheng seethed with anger.

This was a grudge that had to be settled—even if the culprit was his predecessor's own elder brother.

But right now, he was injured, weak with hunger, and in desperate need of food.

"Is there anything to eat in the house?"

"Father-in-law, that's the last bit of grain we have. Please don't send it to Uncle's house again," Zhang Xiao'e pleaded. Even if he beat or scolded her, she would endure it.

"No more giving it away. From now on, never again!" Zhao Zheng declared.

He had never known hunger like this.

Yang Zhaodi fetched a flatbread from a jar and handed it over.

Zhao Zheng immediately began to eat.

It was harder than stone—painful on the teeth and rough on the throat. The bread was made from millet, rice bran, and a few dried wild vegetables.

In his previous life, he wouldn’t have even tasted it. But now, it was the family's treasure, their only means of survival.

His stomach rumbled.

Watching his daughters-in-law swallow hungrily, Zhao Zheng sighed. He broke the bread and offered it to them.

But the two girls instinctively shrank away, cowering, expecting a beating.

How tragic. Such obedient and sensible daughters-in-law, yet the original host had treated them so harshly—truly inhuman.

He simply placed the remaining half of the bread aside. "I've had enough. You two eat the rest."

After washing it down with a bellyful of water, he finally felt somewhat better.

He reached under the bed for the only hatchet in the house, stood up, and headed out.

The two girls stared at him in disbelief.

Yang Zhaodi mustered her courage to ask, "Father-in-law, where are you going?"

"We’re out of firewood. The temperature’s dropping fast and it might snow soon. Without firewood, we won’t make it through the night."

Zhao Zheng had accepted his fate. Since he was now the father-in-law and the only man left, he had to shoulder his responsibilities.

Rice, firewood, oil, salt, soy sauce, vinegar, tea—firewood was listed first for a reason. Cooking and keeping warm both required it.

The wealthy burned charcoal, but a single pound cost dozens of copper coins—far beyond their means.

Without firewood, they could only await death as winter set in.

He left the house, heading toward the back mountain as his memories guided him.

A biting wind stung his face.

It hadn’t rained in years; the land was cracked, rivers dried up, crops failed for miles around.

Not a wild vegetable or even a strip of bark remained—everything edible had been stripped bare.

All the nearby firewood had long since been collected. He would need to walk for an hour just to reach the unclaimed forest.

As for the owned forests, they were guarded. If you were caught, a beating was the least you could expect—being beaten to death would draw no sympathy.

After walking for more than an hour, Zhao Zheng finally arrived. Other villagers were already there gathering firewood.

Seeing him, many mocked and jeered, but Zhao Zheng paid them no mind.

He selected a withered sapling, raised the not-so-sharp hatchet, and began to chop.

At that very moment, a mechanical voice sounded in his ear:

"Ding! Chopped ten pounds of miscellaneous wood!"