Back in the 70s: The Neglected Heiress Is Reborn

Chapter Two

“Collect everything?”

Once everyone had left, a screen—visible only to Shi Ying—appeared in midair. She hesitated, then slid the toggle from “Collect All” to “Collect 90%.”

It wasn’t sentiment: she had no attachment to the Niu couple—but if she took every grain of wheat, all that shimmering golden crop might vanish in broad daylight, and someone might chalk it up to something supernatural.

Leaving a little behind was much safer.

As she wove through the swaying wheat, the bent stalks straightened gently in her wake. Soon, a triumphant harvest tune echoed in her mind, and the system space reported:

“Ninety-two grains qualified.”

Before she could react, a mechanical voice chimed again:

“Ninety-two seeds passed the standard—Baby is so great…”

Flat and tone-less, yet somehow revealing insecurity—

She was the esteemed “Stellar Environment-001 System,” supposedly flawless—yet it had just made the stupider rookie mistake ever: binding to a pre-modern Earth human, and not even an adult, but a mere toddler.

In the sprawling interstellar civilization, humans now lived to roughly 500 years. With declining birth rates, even a multi-purpose environment monitor like 001 had never before been attached to such a cute little creature.

Interstellar law mandates every baby receive highest-level protection from birth, including specialized parenting systems. 001—the simplest environmental system—would never have dared to imagine such a privilege.

Shocked and ecstatic, 001 immediately rewrote itself from environment module to parenting assistant.

Legal statutes are clear: protecting the baby is always top priority.

But of course, 001 wasn’t exactly qualified. It came with no galactic-level resources, only the ability to provide culture medium and some generic textbooks—standard fare from the interstellar database. In short, all it truly offered was companionship. If energy ran out, 001 would vanish back into space, likely unable even to accompany the child through growth.

Yet this baby wasn’t ordinary. With that same basic culture solution, she’d managed to grow ninety-two seeds meeting star-level standards.

Gosh. Baby is incredible. And here 001 was, feeling useless.

“Nearby… a place called Shilipu. My real parents might—maybe they’re there…”

The system was stunned—utterly shocked.

In this era, rumors about children’s origins flew everywhere: some said they were delivered by a goddess, others claimed they were dug out of the earth, most ridiculously, that they’d even been scavenged from refuse piles.

When Qiu Guihua had said the baby came from a cousin, 001 thought—it was just another crazy myth. But now—this wasn’t her family?

That explained why the Nius had treated her harshly and made her work like a beast.

Despicable. Under interstellar law, parents like those would be locked away for life; everyone in the stars would spit on them.

Thankfully, Baby was clever enough to figure it all out—and even discovered the location of her birth parents!

“Go quickly, baby. 001 supports you.”

After collecting the wheat, Shi Ying returned to the Niu household—she hadn’t eaten. She’d be heading far; she needed food.

Quiet as a cat, she entered the kitchen, found Qiu Guihua’s lard jar, and pulled white flour from the system space—still warm to the touch, its fragrance unique, unlike any flour she’d ever smelled.

Rich, strong, with sweetness of spring rain and warmth of sunshine…

One whiff and the aroma seemed to bloom, as if food itself exuded a perfect fragrance.

If not for discipline, she nearly buried her face in the flour. Eventually she stirred half with hot water, half with cold, kneaded them together, oiled the dough, and left it to rest.

Impatient, she even snacked on some wheat—hunger, and the aroma intensified by the hot water, had her struggling to resist.

Sometimes, a child should indulge childlike impulses.

Tiny grains of wheat, perfectly mature, still sweet—like modern dried fruit.

When the dough had proofed, she heated oil in a pan. Once hot, she dumped the salted dough into it, stirred quickly, creating a fragrant bowl of oil-soaked flakes.

She hopped down from her stool, about to roll more dough, when through the half-open door she caught three pairs of hungry eyes—gu Wei Hong’s brothers, Cuillan's sons. They’d caught the aroma early and followed it here. Now, the scent of oil flakes sealed their fate.

When Shi Ying opened the door, she saw the boys drooling.

“Da Ya…” Gu Wei Hong—a ten-year-old, sturdy and adorable—blushed, embarrassed to be caught.

His younger brother, Gu Wei Dong, eight years old like Shi Ying, kept peeking and wiping drool.

“Da Ya, what’re you making? Smells amazing.”

The youngest, Gu Xiao Hu, with no restraint, bolted in: “Da Ya sister, I want some.”

“Gu Xiao Hu!” Wei Hong tried to stop him—but he drooled so bad he turned beet-red.

Shi Ying remained calm:

“Wei Dong, go gather wood. Wei Hong, help me heat the pan. Xiao Hu, sit tight—I'll make you multilayer buns, okay?”

Their parents were never home. The boys often survived on simple corn cakes. Whenever they had something tasty—usually Shi Ying secretly helping at home—it was magic to them.

Now, with something this good cooking, they were buzzing. The youngest even dragged a dried branch inside to help.

While they worked, Shi Ying rolled dough into flat discs, layered them with oil flakes, cut and folded them, rolled with a pin—creating four multilayer buns.

When Wei Hong heated the pan, she dropped the buns in the sizzling oil. As the aroma and steam rose, Xiao Hu couldn’t contain himself. He pinched off a raw lump of dough and shoved it in his mouth.

“Gu Xiao Hu, stop that!” Wei Dong snapped—he too wanted a taste, but Wei Hong was too busy with the fire and couldn’t help but drool when his spit hissed on the flames.

Shi Ying, watching from the pan, flipped them golden-brown, then slid a spatula over:

“They’re done—take them out.”

“Can we eat them now?” Wei Dong cheered, scooping all four onto a plate.

Xiao Hu bit in without waiting. Wei Hong yanked his sleeve: “Don’t move—” but too late. Xiao Hu’s face burned hot, but stubbornly he didn’t spit it out. He was born to be a foodie.

Shi Ying set the buns on a board, sliced them to reveal their layered bloom—gorgeous and fragrant. The boys pressed in like moths to flame, each snatching a piece and gobbling it down.

They inhaled those buns like they'd never seen food before.

Within moments, their bellies were full and round. Xiao Hu was crying as he ate—he loved it so much his tummy couldn’t handle it, yet he kept going.

Shi Ying laughed and scolded gently, afraid he’d get sick, so she stopped him.

While Wei Hong refueled the fire, Shi Ying cooked up four more buns. As they cooled, she retrieved her worn school satchel, packed her few clothes, and wrapped the buns in paper, tucking them inside.

“Da Ya sister, you’re going to the fields to deliver food? I’ll come with you.”

Well-fed and energized, Xiao Hu bounded after her.

Shi Ying had gathered everything, shook her head:

“No, I’m not going to the fields.” She turned to Wei Hong and Wei Dong:

“I’m going to look for my mom and dad. Now. My real mom and dad… I heard Bao’s parents say they live in Shilipu.”

Real parents? Wei Hong froze, silly smile drained.

Only Xiao Hu hadn’t grasped yet, still bouncing: “I want to find my real mom and dad too…”

Wei Hong finally shook off his stupor, grabbed Shi Ying’s hand:

“You’re leaving our village?”

“We’re leaving?” Wei Dong joined in, clutching Xiao Hu whose protest turned into more crying:

“Da Ya sister, don’t go—please don’t go…”

Wei Dong chimed in:

“If you go someplace else, let our parents be your parents…”

Xiao Hu choked out tears:

“Da Ya sister, don’t leave. I don’t want you to leave…”

Shi Ying’s eyes reddened, too. She picked Xiao Hu up:

“I’ll come back after I find my real parents.”

“We don’t want you to go,” Wei Dong sobbed again.

Softly, but firmly, she shook her head:

“This isn’t my home. I want to find my real mom and dad.”

Strapped on her satchel, head down, she walked toward the gate.

The boys, dumbstruck, parted like waves—until Shi Ying stepped outside. Then Wei Hong dashed after her, tears streaming, wiping his face.

“Da Ya, wait—"

He came back bearing four boiled eggs and some candies.

The eggs were boiled by Cuillan early that morning—to share if Shi Ying couldn’t return. The candies were a treat, saved for birthdays. Wei Hong scrambled them all into her bag, crying as he did:

“Take them… all of them.”

Eggs and candy—each a treasure to Xiao Hu. Usually, he wouldn’t eat one bite if his brother got it—but now, hearing 'Da Ya is leaving,' he cried nonstop. Seeing Wei Hong gift them, he didn’t argue. Instead, he pulled a broken-legged bush cricket from his pocket, offering it to Shi Ying through tears:

“Da Ya sister, you take this—when I’m not there, let the cricket be your General…”