Transmigrated into a Farming Female Protagonist

Surprise

Tieu Lang carried the two bowls of rice into the kitchen. Upon seeing her, Tieu Me and Tieu Yen quickly stood up and whispered, “Big sister!”

Tieu Me wasn’t wearing any pants, her small legs bare beneath an oversized tunic that reached just past her knees — an old dress repurposed from Tieu Lang’s outgrown clothes.

“Didn’t you hear anything from First Aunt?” Tieu Yen asked softly.

Tieu Lang shook her head, sniffing slightly. “She didn’t scold me today.”

Then she turned to the younger girls. “Go out back and bring in some firewood. I need to start cooking.”

“Okay!” The two little girls ran off toward the woodpile at the rear of the house.

All the adults were still working in the fields. Trinh Dat Nhien had gone to the county town with the village chief, Trinh Tung, half a month ago to help transport goods. By now, he was likely on his way back.

While the three young girls bustled about the kitchen trying to start the fire and prepare the rice, Linh Du opened the cupboard and took out two chicken eggs.

Yes, ever since she had transmigrated into this body, all household cooking had fallen to her. Being pregnant, she wasn’t expected to work in the fields. The children, still too young for heavy labor, stayed at home to “help.”

To Linh Du, making children work wasn’t something to be pitied — in her past life during the apocalypse, she had learned how to scavenge for food by the age of three. In a world where the useless didn’t survive, labor was life.

Even though this place wasn’t a post-apocalyptic wasteland, the poverty of this ancient era was just as cruel. Hunger was still hunger.

In the original body’s fragmented memories, there wasn’t much information about this Huyen Minh Dynasty, but Linh Du knew it was no utopia. Children were sold, families were torn apart — such things weren’t just rumors.

Linh Du stepped into the kitchen, her tone calm.

“Tieu Yen, Tieu Me, go dig up two radishes and gather some greens.”

“Yes, First Aunt!” — The girls quickly ran to the backyard, tugged two plump radishes from the soil, plucked a handful of leafy vegetables, and trotted back beaming with pride.

Linh Du, cradling her large belly, settled onto a small stool near the stove. One hand instinctively supported her lower back as she watched the girls.

“Fill the basin with water and wash the vegetables and radishes properly.”

Tieu Lang, busy tending the fire, came over to help rinse the greens before hurrying back to check the flames. The three girls worked nonstop, their little hands clumsy but determined.

Following Linh Du’s instructions, they then fetched a jar of pickled vegetables and cleaned those as well.

Once everything was prepared, Linh Du sat down before the worn wooden cutting board and slowly began chopping. Tieu Lang handled the stove, cooked the rice, and stir-fried the vegetables. Though there were no seasonings, the freshness of the ingredients made the simple food fragrant and inviting.

Just as the last dish was ready, the adults returned from the fields.

Madam Tien — wife of Trinh Nhi — entered first, removing her straw hat as she groaned,

“I’m starving!”

Tieu Yen ran up and said, “Mother, lunch is almost ready!”

“Good. Go call your father.”

Before long, the entire family had gathered: Trinh Dai Thanh, Madam Trinh Thi Nhan, Trinh Nhi, and Trinh Tam all entered the kitchen.

When they saw three side dishes and a bowl of soup on the table, everyone was taken aback. Meals usually only included two very basic dishes — today felt like a feast.

Linh Du set her personal bowl of egg soup on the table and sat down.

This soup was hers alone. Because she was pregnant, and the child was said to be the Trinh family’s only direct heir, no one dared question it.

The original host of her body had once loudly declared:

“This is the family’s only grandson. Who dares say otherwise?”

No one had dared argue.

Madam Tien, however, was inwardly fuming. Back when she was pregnant with Tieu Yen, she hadn’t even gotten a single egg. And now Linh Du got one every day? How fair was that?

Still, she kept her mouth shut. The original woman had once scolded her so fiercely that she’d never recovered her pride. Worse yet, she had only given birth to a daughter — and in this world, daughters were just “money-losing children.” That belief had always made her feel second-rate in front of Linh Du.

When Madam Trinh Thi Nhan began serving the porridge, she noticed it was thicker than usual and commented,

“Chân-shi, the porridge seems... more filling today?”

Madam Tien chimed in too:

“Sister-in-law, you’re being generous today. That’s not like you…”

In the past, the porridge had been so thin it barely had grains, sometimes with weeds mixed in. Worse, she’d been scolded endlessly for being “lazy eaters who didn't work hard.”

Madam Tien had often wanted to protest, maybe even refuse to work the fields altogether. But remembering the original host’s thunderous voice and sharp glare, she had always swallowed her anger and picked up the hoe.

Madam Trinh Thi Nhan, by contrast, was mild-mannered. Aside from tending to Tieu Lang and Tieu Me, she rarely opposed the original host’s decisions.