The night it happened, the world was drenched in rain.
Not the soft, romantic kind that kissed windows and lulled children to sleep.
No—this was a storm that seemed angry, desperate, as if something ancient and unseen had finally awakened and demanded the skies tear themselves apart.
Inside a small modern apartment, Wei Lian clutched her three daughters close, kneeling in the dark as thunder cracked like a furious beast. The electricity had gone out ten minutes ago, right after her daughters began crying from fear. She held them tighter, her heart pounding like a drum.
"Don't be scared, my darlings," she whispered, brushing wet strands of hair from their foreheads.
Wei Xinyu, the eldest, smartest, and most sensible at three years old, clung to her mother's sleeve.
Wei Qingmei, the middle one with stubborn eyes, hid her face in Wei Lian's lap.
And little Wei Xiaotang, the youngest—the sugar-sweet baby—hugged her stuffed rabbit and trembled.
Lightning flashed, filling the room with a blinding white glow.
Then—
Everything turned silent.
No thunder.
No wind.
Not even rain.
Just… silence.
So deep… so absolute… that even breathing felt wrong.
Wei Lian looked up in confusion.
Her daughters looked up too—their eyes wide, innocent, uncomprehending.
And then they saw it.
A crack in the air.
A glowing, golden crack, floating above them like someone had torn through the very fabric of reality. It widened soundlessly, spilling warm golden light onto the floor, crawling closer, reaching toward them like living fingers.
Wei Lian instinctively shielded her daughters.
"What—what is that?" she whispered.
The crack widened further.
A voice—soft, ancient, neither male nor female—whispered from within the light.
"Fate has chosen.
Blood and bond shall travel together.
Mother… children… follow the thread of your destiny."
Before Wei Lian could even scream, the golden light burst like a tidal wave.
It swallowed her.
It swallowed her daughters.
The apartment vanished.
The floor, the walls, the air—everything disappeared in a single breath.
And then—
She fell.
Into darkness, into coldness, into something thick like water and thin like smoke. She fell through time, through space, through layers of memories that weren't hers. She felt faces brush past her—women crying, children laughing, men shouting—voices from centuries ago, rushing by like a river.
Her ears rang.
Her throat tightened.
Her body felt as if it were dissolving.
And in the distance, she heard her daughters' high voices screaming,
"Mama—!"
Then—
Black.
---
When Wei Lian opened her eyes, everything smelled wrong.
The sharp scent of disinfectant and electricity was gone.
Instead, there was smoke.
Grass.
Mud.
Sweat.
And blood.
The world around her was blurry. She blinked until her vision sharpened.
She was lying on a hard wooden bed—rough, splintered, handmade. A small oil lamp flickered weakly beside her, casting trembling shadows on cracked, clay walls. A cold draft blew through a broken window.
This wasn't her home.
Wasn't her city.
Wasn't even her world.
Her throat tightened.
She sat up slowly.
Her body felt… different.
Older.
Heavier.
Weaker.
Like she had borrowed someone else's bones.
Her chest hurt with every breath.
Her fingers trembled as she touched her face—narrower cheeks, cracked lips, a bruise near her temple.
Then—
"...Mama?"
Wei Lian froze.
That voice—
No.
It couldn't be.
Impossible.
She turned sharply.
Three girls stood in the doorway.
Not her girls.
Not in appearance anyway.
They were older—around sixteen or seventeen. Their clothes were torn, their hair tangled, their faces smudged with dirt. Their eyes, though…
Their eyes were the same.
Exactly the same as her triplets'.
Xinyu's gentle brightness.
Qingmei's stubborn intelligence.
Xiaotang's innocent sweetness.
But these bodies—
These weren't children.
They were grown women.
Awkward, blank-faced, swaying slightly, as if unsure how to stand properly.
Wei Lian stared at them, breath caught in her throat.
"Xinyu?" she whispered.
The eldest girl tilted her head—not smartly, but in that simple, slow way villagers often described as "not right in the head."
But then—
Her eyes flickered.
A moment of clarity. A spark of recognition.
"Mama…"
The voice cracked.
Not childish.
Not mature.
Something in between.
Wei Lian's lungs collapsed.
"Qingmei… Xiaotang…?" she whispered.
The second girl—Qingmei—ran forward and hugged her tightly, burying her face in Wei Lian's chest like she always used to when scared.
That hug—
She would know it anywhere.
The youngest—Xiaotang—plopped onto the floor, hugging Wei Lian's leg with her trademark soft whine.
"We found Mama… Mama came too…"
Wei Lian broke.
Tears streamed down her face as she wrapped her arms around all three.
"You… you're really my daughters… even in these bodies…"
She sobbed into their shoulders.
The girls sniffled and clung harder, their grown bodies trembling like terrified toddlers.
The world spun around her, too fast, too wrong, too unreal.
She forced herself to breathe.
They transmigrated.
Together.
But the girls…
Their souls entered these bodies.
These adult women…
These women…
She suddenly remembered something.
Whispers from the villagers outside the window when she'd first awakened.
"Those three simple-minded sisters-in-law…"
"So useless…"
"Like children trapped in adult bodies…"
"Even the dead husband couldn't handle them…"
Her heart dropped.
Her daughters—her three baby girls—had possessed the bodies of the widow's mentally challenged sisters-in-law.
She swallowed hard, her throat raw.
"So this is our new life," she murmured.
Wei Xinyu grabbed her hand.
"Mama, don't cry. We followed you."
Qingmei sniffed. "We heard the voice. It said we must stay with Mama."
Xiaotang lifted her face, eyes sparkling despite tears.
"This place smells weird…"
Wei Lian choked out a laugh.
Same Xiaotang.
Same honesty.
She wiped her tears.
She had to be strong.
If fate had thrown them here, then she would fight tooth and nail to protect them.
"I'm here," she whispered, kissing their foreheads.
"We're together. That's all that matters."
But as the girls settled around her, she noticed something else.
Warm light pulsed faintly from each of the girls' chests.
Wei Lian blinked.
Then the lights drifted upward—
formless, shimmering—
hovering in front of her like tiny glowing clouds.
One was shaped like a flower bud.
One like a seed.
One like a small bowl.
She held her breath.
The lights sank back into the girls' bodies.
Then—
A whisper echoed in her head.
"Your children carry the gifts of the heavens.
Plant, feed, grow."
Wei Lian stiffened.
Xinyu lifted her hand. A tiny green sprout emerged from her palm—growing, stretching, blooming into a fully grown strawberry plant in a single breath.
Qingmei reached toward a dry seed on the floor. It instantly burst into life—roots, stem, leaves—all within moments.
Xiaotang's fingers sparkled. A small mound of salt appeared on her palm like magic.
Wei Lian's heart thundered.
Her girls…
Had awakened powers.
Plant growth.
Seed sprouting.
Food and seasoning creation.
Her breath trembled.
In this era…
In this poor, war-torn place…
With these abilities…
They could survive.
They could thrive.
They could live again.
She cupped their cheeks, one by one, and whispered:
"Listen to Mama.
No matter what happens…
We will never be separated again."
The wind blew violently outside, rattling the old wooden door.
Somewhere far away, villagers were shouting.
She could smell smoke.
Hear drums.
War?
Danger?
This wasn't just ancient times.
This was a chaotic era.
One of the hardest periods in history to survive.
Wei Lian inhaled slowly.
Don't panic.
Not now.
Not in front of them.
The girls watched her with wide, trusting eyes.
She straightened her spine, wiped her tears, and forced a calm expression.
"Come," she whispered.
"We must leave this place.
Before anyone sees you…"
She didn't know what lay ahead.
But she knew one thing with absolute certainty:
Whether she was Wei Lian of the future,
or the widow of this era…
She was still a mother.
And for her daughters—
She would tear apart heaven and earth.