Over the past two years of living together, Sophia had figured Gemma out completely. She could read Gemma like an open book.

Anything that entered her house was like a meat bun thrown to a dog—gone without a trace.

When she first married, Gemma had asked to borrow things. Since she was her sister-in-law, Sophia lent them. But after borrowing a bag of rice, a spoonful of oil, and an egg, Gemma never returned a word.

After Sophia gave birth to a daughter, Gemma, who had a son, began to look down on her even more. She would often flaunt, saying “My Preston, my Preston,” boasting about having a son.

Every time Gemma spoke, it felt like she was demanding five pounds of meat. Sophia knew she wouldn’t dare lend her that much meat. Even if she were the one in charge, it wouldn’t happen.

That was five pounds of meat—something most families wouldn’t even see in a whole year.

“Such a big deal, I can’t make decisions, can’t call the shots. Gemma, you wait for Jackson to come back, and you can talk to him about it,” Sophia said, walking over and locking the kitchen door with a snap.

Gemma wasn’t pleased. This woman, who couldn’t even manage her own stomach, dared to give her attitude?

With a fake smile, Gemma said, “Fine, when Jackson comes back, make sure you tell him to bring the meat over to my house.”

But as she turned to leave, the smile on Gemma’s face faltered.

What’s she so proud of? When Jackson comes down from that gambling table and hears that I asked for meat, he’ll have to obediently hand it over. So what if she grew up in the city? She still had to pinch her nose and marry Jackson, and gave birth to a worthless daughter. What’s there to be proud of?

Jackson might not be much of a man, but he’s good-looking, and his... well, let's just say it’s quite impressive. When he walks, it swings back and forth—hard to ignore. So many women covet him. I wonder if it’s as good as they say when it’s in them.

Look at my own man. Same mother as Jackson, but he doesn’t even come close in looks or body. And as for in bed? He’s useless—he doesn’t come around for weeks. Even when he does, he doesn’t last long enough to get comfortable. It’s so frustrating.

Meanwhile, up in the mountains, Jackson, relying on memories from his past life, had worked hard and finally found the wild Dendrobium.

He didn’t take a break, moving quickly and carefully clearing away the weeds.

With the lessons learned from the previous night, he didn’t need a flashlight during the day. His sight wasn’t obstructed, and collecting the herb was much smoother.

But even so, by the time the roots of the Dendrobium were fully exposed, it was already afternoon.

Learning from his previous mistake, Jackson was extra cautious, ensuring even the smallest roots weren’t broken off. After all, every part could be sold.

This herb was better than the last one, though still not perfect. He needed to sell it for a good price.

He hadn’t even had time for a sip of water, let alone touched the bread in his basket. Completely focused, he used a bone pick to carefully extract the Dendrobium roots.

Fearing another mistake, Jackson worked well into the night. Finally, when he had successfully removed the entire plant, he carefully wrapped it in cloth and placed it in his space.

Walking back down the mountain with brisk steps, humming a tune, he was ready to go home.

But just as he turned around, he ran into a sika deer, seemingly intending to nibble on the Dendrobium.

Jackson held his breath, his gun aimed at the deer not far away. With a single shot, the gunfire echoed through the forest, scattering the birds.

In this era, hunting guns weren’t heavily regulated. The rustic gun he’d bought from an old hunter last time was far more effective than a slingshot.

A sika deer weighing around a hundred pounds could provide meat, blood to nourish his wife, antler and venison, which would be useful. This trip to the mountains had been very rewarding.

Jackson put away the gun and began cleaning up, hoping to process the spoils before night fully fell.

At home, Sophia had finished making dinner, prepared milk for her daughter, and fed her. But Jackson still hadn’t returned.

She knew the Dendrobium wasn’t easy to find; it wasn’t like wild grass growing everywhere.

She figured it was a good opportunity to teach him a lesson, reminding him not to always dream of shortcuts. It was better to find a steady job and learn a trade. Not worrying about food was far more important than anything else.

Just then, Jackson entered the yard with his steady, strong stride.

Sophia heard the noise and came out holding their daughter.

Seeing the basket he set down, filled with a mess of weeds, she didn’t even look back as she told him, “Wash up and eat.” She turned and went back inside with her daughter.

Jackson noticed his honey glance into the basket, but he didn’t say a word.

After washing up, he entered the house.

Seeing the steaming food on the table, Jackson’s eyes softened, wishing he could go back to his previous life and beat himself for not cherishing such a beautiful and virtuous wife.

He had once abused her during her breastfeeding period, driving her to despair. He’d been such a beast!

He sat at the table and wolfed down the food.

“Honey, later I’m going to Blake’s house. I’ll get the wires hooked up for the house,” he said.

Sophia froze for a moment, then stiffened, instinctively reminding him, “Once the electricity’s hooked up, we’ll have to pay for it every month.”

She glanced at his expression, worried that he might get angry and flip the table.

They only had one good table left at home, after all. Last time, Jackson had drunkenly smashed their solid wood table with a hammer, creating a huge hole.

Sophia secretly wished they could have electricity at home, especially at night when it would make it so much easier to feed and change their daughter. The oil lamps were too dim, and the small windows in their mud house made it difficult to see. A few times, when getting up at night, she nearly tripped on the uneven ground.

But if they had electricity, they’d have to pay the bills every month.

In families that had electricity in the village, wives spun thread and did needlework until their eyes ached before turning on the light, just to save on the electricity bill.

A few days ago, Jackson had been drinking and gambling, and their home was left with nothing but empty space. He’d even stolen the money she borrowed from her parents to buy cereal for the child to drink and spent it on alcohol.

How could she trust him after all that? How could she dare?

Jackson caught the subtle tension in her voice when she mentioned the electricity. He put down his utensils and walked to the door, bringing the basket inside.

It wasn’t filled with weeds, as Sophia had thought, but with other medicinal herbs he had gathered on the way, such as Gastrodia and Polygonatum, which, while not as valuable as Dendrobium, were still precious.

In his past life, Jackson had studied traditional medicine. After years of illness, he had learned about many kinds of medicinal herbs.

He closed the door and bent down to pull something from the weeds in the basket.

He came to Sophia, holding the herb carefully wrapped in cloth.

“Honey, this is what I dug up today. I’ll take it to the pharmacy in town; it should fetch a good price,” he said.

Sophia stared at the wild Dendrobium in his hands, about a foot long and an inch thick, unable to speak for a long time.

She hadn’t expected this. When he went up the mountain, she hadn’t had much hope. But here he was, really having found it.

She looked up at him, asking in disbelief, “Did you really dig this up?”

Before they got married, she had never heard of him having such skills. She had no idea he even knew this plant had medicinal value and could be sold!

Jackson, sensing her disbelief, quickly reassured her, “Honey, I swear, I didn’t steal or rob this. I really spent the whole day digging this up in the mountains.”

Sophia nodded slowly, still unsure but seeing the sincerity in his face.

He placed the herb on the table and returned to his meal, taking a large bite of cornbread.

“Honey, keep this for now. I’ll go up the mountain again tomorrow,” he said.

Sophia, lost in thought as she glanced at their child, nodded absentmindedly.

Although Jackson was starving, after decades of living in excess, he found the cornbread hard to swallow now. It was dry and tough.

Looking at his delicate wife, he said, “Honey, can you steam some white bread? If we don’t have enough flour, I can go to town to get some more.”

Sophia felt a pang at the thought of him asking for white bread, but then she thought about the money he had brought back and swallowed her refusal.

Remembering what happened earlier, she spoke up, “Gemma came by today... She wants to borrow five pounds of pork.”

Jackson immediately looked at her, noticing her displeasure. He could tell Gemma must have upset her when he wasn’t around.

In his past life, he hadn’t cared for her, and Gemma had taken advantage of that. Sophia, educated and proud, couldn’t fight back against Gemma’s bullying, and had suffered a lot.

But this time, things would be different. Jackson wouldn’t allow her to be mistreated again.

He set down his utensils, focused on her, and said seriously, “Honey, from now on, you run the household. The money, the things—they’re all yours. You don’t need to ask me about things like this. If you don’t want to lend, then don’t.”

Sophia couldn’t believe her ears. She glanced at him, confused, unsure if he was joking or if the alcohol had finally knocked some sense into him. But his serious expression told her it wasn’t a joke.

Could this really be Jackson?