Transmigrated to the 1960s as a Respected Matriarch
This is the story of a nine-tailed fox spirit who, having failed her heavenly tribulation, was forced to abandon her celestial form and descend to the mortal realm to cultivate anew. Yet, by a twist of fate, she found herself in an era of scarcity, where clothing was thin and food was hard to come by. Despite being but a small child, she was, paradoxically, the most senior in rank in the quiet little village. Every villager cherished her as though she were their most precious treasure. However, Bai Xi felt she had clearly been duped. And now, once again, someone came running to her in distress. "Great Aunt, something terrible has happened..." With her hands on her hips and a huff, Bai Xi retorted, "Your Great Aunt is perfectly fine!"
Transmigrated to the 1960s as a Respected Matriarch
1960, July.
The stream flowed clear and gentle.
Cicadas on the trees chirped incessantly, and whenever a breeze swept through, their song grew even more fervent.
It was midday, the height of summer.
Ordinarily, every household would be resting indoors, but at this hour, on a hillside by the creek, all the men and women of Niuluo Village aged twelve to fifty, led by the village chief, were confronting the people from Xiaxin Village, wielding wooden sticks, shoulder poles, hoes, and other farming tools.
“Will you move aside or not?”
“No, why should we?”
“If you won’t move, don’t blame us for being rude!”
“Come on then, who’s afraid of whom?”
“That’s right, this is Niuluo Village, and Niuluo Mountain behind us belongs to our village. You’ve come to our village to steal water, have you no shame?”
...
The two villages had been locked in a standoff for more than two hours. Neither side yielded an inch. At first, they traded insults, but as their voices grew hoarse, they simply glared at each other across the creek.
The cause of this confrontation was nothing but water.
The rice seedlings in the fields were almost ready to sprout, but it had not rained for two months. The experienced old farmers sensed what was coming—a drought.
With faces turned to the earth and backs to the sky, their livelihood depended on the crops in the fields; if it didn’t rain, how could they manage? If the harvest failed, they’d have nothing to hand over to the commune, and their own villagers would go hungry.
Whe
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