"Boom!"

The blast swallowed everything Quinn Hartwell could feel.

Just a second ago, she was still “Blood Phoenix,” the top special‑ops doctor in the world—scalpel in her left hand to save lives, combat knife in her right to take them, living right at the peak.

Then, the brother who’d fought beside her through fire and death drove the very knife she’d gifted him straight into her chest and set off the explosives wired through the base.

"Why… why would you…"

That was the only thought she had before she died.

No answer ever came.

After what felt like an endless stretch of darkness and tearing pain, an even fiercer, rawer hunger slammed into her, as if countless insects were gnawing straight through her organs.

"So… hungry…"

Quinn forced her eyelids apart. Instead of flames of hell, she saw a shabby, dim room.

Walls of packed dirt. A thatched roof. A single beam of sunlight poked through a hole overhead, lighting up the drifting dust.

A sharp stink hit her nose—mold, sweat… and urine all mixed together.

Slap!

A crisp smack rang out, followed by a sharp, screechy voice blasting right beside her ear.

"What’re you bawling for! You little jinx! I dragged you all up this far—selling one for some grain is doing you a favor! Cry again and I’ll sell the whole bunch of you!"

Quinn stiffly turned her head.

An old woman stood there, cheekbones jutting, eyes slanted up, her whole face twisted with meanness. She was yanking hard on a child’s ear.

The kid was thin as a reed, skin sallow, biting his lip so tight it almost bled, tears swimming in his eyes but not daring to fall.

Behind him, six more kids huddled together—every one of them just as skinny and sickly.

Seven in total.

The seven kids huddled together like a bunch of startled sparrows, shaking and thin as twigs. The boy standing in front spread his arms wide, guarding the others with everything he had. In his eyes—far too young for it—burned a mix of fear, bitterness, and a kind of despair that made the air feel colder.

All of them stared at the old woman, terrified.

The boy’s voice was hoarse, the words stumbling out between shaky breaths. "Grandma… please, I’m begging you, don’t sell Little Seven. He won’t make it… he really won’t…"

"Get out of my way!" The old woman snapped, lifting her foot and kicking the boy hard in the stomach. She cursed as she did it. "Alexander, you ungrateful brat! Your ma is starving to death, and I’m doing this to save her life! What do you know?! He’s just a worthless mouth to feed. If he can get us a sack of black flour, that’s half a month we won’t starve!"

Right then, waves of memories slammed into Quinn Hartwell’s mind like a flood breaking through a dam.

Name: Quinn Hartwell. Female. Twenty‑five.

Time: 1960s. Hongqi Commune, Shenjia Village.

The original woman had gotten involved with some unknown man and ended up pregnant before marriage.

Then she’d raised seven kids on her own.

Yes—seven.

When she was pregnant, her belly had grown so huge the whole village whispered she was carrying some kind of monster.

And when she finally gave birth? Well… they weren’t wrong to be scared. Out popped seven babies—four boys and three girls.

Fraternal septuplets. In the sixties, with barely any medical care, it was practically unheard of. Even today, something like that would make headlines.

Back in these days, giving birth to twins alone could cost a woman her life, yet the original mother somehow delivered seven safely. If that wasn’t a miracle, nothing was.

Then again, Quinn thought with a bitter little smile, after literally waking up in someone else’s body, what miracle would really surprise her now?

The family had just struggled through the three hard years of natural disasters. Their food stores were long empty, even the tree bark and weeds had been picked clean.

To keep her children alive, the original Quinn had worked herself half to death at the commune, scraping together measly work points. Her body had already been weak, and the endless labor broke her down completely. In the end, she’d simply run out of strength—and starved to death on this torn mat.

And the cruel old woman in front of her?

That was the original Quinn’s mother.

Meredith Hartwell.

She wasn’t here to check on her daughter at all. She’d shown up with one purpose: to “deal with” these burdens.

“Quinn Hartwell, don’t you play dead on me!”

Meredith Hartwell saw Quinn open her eyes, but instead of relief, her face twisted with pure irritation.

“You listen up. This is settled. Over in Lijia Village, that butcher Jin—his wife passed, and now he’s desperate for a boy to carry on his line. I’m planning to send the youngest to him. He’s willing to trade a whole sack of dark flour for the kid! With that flour, you and the other six can survive a while longer. Think about it yourself!”

Quinn forced herself upright, ignoring the dizziness rolling through her. Every movement drained her; this body was far too weak, so starved she could barely lift an arm.

But her eyes—those eyes made Meredith, who’d been rambling nonstop, shiver from head to toe.

That look… Meredith had never seen anything like it. Cold enough to freeze bone, sharp like a blade, like someone who’d crawled out from a pile of corpses.

“You… what’re you staring at! I’m doing this for your own good!”

Meredith’s heart wavered under that stare, but her voice only got louder.

Quinn didn’t bother answering. Her gaze drifted to the seven children nearby.

The eldest, the second, the third… down to the seventh.

Their little faces were all sallow, their bodies nothing but sticks wrapped in loose skin. Their hair was dry like dead straw, their clothes so tattered the patches were stacked on more patches.

But the fourteen eyes staring back at her all carried the same message.

Fear. Helplessness. And a bone-deep dread of the life they were stuck in.

These… were the seven kids the original her had been willing to die to protect?

A sharp ache stabbed through Quinn’s chest.

She, Quinn Hartwell, had lived her last life entirely alone, walking through blood and blades, never knowing what “family” even felt like.

She’d always thought her heart was cold and empty. Yet looking at these seven pairs of eyes now, the heart that had once been stabbed through by the person she trusted most… suddenly felt a strange, unfamiliar pain.

"Sell… which one?"

Quinn Hartwell finally forced out a sentence. Her voice was so hoarse it scraped like rusted metal, yet every word carried a chill sharp enough to cut. Meredith Hartwell froze for half a second, then planted both hands on her hips and snapped back loud and mean:

"Who else could it be? Of course it’s the seventh one! The kid’s nothing but skin and bones—might keel over any day. Selling him is a blessing! I already talked it out with that butcher Jin’s brother. He’s coming today to take the boy."

As soon as she finished, she reached out impatiently to grab the smallest, weakest child—the one everyone called Seven.

Seven’s whole body trembled; he squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaking down his dirt-covered face.

"Don’t! Don’t touch my little brother!"

Alexander threw himself forward, his voice cracking as he clung to Meredith Hartwell’s leg with everything he had.

"Let go, you little brat!"

Meredith lifted her foot, ready to kick him off.

But right at that moment, a dark blur shot up from the straw mat—so fast it made the air jump.

Quinn Hartwell moved. Using the very last scrap of strength in her body, she clamped her hand tight around Meredith’s raised ankle.

"I’ll ask you one last time."

Quinn slowly lifted her head, her eyes burning like twin sparks ready to set the world on fire.

"Who did you say you’re selling?"