Becoming the Stepmother: Transforming the Liew Family’s Fate

Clara was just about to get Adam to go another round—she wanted to test his potential a little more.

But from the front gate came a rhythmic knock knock knock.

Today's "sparring session" had to be put on hold.

Lester had just gone out. Clara turned to the four kids and told them, "Go back to the room and wipe your sweat off. The wind's strong—don't catch a cold."

The children headed into the shower room, which also doubled as a washroom. A long rope was nailed across one of the walls, each of their washcloths hanging from it—everyone had their own, and took what they needed.

Only then did Clara toss the wooden baton she'd been using back onto the firewood pile and went to open the door.

Standing outside was a small-framed, elderly man, hair already streaked with white, holding a donkey by a rope. The moment he saw Clara, he asked:

"Is this the home of Lester Liew, the third son?"

Clara nodded. "It is. Who are you looking for, sir?"

"Then you must be Madam Clara?" he asked with certainty.

Clara nodded again. "That's me."

The old man, clearly relieved to have found the right place, explained that he had come from Goldstone Town to deliver something to relatives in Liew Clan Village. On his way through Riverbend Village, he ran into the Yang brothers, who asked him to pass along a message to Clara.

"They said the thing you asked for is ready. You can go to Riverbend Village when you have time to collect it."

With the message delivered, the old man turned to leave with his donkey.

Clara quickly suppressed the excitement in her heart and called out to him, then ran into the kitchen and ladled a bowl of warm water from the still-hot pot.

"Thank you for delivering the message. Have some hot water—it's a cold day, better to warm up before hitting the road again."

The old man didn't decline. He gratefully accepted the water, drank it in one go, returned the bowl with a wave of his hand, and continued on his way.

Just then, Lester came up from the riverbank, carrying a jar of pickled vegetables. He cast a curious glance at the departing figure before stepping into the courtyard.

"Wife, what did that old man want with us?"

A beggar, maybe?

Didn't look like one. And he had a donkey with him—that's a sign of a well-off household.

"He was delivering a message," Clara replied as she ushered him in and closed the door. "I'm heading to Riverbend Village tomorrow morning to pick something up."

Without waiting for him to ask more, and showing no interest in the pickled vegetables he was carrying, Clara walked straight into the storage room by the kitchen.

She unlocked the door and pulled out six knives she had hidden away.

Lester had just finished setting down the pickling jar when he saw the knives in her hands. A chill ran through him—those fading memories surged back once more: the ruthless efficiency, the way she had taken down those bandits without hesitation—one strike, one life.

He shuddered.

Quickly turning his back toward her, he threw a random handful of kindling into the stove and mumbled:

"Tell Adam to mind the fire for once. That kid just wants to play with that silly stick of his. If I'd come back any later, the fire would've been out."

Only after hearing the door to the bedroom click shut did Lester finally breathe a sigh of relief, patting his chest like someone who had narrowly escaped death.

But… what was she going to do with those six knives from Riverbend Village?

Sell them, of course!

Clara grabbed a woven backpack, broke the blades in half, and placed them inside. She packed straw around them for cushioning and covered the top layer with firewood to make sure no one could see what was inside.

Clara didn't know the rules in other counties, but in Willowridge, only soldiers, certain official professions like constables, hunters, and bodyguards were allowed to carry blades.

Anyone else caught with one and unable to explain why would be in trouble.

There was one other group allowed to carry weapons—convicts exiled to the borders as military labor.

These people typically carried a type of farming blade called a po knife, similar to a hatchet: short and wide, with a hollow cylindrical hilt designed to be attached to a wooden shaft or spear pole to form a weapon.

The knives Clara had taken from those six bandits bore clear signs of tampering, and their shape closely resembled military-issued weapons.

She had originally considered keeping one for her own use—blades in this era were poor in quality compared to modern metallurgy. Like that short knife she currently used—it had dulled after slitting just six throats.

But now, seeing the blade style and markings, she gave up on that idea entirely.

She wasn't looking to get herself killed. But throwing them out would be wasteful. Since she had to go to Riverbend anyway, why not sell them to the blacksmith?

She had already broken the blades so the signs wouldn't be obvious. Together with her own dull knife, the whole lot might fetch around two taels of silver.

She had already retrieved the long knife and dagger she commissioned earlier from the blacksmith. The slingshot frame and pellets were also ready—only the rubber strip was missing.

After years surviving the apocalypse, Clara had developed a habit of never going out unarmed.

Before leaving, she checked her dagger and half-sack of steel pellets, made sure everything was in place, grabbed three freshly steamed white buns Lester had just made—and set off.

It was just barely dawn, the coldest time of the morning.

On a day like this, households with cotton-padded jackets had already switched to their thickest layers. But Clara only had two sets of thin cotton clothes.

After finishing her bun, she blew into the air. Her breath came out as a swirl of white mist that the wind quickly scattered.

She figured the temperature must be nearing freezing.

Clara had left early, so the road was deserted. After walking an hour and a half on her own with the backpack, she arrived smoothly at Riverbend Village.

The blacksmith's shop had just opened. Clara was the first customer of the day—but she wasn't here to buy.

The blacksmith was someone she knew well. He was aware she had skills. He inspected the knives, checked the quality, and once satisfied, tossed them into the pile of scrap and handed over the payment.

One tael and eight coins—just short of her two-tael estimate.

But stolen goods were never easy to price. Clara took the money without complaint and headed uphill to the Yang residence.

Almost as if they'd predicted she'd come racing over the moment she got the message, Clara saw the Yang siblings standing at the front of their courtyard, scanning the road below.

When they spotted her, the younger daughter ran into the yard, yelling, "Papa! Madam Clara is here!"

Ever since learning Clara had single-handedly taken down a black bear, the girl had idolized her completely. As soon as she shouted for her father, she rushed down the hill to greet Clara.

The girl—just fourteen—was named Fiona. Bright and full of energy, her beaming smile was contagious.

Clara gave her a nod, and the girl enthusiastically led her inside to the main hall.

The houses in Riverbend were a little different from those in Liew Clan Village. The center of the hall here was raised into a square platform with a sunken firepit in the middle—used for cooking and heating during winter.

Clara sat down on a wooden stool beside the fire. Fiona brought over a cup of hot tea.

Clara drank and warmed herself by the fire, feeling the heat soak into her bones.

Rows of rabbit meat hung from the rafters, slowly curing in the smoke. Some were for sale, and some were for the family's own meals.

Daniel Yang's wife came in with a cleaver, about to cut some meat, and smiled. "Stay and have breakfast with us?"

Clara quickly waved her off. "I've already eaten at home. Don't mind me. I'll just sit for a bit, grab the bow, and be on my way."

"Stay, eat a little," Eli Yang chimed in too.

Clara declined again. Seeing she really wasn't hungry, they didn't push her.

Daniel and his son soon entered carrying the completed bow and arrows. Everyone's attention immediately shifted to the weapon—it was longer than most bows.

Daniel handed it to Clara. She turned it over in her hands, examining it by the firelight, and her eyes lit up.

Without delay, she stepped outside and tested it, loosing a few arrows. It was love at first shot.

Fiona and her older brother wanted to try too, but neither could even draw the bowstring, which had everyone laughing.

(End of Chapter)

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