妈的，这破房子可真够阴森的。林小溪卷着袖子，嫌弃地掀开那床黑乎乎、硬邦邦的棉被，棉絮簌簌往下掉。一股汗臭子混着霉味直往上冲，把她给熏得几欲作呕。这是哪儿啊？土墙斑驳，屋顶的茅草都快没了，冷风飕飕地往里钻。

她林小溪好歹也是二十一世纪人，吃香喝辣惯了，哪受过这罪。刚穿过来时还想装装可怜博取同情，现在看来，那纯属自欺欺人。这原主就是个炮灰，灰头土脸的还没人权，看这光景，八成连饭都吃不饱。

brushed the dust off the small table. The table was as old and worn as the room, but at least it wasn't covered in dust.

"First, we need food," she mused, sitting down. "Then, we need to make some money." How the hell was she supposed to survive in a place like this?

The next morning, after a quick wash in the cold井 water that tasted like mud, she went outside. The village was quiet, the people walking like zombies, their faces as gray as the sky. It was November, and winter was already setting in.

"Maybe I can sell some snacks?" she suddenly thought. "Like sugar-coated haws. It's popular in cities, and it's easy to make." She had seen vendors in the movies, spinning the skewers, coating the haws in a shiny sugar glaze.