Their home was near the village elders' place and a sad sight. Slightly crooked because it hadn't been built correctly, overgrown with ivy, and a small garden full of miscellaneous items and wildly grown vegetables in front of it.
There was a half-rotten fence in dire need of repair, and the entrance was only kept shut by a small piece of yarn they used in exchange for a proper lock.

It was the most run-down place in the entire village, the only sign that someone lived there was the small wooden sign with a strangely well-drawn Hammer on it. This showed who lived there, Tang Hao, their father, and the village's only Blacksmith.
In this world, being a Blacksmith was not profitable. Instead, it was considered the lowest of necessary occupations.
They made simple tools like farming equipment and nails, not much more. The fact that he was the village's only Blacksmith with enough customers for three should have ensured they would be living in better conditions, but that was not the case.
They even hid Money from their father to ensure they could feed themselves or afford clothes.
However, the next batch of hidden Money, they already decided, would wander into buying some wood to remake the fence and put something of a resemblance to a lock on their home.

Whatever Money was left over elsewhere wandered into their fathers' alcohol, which he spent drinking all day. He was often drunk from the breakfast on until late at night.
Entering, they found themselves inside on entirety of the three rooms they possessed, the workroom that doubled as a kitchen, living room, and whatever else was needed, and the other two rooms were their fathers' Bedroom and their Bedroom.

Tang Yin climbed on the wooden stool to stir this morning's congee crying internally while missing a proper Italian breakfast.
By now, she would readily commit murder for pancetta*.

Behind her, Tang San set the table with three bowls and spoons. They made breakfast for their family of three since they were four, not because anyone demanded it but because they simply had to at some point because their father forgot it the older they got.

"Dad, foodies!" Tang Yin called out in unison with her brother.

After a while, the drape separating their father's Bedroom lifted, and a large, well, built figure staggered towards the table they were waiting at, the terrible stench of alcohol following him.
His clothes were messy and dirty, the same ones he wore for three days, full of patches. What one distant day had been a handsome face was now a face full of wrinkles and beard, a long beard just as messy as his hair that had a strange resemblance to a bird's nest. Tang Yin wanted to tell him what she was thinking, but her brother covered her mouth, shaking his head.

No.

The message was as clear as day, so she bit her lip and sat down, silently slurping her congee. Hers was the one with the most rice in it. Tang San ensured she got the most nutrition since she was smaller than him.
Watching her father wolf down his bowl, take a second one, finish it, and then leave into his Bedroom with a fresh bottle of wine he took out from somewhere, she balled her fists. Damn it, their mother may be dead, but they were still alive.

They never received love or much care from him, just indifference. He ensured they didn't starve and had a roof over their head. The more self-reliant they got, the more he drowned himself in depression and alcohol. It worsened after Tang Yin started to look like a girl by letting her hair grow out. He couldn't look at her or even say something. The only thing that seemed to register somewhere in his Zombie state was that he had to work for his booze and their survival.

Tang San didn't care. He never had a proper family. Now, at least he had a father and a sister on top of it, he said, but she cared. Neither of them deserved this. In her old life, she grew up in a big family, grandparents, uncles, aunts, her dad, and her mom. There had always been someone, and at the beginning, she missed them terribly. She still missed them and wanted a way back home, but by now, not without her brother.

Tang Yin slurped the rest of the almost tasteless congee.

"Do you think he will allow us to use the Iron over there?" Tang San asked, pointing to a big slap of metal.

"The fine Iron, I was wondering where it came from. This is good stuff, but why ask me? Ask Tang Hao tha..." she answered, angrily growling her father's name and wanting to insult him.

"He is our father. You should treat him with more respect.", Tang San interrupted, "being a bit more filial would improve the relationship between you two."

"What? He gives me no reason to be filial, and it is not as if I let others badmouth him." she signed, "Maybe I should just cut my hair again. He seems to detest it. Maybe then he would look at me again."

Her brother hugged her tightly, and she sank into it, seeking warmth. He was all she had for a proper Family now, no more adorkable cousins and annoying Aunts that treated her like a six-year-old. It was quite true that you only miss things once you lose them, and she missed even her Boys come first, Grandad. Who was stuck a century in the Past trying to constantly get her a good future husband and thought a degree was useless.

"Don't we are almost six now, and it suits you.", he said, "I will ask Father if I can use the Fine Iron."

Tang Yin nodded and punched her homesickness down. She had to man up. There was no use crying after something was lost. She started to wash the bowls, looking at her now shoulder-length hair in the kitchen sink water. She liked it. It looked cute. No reason to cut it again just to look more boyish and accommodating to her father.

She looked at the pitiful rest of the congee and started to scratch out what was left, eating half of it, going the few rice corns left for her brother, he needed the nutrition too, and soon the vegetables in the garden could be harvested. They already looked quite good.

"Penny, for your thoughts?" Tang San asked, coming out of their fathers' Bedroom.

"Hey, that's my patent saying, and I am thinking of some nice vegetable soup. I believe, another few days, and we can eat it as much as we want," she explained what she was thinking. Tang San nodded. Ever since they started growing the vegetables wildly mixed, the high, mid, and lower growing ones right next to each other planted closely, they had a bigger harvest than anyone else in their garden.
It was one of the Techniques Tang Yin saw in a documentary of her past world, and it worked well. The downside was it only worked because they used the method in a small place and put in much more work.

"We can use the Fine Iron. We have to hammer it ten thousand times.", Tang San said, taking the big pot from her and eating what little was left.

"Sounds long-winded, five thousand you, five me then."

"You too?" he seemed surprised, and she guessed she couldn't blame him if it wasn't for food she preferred to laze around.

"Yeah, why not? It may come in useful one day, and you don't have to make do with our kitchen knives and leftover nails for target practice when we are finished" he smiled, and together they lifted the Iron to the anvil, blowing the bellows.

Flatsch.

They looked towards their fathers' Bedroom and saw his old clothes lying on the floor.

"You start Tang San. I will take care ... of that." she pointed at the clothes and went there holding her breath. God, these needed soap, perfume, and whatever else she could find to stop reeking like bad tavern alcohol.

*Pancetta: Belly beacon from a pig, air dried, and often eaten with herbs or fresh bread.