In a year of famine, I sold myself to a brothel for the sake of my family.
My little sister came to see me with dried melons and vegetables on her back.
One patron had a taste for very young girls, and the madam tried to tempt her.
My sister believed every word and refused to leave: she wanted silk every day and fish and meat at every meal.
I said no, took out the silver I had secretly saved, and asked a man from our village to escort her home.
After that, not a single letter came from my family.
Five years later, when my beauty had begun to fade, I persuaded a cloth merchant to redeem me and make me stepmother to his two children.
Then my sister returned.
We looked seven or eight parts alike, but she was alluring and uninhibited, far more so than my dull, quiet self; within three days of raising her banner, men crowded the door.
The cloth merchant hired a sedan chair to collect me, and my sister crooked one beguiling finger at him.
He hesitated for only a moment before laying the silver meant for my freedom at her feet.
