Familial Love

I have a temple in the human world.

Hardly anyone visits, but one girl came to pray three times.

The first time, she offered ten years of her life in exchange for her grandmother’s recovery.

The second time, she raised the offer to twenty.

The third time, she muttered, “Why won’t it work?”

“Because you’ve come to the wrong temple,” I said.

“I bury people.

I don’t save them.”

Unfortunately, she couldn’t hear me.

She still knelt and bowed, three times to her knees and nine times to the ground, then took five yuan from her pocket and put it in the offering box.

Who had lied to her?

I followed her out, back to a cramped, dilapidated alley.

A group of children crowded around her, laughing.

“The idiot’s here!

Come look at the idiot!”

She clutched her sleeves and said quietly, “I’m not an idiot.

“I’m just a little slow to react.”

I’m obsessed with my big sister.

I’ve spent twenty years as her devoted servant, practically born into the job.

Nobody knows how to take care of her better than I do, and I’m immensely proud of that.

So when I learned she was going to marry Jiang Xubai, I promptly made a move on his little brother, Jiang Muye.

Dad exploded on the spot and threatened to break my legs.

I protested, “If my sister can marry into their family, why can’t I?”

Dad answered with a sweeping slap: “Because your sister is a girl, and you—are a boy!”

I was born without knowing how to cry, and I did not learn to walk until I was two.

My cousin, who was my age, could already recite poems while I was still stumbling over my first words.

Before the college entrance examination, everyone in the village called me the half-wit.

Afterward, the village received its first university acceptance letter.

My aunt was beside herself with joy.

She held a three-day feast, and everyone for miles around knew my cousin had got into university.

Then the villagers clamored to see the letter.

Only then did they discover that the name on the gold-stamped page was mine.

My elder brother tried to put his concubine above his wife.

Father beat him so badly he could not get out of bed.

My sister-in-law’s family standing was a little lower than ours, but in character, looks, judgment, and household management, she was second to none.

If no one stood up for her, we would never hear the end of it.

Later, I married, and my husband made my life difficult.

My sister-in-law came to fetch me with a chest of gold and silver jewelry.

She told my husband: “Divorce her.

There are plenty of noble young men in Jiangzhou eager to marry my sister.

You, however, may have a harder time finding anyone who wants you.”

My mother was the discarded wife of a marquis, and everyone was waiting to laugh at her.

Yet she refused to give them the satisfaction.

She neither made my father regret casting her out nor won the heart of some handsome man.

She left the capital in disgrace, looking like a homeless cur.

Years later, I was betrothed to the son of an earl’s household.

Noble though his birth was, his endless visits to brothels had left him riddled with disease.

On my wedding day, I sat in the bridal sedan, about to take my own life.

Then horses reared and people shouted outside, throwing the procession into chaos.

The marquis’s discarded wife had returned—to steal the bride.