On the day of my hairpin ceremony, my brother-in-law, tipsy from wine, barged into my room.
That same night, my mouth was gagged and I was taken to the Marquis’s Mansion.
My legitimate elder sister told me she could not bear children and needed to borrow my womb.
A year later, I gave birth to a son.
My legitimate elder sister brought me to the Bamboo Garden, where four old maids covered my mouth and buried me in a pit they had dug long before.
Before I died, I kept wondering what the point had been of someone like me coming into this world.
But I never imagined that I would be dug up again.
The person who found me was small and thin, yet he staggered along with me on his back for ten miles.
He covered me with the only clothing he had and gave me a chance to live.
An old man took me in. From that day on, I changed my name and became someone else.
Five years later, my wonton shop opened in Capital City, and I happened to run into my legitimate elder sister and her family being sold off.
She begged me to save her son.
But I pointed to the young man kneeling off to the side and said, “I’ll only save him.”
