chapter 2

The Momo who specialized in beheading led me into the side courtyard.

So I struck up a conversation with her: “Looks like I won’t be beheaded by you after all. I’m truly glad.”

But she replied earnestly, “Child, you’re happy for nothing.”

If you’re not foolish, you die; truly foolish, you die; pretending to be foolish, you die even more. No matter which I am, Emperor Yan wants me dead.

Momo swung her iron axe, scaring me into shrieking and running wildly around the courtyard.

Both cloth shoes flew off my feet, and a perfectly round Gold Beans rolled out. Momo picked it up and examined it closely.

“Do you like it?” I whispered. “I’ll give it to you, just please don’t behead me.”

Momo really didn’t behead me. In Yan Palace, palace servants often threw themselves into wells. Momo fished out a female corpse to report, and stuffed me into the kitchen.

She warned me not to speak carelessly, and if I didn’t want to die, to pretend to be a Mute.

Momo had killed countless lives, but was devoted to Buddha. She believed in karma, that good and evil would be repaid, so in addition to beheading, she never forgot to copy scriptures and burn incense.

She taught me hand-in-hand how to slaughter pigs. At thirteen, I was skilled at killing pigs in the kitchen.

Wherever my hands touched, my shoulders leaned, my feet stepped, my knees knelt, the sound was crisp and clear, the knife sang as it cut, and every movement was in tune.

Just after slaughtering a pig, covered in blood, I pressed my palms together: Amitabha, goodness, goodness.