Chapter 6

The second day.

Newly married, Yumo busied herself about the house.

As the oil peddler’s wife, she kept everything in immaculate order, inside and out. She even went hungry to leave the food for him and his aged mother.

Though she no longer leaned from an upstairs window selling smiles, people still had plenty to say about her.

Toward evening, a local gentleman came to the door.

Having heard of her reputation as a celebrated courtesan, he offered three sacks of polished rice for a single night with her.

At this proposition, the oil peddler seized his oil jug to drive the man away. But his mother suddenly rushed out of the inner room, weeping, and stopped him.

“Ah Lang, have you forgotten? Haven’t we been eating these past few days because we sold your two younger sisters?”

The oil peddler opened his mouth. Shame crept over his face.

She went on crying. “That woman was a whore to begin with. She’s used to sleeping with people. Why can’t she do it today?”

At that very moment, Yumo, dressed in coarse cloth with a plain hairpin, walked into the room and heard every word.

She stared at the mother and son in silence, her face abruptly drained of color.

The oil peddler hurriedly pushed his mother away.

“Mother, stop talking.”

The third day.

While preparing a meal, Yumo discovered that everything worth selling in the house had already been sold, and the rice sack was almost empty.

As the family silently filled their bellies with plain water, yesterday’s gentleman returned. Looking at the pitifully lovely Yumo, he offered a higher price.

If they sold this beauty to him outright as meat, they could have a whole peck of polished rice!

In a famine, one peck of polished rice would buy ten pecks of bran—

Enough to keep the entire family alive for another year!

When the oil peddler said nothing, his face dark, Yumo slowly stood. “I—I’m tired. I need to lie down for a while.”

She went into the bedroom, pulled the ragged quilt over her head, and fell into a heavy sleep.

Outside, a fierce argument gradually broke out.

“I’ve wanted to say this for ages: marry a virtuous wife, and what did you do? Married a whore!” the oil peddler’s mother sobbed. “These days, a respectable girl costs barely half a sack of polished rice. Sell her, and you could buy two decent women!”

“Mother, but she’s the woman I love!”

At her son’s miserable plea, the old woman snapped, “Then ask him for another half-peck of rice!”

Silence.

The oil peddler said nothing.

Yet unlike yesterday, when he had leaped up to drive the broker away, today he showed no sign of anger.

Apparently, sending his wife straight to the cooking pot was easier to accept than sending her to another man’s bed.

Having reached that conclusion, he let out a low sound in the dark that scarcely seemed human.

“Mother, I’ll do as you say.”