Chapter 1

# Chapter 1

Third Sister-in-law had the most exquisite pair of little feet.

White, soft, pointed, and arched-finer than water caltrops.

The day she married into our family, red tassels hung from her embroidered shoes. With every step they trembled.

The mountain men had never seen feet like hers. Their hearts trembled with them, once and then again, and their faces turned wolfish.

That night, Third Brother stumbled drunkenly into the bridal chamber under everyone’s envious gaze. The men refused to leave. Red-eyed, they listened outside the wall until dawn, cheering every time Third Sister-in-law cried out in pain.

I lay in Mother’s arms, wild with envy. “Mother, hurry and get everything ready for me. I want a fine pair of little feet too.”

Mother lovingly stroked my five pink toes, putting each one into her mouth for a gentle nip. “Silly girl. Feet like that cost a great deal of pain.”

“I’m not afraid! Auntie Niu at the head of the village says a girl with beautiful little feet could even marry an immortal!”

I did not need an immortal. I would have been perfectly content to become a rich landlord’s concubine.

I had heard his household served four dishes at every meal and ate meat once every three days. Wasn’t that better than being an immortal?

Father smoked his dry tobacco pipe, his brow furrowed. “Women are fickle by nature. I’m only afraid she won’t stay chaste.”

His concern proved entirely unnecessary.

The next day, the crowd dispersed the moment Third Sister-in-law stepped outside. She had a lovely pair of feet, it turned out, but the face of a monster: a birthmark the size of a bowl covered nearly half her face.

Humiliated, Third Brother slapped her. Then he laughed. “A slap gets the blood moving. Maybe I can beat that mark right off you.”

From then on, Third Sister-in-law was forever being slapped.

At first, she tried to run. But bound feet could not run fast. She rarely made it over the threshold before Third Brother caught her like a chick and dragged her back for another beating.

Then she hid, crawling beneath tables and squeezing under beds. Anything to avoid standing quietly while he hit her.

The village men offered Third Brother a suggestion.

Put something in her foot bindings, they said. That’ll teach her to behave.

That very day, Third Brother went to the butcher in town and came home with fresh hog bristles. He worked them evenly into the binding cloth, then wrapped Third Sister-in-law’s feet himself.

One moment she was grateful for his unexpected tenderness. The next, she began to scream.

The sound was so shrill it seemed she was being tortured.

Mother heard and rushed over. She was the daughter of Scholar Wang from town-well-read, worldly, capable of anything.

But the moment she unwrapped the bindings, her face went white.

Coarse hog bristles had pierced the tender flesh of those little feet. Every one of them was tipped with blood.

Mother soaked the feet in hot water, dabbed at them with cotton, and picked at them with a needle. Nothing worked.

Sweat beaded on Mother’s brow. Curled in her arms, Third Sister-in-law bit right through the front of Mother’s jacket from the pain.

At last, Mother could do no more.

“Good girl,” she said sadly. “Beg him. Please, just beg him.”

Third Brother grinned beside them. “Like the feel of those bristles?”

“Are you going to let me hit you from now on?”

Third Sister-in-law prostrated herself on the bed. “Yes, yes, hit me. Just please don’t torment my feet anymore…”

Only then did Third Brother take out a small piece of fat and rub it over her feet. The bristles stuck to the grease and came away little by little.

“Filthy pig’s trotters,” he cursed in delight. “What a waste of good fat.”

After that, Third Sister-in-law became completely obedient.

Whenever Third Brother came home angry, he swung his arm wide and whipped the birthmark with the sole of his shoe.

Third Sister-in-law knelt perfectly straight to make it easier for him. She did not dare dodge a single blow. Each time he struck her, she loudly called out the count herself.

Only after he tired did she dare rise slowly, covering her grossly swollen face as she staggered along the wall.

The sight left me trembling. “Mother, I don’t want my feet bound! I don’t want it anymore!”

Father’s eyes flared. “Who says she won’t? What little beast says she won’t?”

“Xiuqin, bind Fourth Girl’s feet now.”

“Wait any longer and they’ll never take the shape. Not even a beggar would accept her for free!”

Mother rubbed my toes, kissing and nibbling them again and again. Tears fell one by one onto my feet, warm and ticklish.

Eldest and Second Sister-in-law brought strips of old cloth, scissors, needle and thread, shards of porcelain, and a blunt knife.

“Mother, do it,” they urged. “It has to be done sooner or later.”

“The longer you wait, the worse the girl will suffer.”

Father was losing patience and about to force Mother’s hand when several gunshots cracked from the mountain ahead, startling birds and beasts across the slopes.

Then came the village chief’s hoarse roar.

“Bandits!”

“Run!”

Our house erupted into chaos. No one remembered my feet.

The bandits had saved them.