Chapter 1
Father had a weakness for beautiful women. He took dozens of concubines, who bore him seven sons and eight daughters.
Of those eight girls, I was the least remarkable to look at.
Back then, I knew nothing of legitimacy, or beauty and ugliness. I only knew that my eldest sister, born to Father’s principal wife, was especially lovely, and that the silks she wore were as soft as cotton.
Once, I asked Mama when I could have clothes like my eldest sister’s.
Mama was silent for a long while. Then she drew me into her arms and said, her voice thick with tears, “My Sisi, whatever will become of you…?”
I did not understand what she meant, but I dared not ask again. I raised a hand to wipe her tears.
“Don’t cry, Mama. Sisi won’t say things like that again.”
But that only made her cry harder.
She was like a beautiful, sorrowful bodhisattva, trapped within the four walls of the rear courtyard, waiting desperately for Father.
When she was in good spirits, she would hold me in her lap and speak softly of the love they had once shared.
She told me she, too, had once been his favorite. In a garden full of spring blossoms, she had outshone them all.
In those days, Father had kept her company every day. Even if she had asked for the stars in the sky, he would have found a way to bring them to her.
Mama’s voice would grow light, and a brilliant, rosy blush would steal across her cheeks.
Usually, she stopped there, leaving the tale as tender and romantic as a story with a happy ending.
But life was no storybook. As time passed, happiness came to an abrupt end.
“Then I became pregnant with you. At first, your father looked forward to having you, too.”
The rosy glow faded. Tears gathered quietly in her eyes, swelling there without falling.
“My belly grew bigger. I put on weight, and stretch marks covered my stomach. Your father thought they were disgusting.”
Mama went no further. The ending needed no telling.
After that, Father never came again.
Come to think of it, I had not seen him for a long time myself.
My impression of him was hazy. I saw him only at family banquets during the festivals.
Father and his principal wife sat in the places of honor, with the distinguished uncles of our clan seated below them.
The favored concubines and children could gather around Father and his wife. Even pouring tea or handing them water was a sign of his favor.
Those without favor or influence, like Mama and me, could only sit at the very end, watching from beyond the crowd as everyone flattered them.
No one noticed us.
Once, I was digging up bamboo shoots in the garden when Father came by admiring the flowers, his arm around a new concubine.
He looked puzzled when he saw me, as though he could not remember who I was.
A manservant behind him murmured, “My lord, this is the fourth young miss, Lady Zhao’s daughter.”
Father nodded indifferently. “What are you doing here?”
I knelt and respectfully touched my forehead to the ground. “Father, Sisi is digging up bamboo shoots.”
I thought he would ask what I wanted them for. Then I could tell him how often the servants neglected us, and how hard life was for Mama and me.
Instead, he frowned. “The fourth daughter of a duke’s household, squatting on the ground and digging in the dirt! What if someone saw you? Have you no sense of propriety?”
After scolding me, Father left with his arm around his new concubine. He had not told me to rise, so I remained on my knees until I fainted late that night. Only then did the servants on watch carry me back.
When Mama saw my swollen, reddened knees, her own eyes grew red.
“It’s all Mama’s fault. I’m useless, and you’re the one who suffers.”
I forced myself to sit up and smiled at her. “It doesn’t hurt, Mama. Look, Sisi dug up two bamboo shoots!”
Like a conjuring trick, I pulled the two little shoots I had hidden out of the crotch of my trousers.
Mama laughed through her tears. “Our Sisi is clever indeed. Just wait. Tomorrow I’ll roast them for you.”
She was smiling, but her tears fell onto my knees, which had begun to bleed. They stung terribly.