Chapter 3

I slapped her again and again.

There was, admittedly, something of private revenge in it.

We had not always been such terrible sisters to one another.

As a little girl, our youngest sister had been adorable. We had all loved her.

Our parents loved her, too, but she had not been their favorite then.

They still hoped for a son.

Until one year, when a wandering Taoist stopped at our house to ask for water.

After drinking, he offered to tell our fortunes in return.

Delighted, our parents asked whether they would have a son.

The Taoist shook his head and held up three fingers.

They understood: no sons in this lifetime. Only three daughters.

All their struggles until then had been a refusal to accept their fate. Now that it stood before them, it seemed they had no choice.

Seeing their disappointment, the Taoist smiled. “Forty-nine parts are Heaven’s; one is left to human choice. Though no son is destined for you, you are blessed. Your family’s wealth and honor rest with your youngest daughter. She was born to prosperity. Raise her well, and there will be no limit to the blessings she brings.”

He patted her head, smiled, and left.

Our parents looked at her with blazing eyes.

But while people are alive, they find it hard to submit to fate.

At first, they treated the Taoist’s words as an auspicious pleasantry. Only after several more years of trying without the slightest sign of a son did they begin to take him seriously.

From then on, our youngest sister was different from us.

She did not have to wash clothes, cook, or learn household chores.

She could attend school and learn to read and write, just like a boy.

While she romped through the streets and alleys, my other sister and I learned to cut clothes and do needlework.

The boys at school competed to give her presents and walk her home. Our parents glowed with reflected pride.

It was as though our family really had produced a golden phoenix.

My other sister and I felt the injustice.

If our parents wanted to put her on a pedestal, we had no say. Still, the unfairness kept us tossing and turning through the night.

Who wouldn’t want to read and write, to be dressed and fed without lifting a finger?

Who was born to labor and serve everyone else?

At first, even our youngest sister had been uneasy about such blatant favoritism.

When she left for school with her new book bag and prettily dressed hair, she would look at us anxiously. Only after we smiled would she skip happily away.

She could see how we envied her lessons. After school, she taught us to read.

Back then, she still loved us as sisters. She saw our sacrifices and understood us.

But hearts change easily.

Enjoy special treatment long enough, and it all begins to seem your due.

Before we had finished the Three Character Classic, she decided teaching us was too much trouble and stopped.

Only when we coaxed her with our little hoard of savings would she agree to continue. Later, I discovered that she forgot the earlier lessons as she learned the later ones, and some things she taught us were wrong.

I knew then that her mind was not on her studies.

I spoke to her about it.

But I was still young and understood little myself. All I could tell her was to cherish an opportunity that was so hard to come by.

She did not like hearing that.

She glared at me defiantly, tears gathering in her reddened eyes like a pitiful little rabbit’s.

When our parents came to mediate, she seemed suddenly to have found her protectors. She wept with grievance in Mother’s arms, then shot me a vicious glare when no one else could see. I knew then that this sister’s heart had turned away from us.

She had come to consider herself our superior. In her eyes, we were servants now.

Later, she handed over her dirty clothes, shoes, stockings, and book bag for us to clean without a qualm. Dishes, cooking pots, stove, sheets, quilts, fetching water, chopping wood—she would not touch any of that rough work.

Our parents took it for granted that it belonged to us.

Their favoritism had divided one small household into ranks and classes.

But who willingly accepts such a fate?