FMT 5

Chapter 05  Chicken Soup

Something strange happened in Kaoshan Village. Chen family’s son had been dead for many years, yet the newly married daughter-in-law was pregnant.

If this had happened elsewhere, the daughter-in-law would likely have been thrown into a pig cage. But Kaoshan Village was different. Here they had Lingyun Temple, where prayers for children never failed.

As soon as the news spread, Chen family’s relatives and friendly neighbors came to offer congratulations. Even Old Madam Chen’s stingy sister-in-law had to come with her husband, face full of reluctance, carrying gifts in hand.

Old Madam Chen sat at home, grinning so wide that her gums showed for days.

When the visitors left, unlike before, she did not lock the good things away in her room to secretly eat and use by herself.

This time she was generous, letting Liandan choose first. Liandan watched her face carefully and only picked out a small packet of pastries.

Old Madam Chen lifted her hand. Liandan instinctively shrank his shoulders and closed his eyes, waiting for the slap. But instead, she gave him a larger packet of pastries, shoved it into his hand, and told him, “Put them in your room. Eat them when you’re hungry. I won’t take these away. Take whatever you want.”

Liandan nodded, not used to it, and hesitantly carried the things back.

Old Madam Chen looked at his thin waist and patted his small backside, startling him. She clicked her tongue and muttered, “That Bai family was really wicked, raising him so skinny. With such narrow hips, giving birth will be hard!”

There was some truth to that, but not entirely. Liandan had been married into the family for more than a year, yet he had only grown thinner, not fatter.

At first Liandan did not think much of those words. But two days later, when he returned from gathering wild vegetables by the river, just as he reached the courtyard gate, he overheard his mother-in-law chatting with a neighbor over the wall.

The neighbor said, “Don’t worry. Just have your daughter-in-law eat a little less each day. If the baby isn’t too big, it won’t be hard to deliver.”

Old Madam Chen said loudly, “How could that be! My grandson mustn’t be shorted. Even if he can’t be born naturally, then cut open the belly with a knife. One way or another, he must be born!”

The neighbor gasped. “If you cut open the belly, how could the mother live? he’d be finished!”

Old Madam Chen said coldly, “Finished is finished. As long as the child is born, I don’t care if he lives or dies.”

Liandan covered his mouth, turned lightly with his basket, and ran. He ran all the way to the west end of the village, under the arch of a dried-up river bridge.

It had once been a small river. Later, in a year when an earthquake upstream caused a flood, the river changed course and this stream dried up.

The stone arch bridge was old and dilapidated. Weeds grew thick in the cracks between the stones.

No one came here usually. Liandan could cry freely without fear of being seen or heard.

He curled his small body beside a pier, leaned his head against it, and sobbed.

At dinner, Old Madam Chen killed a chicken from the household and made soup. Smiling, she filled bowl after bowl for Liandan.

He lowered his head and obediently ate the chicken and drank the soup. Old Madam Chen was very pleased.

After eating and cleaning up, he returned to his room. Liandan took an old torn garment, stuck his finger in his throat, vomited everything back up, and hid it under the bed.

The next day, he secretly washed the garment to use again.

In this way, nearly a month passed.

The more he was “nourished,” the thinner Liandan became. He was lighter than before his pregnancy, as if he might float away.

Old Madam Chen could not understand what was happening. She forced him to eat more, until he nearly vomited, but he only grew thinner, making her so angry that she cursed him whenever she saw him.

Later, Old Madam Chen seemed to realize something. She grew smarter and changed the chicken soup from dinner to breakfast.

After Liandan drank it, he usually spent the morning working under her eyes. They went to the fields together and returned home together at noon. He had no chance to vomit.

Even the best food became unbearable when forced. And Liandan, fearing the child in his belly would grow too large and kill him, felt especially burdened by it.

So every morning, drinking chicken soup was bitter torment. It was harder to endure than the most bitter medicine the village doctor prescribed. Every sip had to be forced down, held back again and again to keep from vomiting.

But this was not the worst.

When the full moon came again, two months into his pregnancy, Liandan was sleeping when a sudden, violent cramp in his belly jolted him awake.

He clutched his belly and curled up on the bed, the pain so intense he could not even make a sound. His body was freezing cold. Though it was the heat of late summer, it felt as if he were naked outdoors in the dead of winter.

Even with the cold, sweat poured from him. His hair was soaked and stuck in clumps. The mattress that had been dry quickly became drenched with sweat.

It was cold sweat brought on by pain.

Tears streamed down his face. Liandan’s consciousness blurred in waves. He thought he was going to die.

He hugged the memorial tablet that had grown warm from his body, his cracked lips bitten until they bled moving faintly as he mumbled again and again, “I don’t want to die… husband, save me…”

Just then, in the tightly closed room, a cold wind entered.

But half-conscious Liandan did not notice. He still lay curled, back turned to the room.

The wind stopped. A faint stench of blood and rot spread in the room, mixed with a familiar trace of sweetness, along with the soft sound of footsteps.

By the bed, someone seemed to sigh lightly, or perhaps not. Before it could be heard clearly, it faded away with the wind, vanishing completely.

Liandan only felt a coolness on his forehead. Suddenly, his whole body lost all strength, and his awareness sank into darkness.

After that, footsteps sounded inside and outside the room for some time. But it was like a dream, faint and unreal.

…

In the morning, Liandan sat upright in bed. He lifted his clothes and looked down at his stomach.

Beneath the thin undergarment, his belly was flat, even slightly sunken, rising and falling faintly with his breath.

Liandan stared blankly at it for a long time, feeling as if he had forgotten something, but he could not remember what.

…

At breakfast, Old Madam Chen brought out another large bowl of chicken soup.

It was the same soup from the day before yesterday, still unfinished.

Even in the village head’s house, they would only eat meat once every four or five days.

Old Madam Chen’s maiden family was surnamed Zhang. Her brothers lived decently, but were just ordinary families. They could not give her much.

She herself did not live well. She could not afford to make chicken soup every day.

Usually, one chicken was boiled into a big pot of soup, stretched to last six or seven days.

To keep it from spoiling, the soup was reheated again and again. The broth grew cloudy, like cotton floating inside. A thick layer of sticky yellow fat covered the top, enough to make one nauseous at a glance.

As soon as Liandan sat down, the smell made him turn his head and gag.

He thought his mother-in-law would force him to pinch his nose and drink it down like before.

But to his surprise, Old Madam Chen only glanced at him, then picked up the bowl of chicken soup herself. She raised it to her lips and gulped it down in big mouthfuls.

The yellow grease and floating scraps stuck to her shriveled lips. She licked the corner of her mouth.

Liandan stared in shock. The soup was still steaming hot, scalding. Her lips turned red from the heat, but she swallowed as if she felt nothing.

After drinking, Old Madam Chen sat dazed for a while. Then she scratched her scalp, and suddenly her expression returned to normal.

She looked at the empty bowl and said approvingly to Liandan, “Drinking it all in one go, that’s the way.”

Liandan was bewildered but dared not ask, only bowed his head and ate silently.

He had always been used to plain food, simple tea and meals. This time he ate more than usual. For the first time in many days, he was full.

After the meal, Liandan pushed the cart and went with his mother-in-law to the fields to pick vegetables.

Kaoshan Village’s fields lay at the foot of the eastern and northern hills.

Chen family owned thirty mu. The old woman could not farm it all, so she rented out twenty mu, leaving ten mu to grow vegetables herself.

Each summer and autumn, she sold the vegetables in town, trading the money for sorghum, corn, and a little wheat and rice.

When her husband died, Chen family’s relatives had tried to take the land. But with her son still alive, it was easy to drive them off.

When Chen family’s son also died, the land was nearly seized. Only because Old Madam Chen sat on the field for two days and nights without moving, staking her life, did she keep it.

That day they went to harvest bok choy. Old Madam Chen and Liandan each picked from a row, carrying baskets under the blazing sun.

When they had gathered enough, they sat under a tree at the edge of the field to drink water and rest.

Old Madam Chen counted the days, her face pleased. “Yesterday marked two months of pregnancy. By next March or April, the child should be born.”

Liandan could not feel joy. He trembled all over, remembering her words about cutting open his belly. He felt so afraid he wanted to vomit.

Old Madam Chen kept calculating happily to herself, thinking about the clothes, shoes, and bedding she still needed to prepare for her grandson.

Liandan her sat beside her, his small face pale, he didn’t even dare to cry.