FMT 6

Chapter 06  Seeing Blood

Old Lady Chen grew stranger and stranger.

Although after Liandan conceived she no longer beat him, the scolding never stopped, and the fieldwork and housework still had to be done as usual.

But Old Madam Chen worried that if Liandan worked too hard it would affect the child in his belly, so she no longer lay on the kang¹ waiting to be served. She even took on some of the work herself.

Yet since that day, her attitude had changed again.

After breakfast one morning, when Liandan, as usual, picked up the hoe to go to the fields, his mother-in-law stopped him.

She said, “The first three months are unstable. You’d better not do heavy work. Stay home and rest. I’ll do the fieldwork.”

Liandan watched as Old Madam Chen took the hoe from his shoulder and went out to the fields.

He was timid and long used to obeying his mother-in-law. Though he thought it strange, he dared not ask more. He could only stay quietly at home.

But someone used to working could not sit idle. He also feared that if she came back and found him resting, she would be angry. So he took out the needlework she had left unfinished.

Lately Old Madam Chen had been sewing a small quilt. The cotton was already laid in. The quilt top was patched together from many scraps of cloth, in all colors and patterns, symbolizing blessings from a hundred families so the child would live a long life.

Liandan picked among the scraps and stitched them together following her work.

As he sewed, he stopped and touched his still-flat belly. His feelings were strange.

The old doctor had said he was pregnant, but Liandan never felt it was real.

Aside from two bouts of pain, his body was no different from before.

He did not feel nausea, nor weakness like other pregnant women or ge’er in the village, who looked as if they were suffering a serious illness.

Liandan felt nothing. Even now, he was not certain there was truly a child in his belly.

Besides, with his mother-in-law talking about cutting his belly open, he lived in constant worry, often crying secretly. He had no time to think about it.

But now, while sewing the quilt, Liandan suddenly realized it clearly: there really was a child in his belly, and by next spring it would be born, able to use this quilt he was making.

His thin fingers brushed lightly over the cloth. He sat dazed for a while, then continued sewing.

By noon, Old Madam Chen returned from the fields.

Liandan was cooking at the stove. She kicked the door open. The loud noise startled him. He jumped up and shrank against the wall, staring at her in fear.

Old Madam Chen’s face was grim. She cursed, “I slave away outside while you, little slut, stay comfortable at home!”

As she spoke, she raised her hand to slap him. As long as she did not hit too hard or touch his belly, being hit was nothing new.

Liandan instinctively hunched his shoulders, shut his eyes, and waited for the slap.

But no pain came. When he opened his eyes, he saw his mother-in-law using the ladle to scoop food into a dish. Seeing him looking at her, she forced a stiff smile and said, “What are you looking at me for? Get the chopsticks and eat.”

Liandan stared blankly, unable to react for a long time.

Lunchtime was strange too.

The greasy chicken soup had been finished in the morning. She did not prepare more. Liandan breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Usually he cooked whatever she ordered, never daring to change it.

That day, before she left, she had not said what to eat. So he boiled corn, made a sauce with an egg and a chili, and steamed it with potatoes and eggplant.

He had debated for a long time whether to use the egg. If he didn’t, she might complain the sauce lacked flavor. If he did, she might scold him for wasting.

But when Old Madam Chen sat down, she said nothing, she just ate quietly.

When she saw that Liandan, like a little cat, ate very little, she did not scold. Instead, she said she would buy him some candied hawthorn to whet his appetite.

Liandan anxiously agreed.

After the meal, Old Madam Chen lay on the kang for a while, then went out again. Before leaving, she stared at him.

Her gaze made the back of Liandan’s head go cold. Her face was twisted, her lips trembled, her eyes fierce. She seemed about to speak, but no words came.

In the end, she said nothing and left.

That evening, when she returned, she not only brought back candied hawthorn but also bought fine flour, without any grit in it, delicate and white.

She said she had seen Liandan had no appetite and wanted to steam buns for him.

The next day, when he ate the buns, the fragrance made him squint his eyes with pleasure. But while Old Madam Chen smiled and urged him to eat, her teeth clenched and her eyes blazed with hatred. It was terrifying.

Liandan asked her to eat some too. She swallowed hard, her hand almost touching the soft steaming buns, but she stopped suddenly, as if her wrist were being gripped by someone, unable to move at all.

From then on, whenever Liandan ate little, the next day Old Madam Chen would bring back something new to improve his food. She never ate any herself.

And always the same: smiling with her mouth, grinding her teeth, her face full of hate.

After some time, not only did his mother-in-law act strangely, but odd things also began happening to Liandan’s own body.

When Liandan was three months pregnant, the violent cramps in his belly and the icy coldness as if he had fallen into an ice cave came again.

By the third time, he finally realized that every full moon in the middle of the month, the sickness would strike.

That night the attack was worse than the first two. Almost the moment the pain surged up, his mind shut down into half-unconsciousness to protect itself.

He could hear the sound of his teeth chattering from the cold, and from the window lattice there seemed to be a faint click.

Right after, a stench of rot mixed with sweetness drifted into the room.

Half-dreaming, Liandan felt a cold, skeletal hand touch his forehead. Someone seemed to whisper by his ear. But it was hazy, like an illusion in a dream.

The next morning, Liandan woke lying safely in bed, hugging his dead husband’s memorial tablet in his arms, with nothing unusual.

…

By October, every household was busy with the autumn harvest. Old Madam Chen was working herself to exhaustion. Liandan could not just stay home and had to help in the fields too.

Fortunately, after the first three or four months, his pregnancy stabilized. Doing some work was said to be good for childbirth later, as long as he did not tire himself out.

Northern summers and autumns were short. By the end of October, when harvest finished, November brought the cold of winter.

From the first heavy snow that settled, Kaoshan Village’s people began their winter seclusion.

Folks hardly went out, only worked at home. Old Madam Chen stayed in too, all day in the house.

She had a skill for making paper figures and paper horses. Villages nearby that held funerals would pay her to do it.

That winter was especially cold. A few elderly people died before New Year. Old Madam Chen grew busy with orders.

Liandan cooked each day and helped her a little. During this time, his belly swelled like a balloon. By his count, he was more than five months along.

Though he had eaten better in the past two or three months, years of deprivation could not be undone so quickly.

And while Old Madam Chen was overjoyed, calculating his due date, Liandan only grew more afraid. He knew it might be the time of his death.

He did not want to die, especially not in pain and misery. So no matter how good the food, he dared not eat too much.

His body was only slightly fuller than before pregnancy, still much thinner than ordinary people.

With such thinness, his rounded belly was especially obvious.

At night before sleep, he often lifted his clothes and stared at his stomach. He often touched the bulge with his thin hand.

Sometimes, as he touched that belly shaped like an upturned pot, it gave him faint responses.

Like a kitten gently testing its paw against his palm, cautious and soft. The first time, Liandan froze. Then he cried.

From the time he had sewn the patchwork quilt to this first clear feeling of fetal movement, his feelings for the child slowly changed.

He feared, yet he also faintly looked forward. And for some reason, he pitied and cherished it. As he cried, Liandan curled up and fell asleep.

That night, he seemed to dream, or maybe not. He could not remember clearly.

But in the morning, sitting dazed at the head of the bed, he felt the room carried a familiar scent. When he tried to smell again, it was gone.

He set a hand on his belly, sitting blankly. The fine hairs on his body stood up. A feeling lingered on his stomach, as if it had just been stroked by someone.

…

After New Year, the weather shifted a few times. By March, it finally warmed.

All winter, Old Madam Chen had worked making paper figures, paper horses, and paper ingots, earning more than two hundred coins. She gave them all to Liandan, telling him to buy snacks.

Liandan took them with fear, but he never bought anything.

He could not bear to spend, nor dared to, fearing she would demand it back later.

As the due date grew closer, Liandan became more and more gloomy, so afraid he could barely eat.

He had no one to talk to. In the whole village, the only one somewhat close was Tang Hua, because they had once stayed a night together at Lingyun Temple. Sometimes they dug wild greens together and chatted.

When Tang Hua had returned from Lingyun Temple, the famed blessing for children had failed him.

At home, his family waited two or three months, then realized the trip had been for nothing.

His in-laws were disappointed but said little. His husband, honest and simple, only said it was not yet fated.

Tang Hua felt bad, especially since Liandan, who had gone with him, was pregnant.

His family only thought it was because Tang Hua had not stayed long enough.

But Liandan knew Tang Hua was lucky, he had escaped disaster.

As fate turned, after New Year Tang Hua found himself pregnant too.

His husband was so happy he grinned every day. His in-laws cherished him like treasure.

Knowing Liandan’s fears, Tang Hua comforted him, holding him in his not-so-broad chest, stroking his hair, saying, “Childbirth is our trial. I’m afraid too, but I believe good brings good. We’ve done no wrong. We’ll be safe.”

Tang Hua came often to chat, helping Liandan endure the final months before delivery.

On the night before his due date, Liandan’s belly hurt with a piercing pain, worse than ever. He could barely breathe.

His whole body felt as if plunged into icy water, every pore stabbing like needles. He fainted, woke from pain, fainted again, over and over. Sweat soaked the whole bed. In the gaps between pain, he looked at the window.

He did not know what he was expecting, but faintly felt that in this unbearable night, something was missing.

The next morning, when Liandan woke weak and drained, he found a large, glaring stain of blood on the bedding.

He had seen blood.

1. heated brick or clay bed-stove ↩︎