Song Yuzhang: Extra 7 - Xiao Yingtao’s Childbirth Story Part 1
Xiao Yingtao realized she had gained weight.
She had always been rather greedy, fond of sweets and rich, oily foods. She loved pork belly and sweet glutinous rice dumplings. When she had money, she never thought about buying nice clothes or jewelry—she preferred to spend it all on food. And if money was tight, even a small bag of candied melon seeds could keep her happily nibbling from morning till night.
Recently, she had become even more gluttonous. But she had no money. And she rather missed Song Xiaosheng.
After finishing the last pickled radish in the cupboard, Xiao Yingtao sat dejectedly by the doorway. Hungry, she rested her head on her arm and felt miserable.
Ma Jiming sat inside his carriage. The weather was cold; he held a hand warmer and hissed softly as he breathed in. It was freezing today, and it had rained yesterday, making the road difficult to travel. Annoyed, he lifted the carriage curtain to get some fresh air.
On the bluestone road, the carriage wheels creaked strangely as they rolled along. In front of a quiet, narrow doorway, under the dim daylight, he saw a cascade of black hair falling past slender arms, the tips almost touching the muddy water on the ground.
Where did this foolish woman come from? Ma Jiming cursed inwardly. Just as he was about to lower the curtain, Xiao Yingtao, who was sitting at the doorway, turned her face slightly. Their eyes met.
Seeing a plainly dressed man passing by, Xiao Yingtao did not panic. She remained lost in her thoughts.
The carriage passed, and she continued staring at the sky without blinking.
Song Xiaosheng had left in the summer. He had said he would return before the New Year. It was already November twentieth, and there was still no sign of him.
Calmly and resignedly, Xiao Yingtao thought she had probably been deceived again.
“Hey—”
She blinked and turned her face. Ma Jiming leaned out of the carriage and asked, “How do I get to the Gao family shop?”
She was stunned for a moment, then answered seriously, “Which Gao family shop?”
Her voice was soft and sweet, almost unbearably pleasant. Seeing her sitting there with disheveled hair—neither quite a girl nor quite a married woman—Ma Jiming, who had traveled far and seen much, began forming an idea. He got down from the carriage and asked for a cup of water as a pretext.
“Oh,” she said, turning and pushing the door open to pour him some water.
The doorway stood open before him. Ma Jiming hesitated at the entrance. After a moment, she came back out, still speaking in that soft tone. “There’s no hot water at home, and no firewood to heat any. Would it be all right if you drank some cold water?”
She held a small bowl, her pale pink fingers resting on the rim. Slightly dazed, Ma Jiming accepted it and gulped down a couple of mouthfuls. The coldness chilled him from lungs to stomach. “No firewood at home?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “I’ll go chop some tomorrow.”
“You? A woman, going to chop firewood?”
“There’s no man at home.”
“…”
If he hadn’t stopped of his own accord, Ma Jiming might have suspected this soft-voiced, round-faced girl was deliberately setting a trap for passing merchants.
He drank two more mouthfuls and left.
After seeing the guest off, Xiao Yingtao returned to sit by the doorway. It was cold, but there was no sunlight inside, and the quilt was old and not warm. She preferred sitting outside where she could catch a little sun.
After some time, the traveler returned and left her some coal.
Xiao Yingtao was overjoyed. She didn’t consider whether his intentions were good or bad—perhaps she simply didn’t have the instinct to think that way. Happily accepting the coal and thanking him, she immediately ran inside to burn it for warmth.
Ma Jiming was left standing speechless before the closed door, still half-suspecting he had been tricked.
He stayed in Qingxi for three days and learned about her background.
She was no decent woman—formerly an opera performer, now a prostitute.
Ma Jiming was furious. That beautiful, naive girl whose words and mannerisms radiated innocence turned out to be a prostitute!
Yet amid his anger, he felt a strange relief.
A prostitute had her advantages. At least he wouldn’t have to rack his brains to win her over. He could simply pay.
So on the night before leaving Qingxi, Ma Jiming tucked money into his clothes and confidently knocked on that narrow door again.
The woman who came to open it still wore her hair loose, as though she didn’t know how to comb it. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes clear like a pool of water. In a sticky-sweet voice, she asked, “What is it?”
He suspected she had forgotten him and irritably reminded her, “Have you used up the coal?”
She remembered then. Smiling with eyes squinting, she said regretfully, “It’s all gone.”
He couldn’t understand—there had been enough coal for ten days or more.
After some back and forth, she spoke candidly, as though they were old acquaintances.
She had been hungry and exchanged the coal with neighbors for food.
Ma Jiming was shocked. Was there truly such a foolish girl who couldn’t even manage being a prostitute properly?
Inside, she showed him the pickled vegetables, buckwheat, and black beans she had obtained, which only made him angrier.
“Who did you trade with?” he demanded sternly.
She answered honestly. He turned and left.
Perplexed, she sat down and continued eating her bland bowl of buckwheat and black beans. She wasn’t good at cooking—only capable of making food edible.
Her stomach was always hungry, so hungry it felt bloated. Stroking her swollen belly, she thought that if Song Xiaosheng didn’t return after the New Year, she would give up on him and go find some work.
Suddenly, the door was pushed open with a bang. The traveler strode in, carrying a large bowl in one hand and a burlap sack in the other. The sack dropped to the floor, revealing more coal inside. He set the bowl on the table—inside were two large, snow-white steamed buns.
Without a word, Xiao Yingtao reached out, took one, and began eating.
Ma Jiming looked down at her in silence, watching her red lips chew hungrily.
He suddenly reached out and touched her black hair hanging before her eyes.
She lifted her face to look at him. Her eyes were so clean—far too clean to match the word prostitute.
His heart pounded. In a low voice he said, “You…”
She gazed at him quietly, still chewing. The bun was sweet and delicious.
With a surge of resolve, he blurted, “How much?”
Flushed and unable to meet her eyes, he felt an unusual shame and irritation. He had a wife at home, had frequented brothels while traveling. This was nothing more than another indulgence on the road—yet he felt strangely humiliated.
After waiting without reply, he glared at her. She blinked innocently. “Not now. Let’s wait until after the New Year, all right?”
He was both annoyed and pleased. “I’ll come find you after the New Year.” Slapping his money pouch onto the table, he said, “If you lack anything, go buy it on the street. Don’t waste it, and don’t trade things away again. At this rate, you’ll empty out this house.”
Lowering her head, she bit into the bun again and obediently said, “Oh.” After a moment, she looked up. “What’s your name?”
After a long silence, he answered, “Ma Jiming.”
After the New Year, though he longed to, Ma Jiming did not immediately return to Qingxi. She was only a prostitute, he told himself—hardly worth pining over. Yet he worried that foolish girl might have done something else stupid for the sake of a few meals.
In early February, he set out for Qingxi again.
The place was usually not so cold, but this year was exceptionally frigid, and it had snowed. The melted snow stained the bluestone road dark. Annoyed at the mud on his new boots, he scraped them against the threshold and knocked forcefully. No one answered.
He knocked again loudly.
At last, someone opened the door.
An elderly woman stood there. Seeing a stranger, she asked, “Who are you looking for?”
Assuming Xiao Yingtao had run off, he shouted, “Where’s Xiao Yingtao?!”
Startled, the old woman rolled her eyes and said, “She’s lying inside.”
Relieved, he stepped in. “Lying down in broad daylight again.”
Recalling her loose hair and delicate features, his heart itched.
“She just gave birth—where else would she lie? In this dreadful weather, especially this cold year, she must rest properly during confinement…”
The old woman muttered on. Ma Jiming stopped in his tracks, fury spreading across his face.
He nearly exploded with anger.
He shouldn’t have been angry. She was a prostitute. Prostitutes slept with men. Sleeping with men meant pregnancy was possible. It was perfectly natural.
Yet he was furious. He wanted to drag her off the bed and beat her.
Xiao Yingtao had just given birth. Her hair was loose, her face pale and fragile. Afraid of the cold, she curled under the quilt. In her arms lay a yellowish-white tufted little head. Hearing the door, she lifted her face. Her eyes seemed misty with tears. Seeing him, she let out a weak sound and said pitifully, “The money’s all gone.”
“I didn’t buy things recklessly,” she explained. “Having a baby costs money.”
Coldly he asked, “Whose child is it?”
She blinked in confusion. “I don’t know.”
His anger gradually wavered at her pale, pitiable appearance. Sitting by the bed, he pulled back the quilt to look.
She was nursing. The newborn was thin and pale, not red and wrinkled like most babies. Eyes closed, tiny lips working hard. Its eyelashes were astonishingly long and thick, curling dramatically.
Ma Jiming had no children. Because they couldn’t conceive, he and his wife had fought bitterly. He had even tried to father children with other women, but without success. Gradually, he suspected the problem lay with himself and stopped quarreling. His wife, likely aware too, mocked him before eventually ignoring him.
He reached out and touched the baby’s cheek. It was unbelievably soft.
Xiao Yingtao kept looking at him.
Softly she said, “I want rice cake. Brown sugar rice cake.”
He glanced sideways at her, then at the snow-white infant in her arms.
A prostitute and a bastard—no matter how he looked at it, it was a losing deal.
Stiffly, he said, “You’re in confinement. What rice cake?” Throwing his money pouch to the old woman, he ordered, “Go buy a chicken.”
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