Song Yuzhang: Extra 8 - Xiao Yingtao’s Childbirth Story Part 2
As soon as Xiao Yingtao finished her month of postpartum confinement, Ma Jiming slept with her. He provided for mother and child—their food, clothing, daily expenses. Spending large sums of money, all for the sake of that one night. Afterward, he left some money behind and departed Qingxi again.
As for Ma Jiming’s coming and going, Xiao Yingtao felt no strong emotions. She only knew she had once again returned to her old path.
She had always been muddleheaded. Others knew to avoid private banquets, but she didn’t, letting herself be taken advantage of for nothing. People said Song Xiaosheng had deceived her—that opera performers and prostitutes were of the same sort, that nothing they said could be trusted. She herself had been an opera performer; she should have known best that Song Xiaosheng’s promises to marry her and build a life together were lies. Yet she still didn’t believe it.
Patting the baby sleeping soundly in her arms, Xiao Yingtao sighed. She thought the child was Song Xiaosheng’s—but she couldn’t be certain. Still, in her heart, she hoped it was.
She kissed her son’s soft cheek. “Such a good baby.”
When the weather warmed and Ma Jiming returned to Qingxi, he found that Xiao Yingtao had once again made a mess of her life.
The money wasn’t gone yet, but the house was chaotic. It reeked of sour milk. Clutter was piled everywhere; there was barely a place to step.
Xiao Yingtao held the baby. The child, however, was neat and clean, dressed properly, sleeping soundly. His face was white with a pink glow like lotus petals. In just three or four months, his once-thin cheeks had grown plump and full. So fair and beautiful he almost seemed beyond gender, he and his mother looked strangely out of place amid the disorder and stale smell.
Seeing Ma Jiming, she did not show excitement—nor was she unhappy. In a soft voice, she said, “You’ve come.”
Ma Jiming looked around. “Where’s Nanny Li?”
“She left.”
“Why?”
Xiao Yingtao lowered her head, gently rocking the baby. The child was so adorable; just looking at him filled her heart with sweetness. “She wanted more money. I don’t have enough anymore.” She looked up, troubled but sincere. “Mr. Ma, could you give me a bit more money?”
Ma Jiming usually lost interest in women once he had them. Xiao Yingtao was beautiful, yes—but only a rustic beauty. Foolish and lacking in charm. Yet seeing the state she had reduced her life to, he felt a twinge of pity.
It was as if, if he didn’t step in, this silly woman might starve to death along with that little bastard.
Seeing her disheveled and unwashed, he had little desire to sleep with her. Frowning, he criticized, “You don’t even comb your hair.”
Unafraid of shame, she replied, “Combing hair is too troublesome. I’m not very good at it.”
Ma Jiming thought: is she a prostitute or some pampered young mistress?
Out of the corner of her round eyes, she glanced at him. There was still something girlish about her, not quite like a proper woman.
Ma Jiming sighed inwardly. He admitted he was hooked.
Half a year later, he arranged a new residence for mother and son. Xiao Yingtao moved out of the small house with the child. Seeing she was muddleheaded, Ma Jiming hired an experienced matron to care for them and found a cook skilled in the kitchen. With sweeping decisiveness, he established another household in Qingxi.
And so, inexplicably, Xiao Yingtao’s life settled down.
The son had been an accident. Since she didn’t know exactly which client was the father—or perhaps it was Song Xiaosheng—Xiao Yingtao stubbornly decided on the baby’s surname.
His surname was Song.
As for a given name, she couldn’t think of one, so she simply called him “Baby” for the time being.
Baby was very well-behaved and sensible. He rarely cried. Naturally cheerful and unafraid of strangers, he would respond with a sweet smile whenever someone touched him or made faces at him.
Xiao Yingtao didn’t know much about raising children. She spent her days carrying Baby around the courtyard. The matron warned that holding him constantly would spoil him, and weaning would become unbearable.
Cradling him beneath the osmanthus tree, Xiao Yingtao smiled. “It’s fine.” Pointing to the blossoms, she said, “Baby, this is osmanthus. Does it smell nice?”
Baby puckered his lips. Beneath thick lashes, his bright eyes sparkled. Whether he liked his mother or the flowers, he smiled again.
Being a kept woman was new to Xiao Yingtao. She had no experience, drifting through her days. When Ma Jiming came, she accompanied him. When he didn’t, she devoted herself entirely to the child.
The boy grew quickly. By his first birthday, she still hadn’t chosen a proper name for him. But in her heart, she had truly resigned herself.
Song Xiaosheng had never returned. He truly did not want her anymore.
She wasn’t especially heartbroken. She had Baby now—something to anchor her heart. She didn’t think of Song Xiaosheng so often.
Ma Jiming neither liked nor disliked the child much. He thought the boy was strikingly pretty—a beautiful little bastard. He showed limited concern, yet grew increasingly infatuated with Xiao Yingtao.
Some women are charming and seductive. Some are clueless and foolish, with no schemes at all—and those women can be just as lovable.
Xiao Yingtao belonged to the latter, though sometimes her every smile or frown carried an unconscious allure.
Thus, Ma Jiming truly came to like her. But he did not extend that affection to the child. His only curiosity about the boy concerned the identity of the biological father.
Since Xiao Yingtao only called him “Baby,” Ma Jiming gradually forgot about the matter of the unknown father.
Fortunately, Baby didn’t seem to mind. Whenever someone called “Baby,” he would turn his head and offer a serene, lovely smile.
He was quiet by nature. He listened much and spoke little. At one point, Ma Jiming wondered if he might be simple-minded.
The mother wasn’t particularly bright—why would a foolish son be surprising?
One day, Baby sat in his cradle playing with his fingers. Ma Jiming felt amused and went over to tease him. “Little bastard?”
Hearing the voice, Baby lifted his large eyes.
His features were still undeveloped, making his eyes appear especially big. Long, curved lashes fluttered, enough to melt a heart.
Seeing how adorable and obedient he looked, and with Xiao Yingtao away bathing, Ma Jiming lowered his voice. “Call me ‘Father,’ let me hear.”
Baby blinked and smiled at him.
Ma Jiming smiled too, coaxing, “Say ‘Father.’”
Baby lowered his head and resumed playing with his fingers, ignoring him.
Ma Jiming snorted. Perhaps the boy truly was simple-minded.
Determined, he thought that after spending money to raise this little bastard, it was only natural to expect a single “Father” in return. He crouched by the cradle, persistent. “Hey, can you say ‘Father’?”
Baby continued to ignore him. Ma Jiming began poking his cheek with a finger. The cheek was soft and springy, dimpling under the touch. Finding it amusing, he kept poking. “Little bastard, say ‘Father.’”
Seemingly annoyed, Baby stood and toddled to the other end of the cradle.
Ma Jiming laughed wildly, feeling the child was like a cat or puppy—amusing beyond measure. He followed him, still poking his cheek.
“Mm—”
Baby let out a small, unhappy sound.
Ma Jiming, however, laughed aloud in delight.
He scooped Baby up and lifted him high into the air. Suspended there, Baby showed no fear. He calmly put his favorite finger into his mouth and stared at Ma Jiming with wide eyes. After a moment, he finally spoke. Opening his mouth, he uttered in a milky voice two words: “Call, call.”
Ma Jiming froze for a second, then burst out laughing. “You little fool—it’s you I’m telling to call me ‘Father.’ Call me Father, understand?”
Baby blinked his long lashes and, finger still in his mouth, mimicked, “Call me.”
Ma Jiming laughed. “What a little idiot. Come, say it after me—‘Father.’”
Baby sucked on his finger, looking visibly puzzled.
Seeing him so confused, Ma Jiming exaggerated the mouth shape clearly.
“Fa-ther—”
Baby showed no reaction.
So Ma Jiming opened his mouth wide again and repeated it twice more.
After he had said “Father” three times in a row, Baby clapped his hands and smiled.
Ma Jiming concluded he was hopeless to teach. He put the child back in the cradle and went to the bed to smoke. As he smoked, he began to feel that something was off—but he couldn’t quite say what.
When Baby turned three, he finally received a proper name.
Song Yuzhang.
Ma Jiming thought the name sounded quite respectable. It was strange, though, how Xiao Yingtao had come up with such a good name.
“Didn’t you say you don’t know who that brat’s father is?” Ma Jiming asked suspiciously. “Then why give him the surname Song?”
Xiao Yingtao was shelling roasted peanuts. In a small voice, she said, “It sounds nice.”
Ma Jiming looked at her doubtfully. He suspected the little prostitute was pretending. Not knowing the father? She clearly knew!
Xiao Yingtao was the sort who couldn’t hide things on her face. At the same time, she wasn’t good at reading others’ expressions and had no idea Ma Jiming had grown suspicious.
In truth, she had no habit of sleeping with different men. She slept with Ma Jiming only because he was willing to support her and her son. If he had been willing to give money without sleeping with her, that would have been even better.
Privately, Ma Jiming once pulled Song Yuzhang aside and asked if he knew who his father was.
Song Yuzhang was very young, yet his features were exceptionally beautiful and upright, and somehow he looked intelligent. He rarely went out, almost never stepping beyond the house. Sometimes Xiao Yingtao would carry him out, but he preferred staying indoors. He knew little of the outside world and remained quiet, with not much to say to Ma Jiming.
When Ma Jiming gripped his arm so tightly that it hurt, Song Yuzhang twisted his shoulder slightly and said clearly, “Anyway, it’s not you.”
Ma Jiming was stunned.
Song Yuzhang pulled his hand free from the stunned man and ran off.
Ma Jiming’s face flushed with anger. His suspicions toward Xiao Yingtao deepened!
This little prostitute wanted to trick him into raising some wild man’s child? In her dreams!
With a knot in his heart, Ma Jiming began to bide his time. He suddenly disrupted his usual schedule of visits to Qingxi—and indeed caught Xiao Yingtao laughing and chatting with a Mr. Song at the docks.
He did not explode on the spot. Instead, he waited until Xiao Yingtao returned home. Then he pushed the door open and stormed in. Song Yuzhang was under the osmanthus tree watching ants. Ma Jiming didn’t even glance at him, striding straight inside and upstairs.
Xiao Yingtao was in the upstairs room removing her earrings when, before she could react, Ma Jiming slapped her.
She fell onto the bed and was showered with curses.
“You prostitute—eating my food, wearing my clothes, living in my house—and I even raise that little bastard for you—you damned—”
Enraged, Ma Jiming reached to tear at her qipao. Xiao Yingtao, confused, instinctively reached up to grab at his neck.
“What are you doing…”
She did not cry. Song Yuzhang was still downstairs playing; she didn’t want to cause a commotion. She let Ma Jiming vent his anger first, and only afterward, in a soft and aggrieved voice, asked, “Why did you hit me?”
Still fuming, cigarette in hand, Ma Jiming demanded, “Tell me! That man surnamed Song you were flirting with at the docks—is he that little bastard’s real father?!”
Xiao Yingtao stared at him, mouth open in speechless shock. After a long moment, she gathered her disheveled hair and sat up, looking deeply wronged. “I’ve only met him twice. I’ve never even slept with him. How could Baby be his child?”
“Bullshit!”
“It’s true.”
She explained everything honestly. She was incapable of lying, and Ma Jiming could see it.
That Mr. Song was from out of town, visiting Qingxi to investigate business opportunities. They had indeed met once before. That day, Xiao Yingtao had taken Song Yuzhang out. Because the boy was unusually adorable, Mr. Song had looked twice and come over to speak with her.
In conversation, XIao Yingtao learned that Mr. Song also had a young son—two or three years old—already given the formal name Song Yuzhang.
She hadn’t paid much attention to Mr. Song’s appearance, but she remembered the son’s name. It sounded beautiful. Seeing how distinguished Mr. Song appeared, she thought his son must be a young master. If only Baby could one day be a young master too. After returning home, she thought about it for several days. The more she considered it, the more she liked the name Song Yuzhang. So she gave Baby that name as well.
After hearing the explanation, Ma Jiming didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. This foolish woman was foolish to the core—naming a child like that!
Understanding the whole story, Ma Jiming went downstairs in a much lighter mood. He sauntered over to Song Yuzhang, who was squatting on the ground watching ants, and ruffled his hair. “Little bastard, look how happy you are,” he said with mock affection. In his heart, he found it faintly amusing. Just because you take a young master’s name, do you think you’ll have a young master’s fate? What a pair of fools, mother and son.
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