Foot binding also required consulting the almanac, picking an auspicious day, and adhering to it no matter what.
Ding Yi was drowsily pulled from her warm bed by her nanny. She was only five or six years old then, just beginning her education. Rubbing her eyes and shuffling in her shoes, she stood in the courtyard by the blue stone chopping block.
Her mother observed her with hands tucked in her sleeves, her face expressionless. “It’s time now, and today you can’t avoid it anymore. You should have had your feet bound at three, but I doted on you then and couldn’t bear it. Look at you now—if we delay any longer, you’ll suffer even more in the future.” As she spoke, she nodded and turned away, gesturing to the mammy servants below, “Get to work!”
Ding Yi looked up to see two elderly women with large sewing needles pinned to their collars approaching and squatting down. “Don’t be afraid, young miss. Young bones are soft, just like molding clay—they can be shaped however we want.” One of them produced a pair of red embroidered shoes with golden flowers on the uppers, resembling small water chestnuts, and held them out in her palm. “Look, aren’t they pretty? Once we’re done with the binding, you’ll be able to wear them.”
Ding Yi was still young, but she felt afraid seeing the pointed “zongzi” tips peeking out from beneath the elderly woman’s wide trouser legs. All the women around her had bound feet. Her mother, as the primary wife of the Imperial Censor, held a prestigious position. She wore a grand red lattice skirt with carved cloud patterns, and when she walked, even her toes couldn’t be seen—she too had small feet. Regarding foot binding, the Han Banners were truly not as strict as those under the Five Banners. Han people prized three-inch golden lotuses, a tradition that had endured for thousands of years. Ding Yi’s father’s ancestral home was in Datong, where bound feet were famously thin, small, pointed, curved, fragrant, soft, and perfectly shaped. This caused tremendous suffering for young girls, as the process was more stringent there than elsewhere.
With a “clang,” a maid broke a porcelain bowl. What would they do with the collected fragments? Put them inside the foot-binding cloth. The ceramic shards would cut into the flesh, creating a bloody mess that would fester and stink. Toes would be broken and bent, the instep arched—only then could the small feet take their proper shape.
For the sake of beauty, women would endure anything. Just looking at it made one wince with pain! With tears in her eyes and her mouth stretched wide in distress, Ding Yi pleaded, “I think… let’s do it tomorrow instead!”
Today was postponed to tomorrow, tomorrow to the day after—she had already delayed for two years. This time her mother had hardened her heart and insisted the binding must be done.
No one paid attention to her protests. The elderly servant removed her shoes, rubbed her two delicate feet between her palms, and suddenly stuffed them into the gutted belly of a rooster.
Hot and sticky—Ding Yi’s back hairs stood on end. The two chickens still flapped their wings; their innards connected to blood vessels weren’t quite dead, and some part against her sole was throbbing rhythmically.
This time it seemed she couldn’t escape her fate; she had reached a dead end with no way out. Just as she was feeling hopeless, the western sky darkened like the bottom of a wok, with clouds rolling overhead. A maid looked up and exclaimed, “Madam, it’s about to rain—a downpour is coming!”
No sooner had she spoken than raindrops the size of broad beans came crashing down, and suddenly everything else was forgotten. They pulled her feet from the chicken’s cavity and rushed back inside. The elderly servant with tiny feet ran unsteadily, jostling Ding Yi so much she couldn’t tell which way was north.
In any case, the torrential rain came at just the right moment, disrupting her foot-binding ceremony. Freed from her shackles, Ding Yi happily straddled a bench, watching several household-born servants disciplining their children, and even cheered from the sidelines, “Well done! Children need scolding, just as young trees need pruning.”
The next day, her mother checked the almanac again and had just prepared the necessary items when a group of people entered through the gate, all wearing official uniforms. Leading them was a prince wearing a red-tasseled summer hat, speaking with a Beijing opera accent, who loudly proclaimed: “Women stay inside! Bind all the men!”
Ding Yi didn’t understand what was happening and tried to peek, but her nanny held her down, covering her mouth to prevent her from making noise. Her head spun, everything around her was chaotic, and people seemed to have fallen into an iron bucket. All she could see was the bright white window paper with a paper cut of a magpie carrying auspicious grass pasted in the center of the lattice.
The wind was howling fiercely, sweeping past the eaves and treetops with a mournful wail that struck fear in one’s heart. Her mother knelt before Prince Zhuang, kowtowing. “There must be some misunderstanding here. Wen Lu’s loyalty to Your Highness is known to heaven and earth. His promotions came step by step under your watchful eye. All these years, he has served the court diligently without fail. Even if there were some oversight—no one living in this world can be perfect. Your Highness… Your Highness, you are a living Bodhisattva. Please have mercy and save my husband’s life!”
Prince Zhuang looked down and ordered his guardsmen to help her up, frowning as he said: “It’s not that I don’t want to help, but this matter was personally decreed by His Majesty, and I have no authority. Since the palace has issued orders, I must complete my duty first. We can discuss this later. For now, wait. If the case is cleared and he’s found innocent, justice will naturally be restored to you.”
Ding Yi’s father held a high position as an official in the Censorate. He had always been the one to arrest others; no one expected the tables would turn today. Madam Wen pleaded at length, “Please tell me how this started—give me some hint. It would be your virtuous deed.”
The prince adjusted his nose and said, “Last year, the Censorate judged a case involving the Imperial Clan—Wen Lu was in charge. Several high officials were implicated and all beheaded at once. Now the case has been reopened for review, and someone must take responsibility… Our two families have a relationship. What did I tell him? Not to make enemies for personal gain. He agreed verbally but didn’t listen to me. Now things have gone wrong. Whether he can save his life depends on fate!”
Her father and brothers were taken away. Ding Yi felt as if the sky was falling. The houseful of women were all thunderstruck, with no one able to think of a solution. Though young, Ding Yi understood everything. With tears in her eyes, she tugged at her mother’s leg, trying her best to comfort her: “Don’t worry, Madam. Father will return with a whistle.” Her mother found these words even more heartbreaking and held her, crying until late into the night.
Some things cannot be changed, like trying to hold water in your hands—no matter how hard you try, what must flow will flow. Ding Yi sat by the pond with a small fishing rod, fishing for goldfish. Behind her, people came and went, but she dared not look back. The household could no longer support so many people. Her mother’s resources were drying up, and despite selling everything of value and seeking help through back channels, her father was still sentenced to death with postponement. Considering the disgrace of execution at Caishikou, he had hanged himself in prison with his belt. As for her three brothers, the court, in recognition of her father’s “minor contributions,” mercifully sentenced them to military exile, sending them to Changbai Mountain to dig ginseng.
A good family, scattered in the blink of an eye—how terrifying! Fortunately, the punishment did not extend to the third degree of kinship, so the women were spared. She raised her head to look at the sky as two small birds flew by. Her father and brothers were gone—what remained of the Wen family now? Bean-sized tears fell, creating two ripples on the water’s surface.
The household grew smaller, and the house became increasingly modest. A large residence was exchanged for a smaller one, until finally, only three people remained. At night, she slept with her nanny in the west wing, while her mother slept alone in the main room.
Sweat crawled like worms across her cheeks. She wiped it away with her arm, too hot to sleep, and sat up. The crackling sound of burning firewood was still in her ears. She turned her head sharply to see flames shooting skyward outside—the main house was on fire, and her mother was still inside! Terrified, she cried out loudly, but her nanny slept like the dead. Desperate, she slapped her nanny’s face repeatedly to wake her. Even awake, the nanny was of little help, stumbling as she got off the bed and fell on the stepping board. Carrying Ding Yi, she went out to find the mistress, but the main room was engulfed in flames, the eaves distorting in the heat waves, with no sign of her mother.
Everything was gone—she couldn’t lose her mother too! She broke free and rushed forward desperately. Her nanny held onto her, refusing to let go. She stomped her feet and cried until her voice was hoarse: “Mother… come out quickly…”
Her chest felt as if crushed by a millstone, an unbearable pain. Surrounded by scorching flames, she felt she would die there. In that moment of despair, a cool hand covered her forehead, and a voice softly called to her: “Tree, whose mother are you dreaming about? Must be a beautiful lady, judging by how anxious and eager you look!”
She caught her breath and opened her eyes to see her senior disciple brother’s backlit face in the dim light.
“Having a nightmare? Crying and shouting—so frightening!” Seeing her labored breathing, her senior disciple brother opened the cabinet to find a medicine gourd, poured out two Ronghsin Pills to feed her, and said while standing by the kang bed: “You know that Amba Lingwu? The warrant was signed the other day. The Ministry of Justice has submitted the petition, and the Emperor has approved it. He’ll be executed at noon tomorrow. Looking at your condition, I suspect you won’t be able to perform your duties. Better inform Master and rest at home!”
She said that wouldn’t be necessary: “If I’m not there, who will hold the sword for Master?”
Hearing this, her senior disciple brother sucked his teeth: “How capable you are! As if the execution couldn’t proceed without you taking this bloody assignment!”
She squinted at him upon hearing this: “Would you like to do it instead?”
Her senior disciple brother turned away in embarrassment, covering half his face and muttering, “Why am I suddenly having a toothache…”
It wasn’t a toothache, but rather a pain in his side! He always withered at the mention of holding the sword, and not without reason. In this profession, one’s reputation and ability rested entirely on the sword. This sword was temperamental—normally kept in the Xuanwu Gate tower, it was more difficult to please than a nobleman. Before using it, one had to make offerings of incense, paper money, and kowtow in worship. Those who weren’t “clean” couldn’t approach it—one had to be either extremely yin or extremely yang. Those who had lost their virginity couldn’t touch it; if they did, it would throw a tantrum. No matter how well the blade was sharpened, if it curled at the crucial moment and got stuck in the neck, unable to separate flesh from bone, the executioner’s reputation would be ruined.
Having said all this, let’s return to the “red assignment.” What is a “red assignment”? When a convicted criminal is beheaded at Caishikou, that’s called a “red assignment.” The criminal is reluctant to depart from the living world, so someone must escort them on their journey. Not to worry—someone awaits at the execution ground, a figure wearing a red headscarf and quick boots, specializing in this task: the executioner. The executioner, a frightening profession to mention, is just a way to earn a living. This business deals with the King of Hell, carrying heavy killing energy that ordinary people dare not provoke. The work is light and the salary high. Once you accept it, you wouldn’t trade it even for the position of an official adviser. Now, Ding Yi was apprenticed to Wu Changgeng, the most famous executioner in the Shuntian Prefecture.
How did a proper young lady enter this profession? That’s a long story. To cut it short, her mother died in that fire, and their small courtyard house was burned to the ground. Her nanny took her to relatives on both sides of the family, but they all said that with some family members dead and others exiled, leaving only her behind showed she had a tough fate—none were willing to take her in. When the tree falls, the monkeys scatter—it has always been so. With no alternative, she finally followed her nanny back to Sanhe County.
Her nanny’s family wasn’t wealthy either. The elders had passed away, and they lived in adjacent rooms to her nanny’s brother. The sisters-in-law often quarreled, the men were useless, and life was quite difficult. Fortunately, her nanny was a shrewd person who brought her back to raise as a boy, giving her the surname Mu and renaming her Xiaoshu (Little Tree). Everyone knew that girls faced many inconveniences and were easily targeted, while boys were somewhat safer. Even so, the domineering man in her nanny’s household grumbled: “A single boy, yet you treat him like a treasure. The family at the village entrance has no son—send the boy to them for a better life. We could get two bags of cornmeal in exchange. Wouldn’t that be good?” Had they known she was a girl, they would have used various means to exploit her. Being sold as a child bride would have been the best-case scenario; the worst would be selling her to a brothel. One feels the pain of one’s flesh, but for someone else’s daughter, they wouldn’t care even if she were cut into strips.
Her nanny truly couldn’t bear to part with her. Her son had died of smallpox a few years earlier, and a foster daughter was half as good as a son. Unfortunately, her nanny’s life was short. She fell ill the year the old Emperor abdicated and passed away in spring when the new Emperor changed the era name. Counting on fingers, five or six years had passed, and Ding Yi was only twelve years old then. A twelve-year-old child needed to find a way to make a living. She was perceptive, knowing that staying with the Mu family would bring no good fortune, so she humbly fetched water and ground flour for Wu Changgeng’s mother. Seeing the child’s cleverness, they agreed to accept her as an apprentice and brought her back to Beijing.