From the time she could remember, Xibao had never eaten her fill.

It wasn’t because her family was poor. She ate soft, glutinous, refined white rice, drank beauty-enhancing dendrobium tea, and occasionally had a bite of donkey-hide gelatin cake or pork rind jelly. Mama never let her eat hard pastries, because they would enlarge her face. Soy sauce was never added to meals either, as it was said to blacken those jade-white teeth.

She wasn’t naturally built well—not born with a small frame, so even a little excess flesh was very conspicuous. So Mama ordered her to eat at most half-full each meal, forbidding any meat, eggs, fish, or shrimp that would help her grow. After each meal, Mama would tighten her delicately embroidered silk waist belt, creating a willow-thin waist, measuring inch by inch with a soft ruler. Only if she hadn’t exceeded the limit was she allowed the next meal.

Xibao often watched the laborers and rough servant girls outside, holding bowls of porridge and slurping heartily, and would feel a moment of envy.

She wondered when she might indulge herself in eating just once—lard mixed with rice, while it was hot, with a trace of soy sauce and a sprinkle of scallions, eating until only an oily sheen remained at the bottom of the bowl, experiencing the feeling of uncomfortable fullness.

The visiting matchmakers all clicked their tongues in praise: “This face, this figure, these feet! Sister Gu is so lucky—heaven let you pick up such a treasure!”

Mama had indeed asked someone to calculate that Xibao was destined for wealth and honor, with every aspect of her birth date auspicious, and was overjoyed.

Xibao vaguely remembered that her surname wasn’t Gu but Bai, and that she had an official father and a titled mother. But after some great calamity, she had inexplicably ended up here. However, these memories might not be accurate—perhaps Mama had made them up to raise her value.

Buying girls from poor families cost only a dozen strings of cash in bad years. Then they would train their appearance and bearing, with regulations for sitting, standing, walking, and lying; they learned music, chess, calligraphy, painting, poetry composition, singing and dancing, shuanglu board games, mahjong, and even cracking melon seeds and lighting opium pipes—everything had its proper method. The salt merchants of Lianghuai were enormously wealthy, and merchants from Anhui, Chaoshan, Guangdong, and Shanxi would come seeking goods. Once favored by a wealthy merchant, it was like a carp leaping through the dragon gate—top-quality goods could sell for over a thousand taels, becoming the talk of the entire street.

But not everyone was so fortunate. Jiangxue was Xibao’s roommate, carved like fine jade with feet bound into cotton-soft crescents. But during her first viewing, she was nervous and spilled sparks while serving tobacco, burning a hole in the client’s silk shirt. The merchant was furious, splashing hot tobacco on her face.

Mama hastily appeased the client and called a doctor. Learning that the medicine would be expensive and scarring inevitable, she sent the doctor away and used folk remedies, smearing opium paste on Jiangxue’s face and tightly wrapping it with alcohol-soaked cloth. Jiangxue screamed for three days. When the cloth was removed, half her face had rotted away. Mama was both frightened and furious, ordering a severe beating and scolding her for being worthless, wasting years of nurturing, and demanding repayment.

“I won’t ask for what I spent on your food and clothing—consider it charity. That client wanted to pay twelve hundred taels, but now it’s all ruined because of you! I won’t ask for much—just repay me twelve hundred taels, and I’ll let you go wherever you want!”

Jiangxue couldn’t produce the money. Though she usually wore gold and silver, all clothes and jewelry were locked away with keys not belonging to her.

So she naturally went to the brothel next door, also Gu family property. When Xibao occasionally saw her, the thirteen-year-old girl’s scars hadn’t fully healed, yet her whole body already stank—no amount of incense could mask that putrid smell.

The companions around her disappeared one by one. Some got infections during foot-binding, ending up with asymmetrical feet and being completely ruined. Some passed fifteen without buyers and had to receive clients, developing sores all over within a few years until they looked inhuman. Others dared to escape and were beaten nearly to death, wrapped in broken mats, and thrown outside the city for whoever wanted them.

Some did enter official households, only to be thrown back months later by fierce primary wives, not an inch of good flesh on their bodies, with demands for reimbursement of their purchase price, creating quite a legal mess.

Mama often smiled and told Xibao that others weren’t capable—the whole family’s wealth depended on her. If she were filial, she would be obedient and properly repay Mama’s nurturing kindness.

Xibao endured excruciating pain, voluntarily tightening the cloth on her feet by two more points.

She knew that only by being obedient might she someday eat lard rice.

In her budding youth, Xibao’s figure began to elongate. Her face was like fresh flowers, skin like congealed cream, every feature exquisite. Every movement was like a delicate willow swaying in the wind, innocence mixed with allure. Her clever little mouth could flatter, and when she sang, her voice had childish charm mixed with seduction, making listeners weak in the knees.

Any man standing beside her would feel virile and robust by comparison.

Most precious was her pair of feet—slender, small, pointed, curved, fragrant, and soft—cultivated through seven years of tears into a pair of water lilies.

Mama often held her feet, beaming with joy, looking and looking, kissing again and again, having someone trace the pattern of her shoes as the establishment’s signature.

The opportunity came quickly. Two merchants competed for her favor. The drunken Master Su from Guangdong threw down a fortune—fifteen hundred taels, setting a price record for ten years. During the wedding procession, Mama shed reluctant tears. Sitting in the sedan chair, listening to firecrackers and suona horns outside, Xibao felt as glorious as a princess.

The master’s primary wife had just died, leaving no heirs. He had come to relax and was enchanted with Xibao.

Xibao thought her good days had arrived. But when she served the master his meal and picked up her bowl, she glimpsed his astonished expression and felt alarmed. She voluntarily put down the bowl, saying with difficulty that she couldn’t eat anymore.

The master loved her dearly, calling her to sit in his lap while lamenting her thinness and stroking her abnormally slender waist, saying she was such a pitiful child.

The white rice and chicken wing tips were thrown away to feed the dogs. Xibao went hungry while telling the master jokes for entertainment.

Late at night, she was starving and regretted it. She snuck into the kitchen. Not daring to eat much, she chewed one mouthful of steamed bread repeatedly, finally suppressing the grinding pain in her stomach.

Looking up, she was nearly frightened to death. Ah Cai, the master’s servant, was looking at her in surprise.

Xibao fell to her knees with a thud. But Ah Cai seemed frightened too, said nothing, and ran away.

Xibao thought wealthy households were indeed different. In the past, this would have meant a beating.

Better luck was yet to come. Just after returning to the mansion, she was diagnosed as pregnant. Xibao was both happy and afraid.

Thin girls who starved like her usually had menstrual problems. Merchants bought them purely for pleasure, not for carrying on the family line. But she had become one of the rare exceptions.

Perhaps it was because of those few midnight bites of steamed bread.

Master Su was a third-generation only child with no descendants. The adoptive children had already been selected, so now the whole household celebrated.

Xibao became the ninth concubine, brought into a garden like a fairyland, with her own small courtyard and servant girls.

Moreover, the doctor said the ninth concubine was constitutionally weak and needed nourishment—she needed to gain weight.

Xibao looked at the table full of meat and fish, dazzled.

The master ordered her to finish it all.

She joyfully picked up her chopsticks, loving the treasure in her belly to the extreme.

Unfortunately, morning sickness combined with climate adjustment meant everything she ate came back up. Xibao didn’t mind—she vomited and ate, ate and vomited, swallowing while retching until her maid was frightened and tearfully begged her to stop.

Morning sickness lasted nine months. Xibao gained twenty pounds in a daze, but even by the time of delivery, she still hadn’t experienced the feeling of “eating to satisfaction.”

The only thing that felt more precious to her than lard rice was her Little Bai.

She was too young, surviving nine deaths, to deliver this child. Holding him in her arms—exquisite, delicate, blindingly white, like a miniature version of herself. Only his build was different, a chubby little bundle that was increasingly lovable.

Xibao swore never to let him go hungry in this lifetime.

She opened her shirt, wanting to feed him fully. In an instant, the child in her arms was snatched away.

“Nursing is the wet nurse’s job.” The midwife laughed at her. “How could such a young concubine know how to raise children! Rest well!”

Yes, she was still a child herself—how could she raise another?

The food on the table returned to cat-food portions. The master reminded her to eat less.

“Look how thick this waist has gotten—a handful of flesh when pinched. What does that look like!”

Xibao felt the gloating gazes around her. Even when those people played with Little Bai, their eyes didn’t hold maternal kindness.

She realized that to protect her Little Bai, she needed to keep the master in her room as much as possible. She had to return to her former appearance.

She pushed away the bowl of rice and sipped soup in small mouthfuls.

She learned scheming and plotting, learned to frame others without leaving traces, learned to manipulate hearts so others would be frustrated while she remained clean and pitiable. She learned to languidly recline on the couch smoking opium, passing the mouthpiece mouth-to-mouth to the master. She practiced in the mirror, collecting various remedies to remain as innocent and alluring as at fourteen.

Only when alone with her Little Bai could she relax slightly—her waist needn’t be bound so tightly, her makeup needn’t be so heavy. She could be uninhibited, playing games with him that she hadn’t played enough as a child.

Only Little Bai looked at her with dependence, trust, and genuine affection in his eyes, making her feel like a person rather than a plaything.

She thought she was indeed blessed by fate.

Watching Little Bai eat heartily made her genuinely happy. Little Bai suddenly stopped his chopsticks and said, “Mama, eat.”

Xibao was startled, seeing the child’s pure gaze, panicking.

“Mama isn’t hungry.”

“You are hungry.” The young boy was remarkably observant, acting coquettishly: “Mama, eat.”

Xibao smiled and shook her head, turning to avoid the chopsticks full of pork he held to her mouth, scolding him for being improper.

She knew this breach couldn’t be opened. Once her defenses fell, all previous efforts would be wasted.

Watching Little Bai’s smile turn to confusion, then grievance, throwing down his chopsticks and running out to play, leaving half a bowl of rice.

Xibao ordered the table cleared. The maid joyfully carried away the half-plate of pork.

She sighed, picking up bedside needlework to prepare new shoes for her Little Bai.

Children grew so quickly—soon he was taller than her. He started school, spending less and less time with her, saying things she began not to understand. His temper also grew, sometimes deliberately making her angry. The longevity locket she had saved her monthly allowance to buy and have blessed, he found childish and left unworn at his bedside.

Making her angry was one thing—she at most shed a few tears privately. But he began defying the master, speaking wildly about arranged marriages, even saying things like “you’ll come to no good end this way.” The master flew into a rage, giving him a severe beating and making him kneel in the ancestral hall all night.

Xibao tearfully applied medicine to his wounds. Little Bai, half-conscious, mumbled: “Mama, when I grow up, shall I take you away from here?”

Xibao laughed, saying he truly had a child’s thoughts. Without the master, what would he eat, what would he wear, who would give him a second glance? Better to yield and not waste such good fortune.

Who knew fate was unpredictable—within just two or three years, the one thinking of “leaving here” was Xibao herself.

She didn’t know why the master’s business collapsed, why he got entangled in lawsuits, why the red-button official who had visited last year suddenly turned against him, pinning countless crimes on him.

Xibao was twenty-five in nominal age, had never been on the street alone, never spoken to strange men. She thought the master surely wouldn’t abandon his flesh and blood. The worst outcome would probably be the master taking her and Little Bai to farm the land in male-farming, female-weaving simplicity.

But when the grand garden became a small courtyard with fewer and fewer people, when the master, unprecedentedly, called her to the outer hall to revive her long-abandoned skills entertaining guests, Xibao saw the gazes of a table full of male clients and suddenly understood her fate.

She was forced to drink a jin of white liquor. Not wanting to disturb sleeping Little Bai, she vomited outside, cleaned herself up, then felt dizzy and powerless, leaning against the wall, crying.

Someone helped her up. It was Ah Cai, the master’s servant. He tearfully told her the Su family was beyond saving. With the Taiping rebels powerful, the court needed military funds—the Su family’s wealth was their crime. The master’s head probably couldn’t be saved, and the women and children would all be sold into slavery.

Xibao was panicked and helpless.

Ah Cai suddenly knelt, saying he had admired the ninth concubine for years and was willing to take her away, not to be buried in this living coffin. He would cherish her forever and treat her well for life.

Xibao refused. She couldn’t abandon her Little Bai.

Ah Cai said they could take Little Bai too. He knew boat workers who could get a vessel to take mother and child to Hong Kong, Macau, or any small village. Male farming, female weaving, and raising the child safely to adulthood.

“Though I’m useless, I at least have strength. With simple food and tea, I can keep you both fed every meal.”

Xibao spent half the night in a daze, then began packing the room’s valuables.

She didn’t know how much her remaining jewelry and clothes were worth, but buying dozens of mu of farmland should be enough, right?

People in the mansion began fleeing one by one. The master posted guards at the gates. Ah Cai was very careful, smuggling out boxes of valuables in batches. They agreed on a time and place—she would board the boat and hide first, then he would carry the sleeping Little Bai away.

“Young Master has a bad temper. If he knew our plan, he’d probably stubbornly refuse to leave. When the wet nurse couldn’t find him at night, she’d raise an alarm. Better to take him quietly while he sleeps—this is for his good.”

Xibao nodded. She truly didn’t know how to explain to Little Bai.

Best if he woke up already in a safe, bright new home. However he might blame her then, she would accept it willingly.

On the appointed day, heavy rain fell. Xibao dressed warmly and tightly wrapped her feet.

She slipped into the kitchen and, after much hesitation, served herself a small bowl of lard rice.

The lard was cold with a greasy fishy smell. The rice was the coarse grain servants ate, mixed with sand particles. She ate mouthful after mouthful, savoring it with relish.

Ah Cai said he would fatten her up and have several more chubby sons with her.

Xibao chewed with bulging cheeks, tears falling into the rice. She thought having Little Bai was enough.

But the lard rice was truly delicious.

Her belly felt warm. She felt her limbs fill with unprecedented strength.

She had already cleaned out all valuable items from the room, leaving only the gold-inlaid jade longevity locket. Xibao hung it around Little Bai’s neck and kissed his soft little cheek.

Then, gathering all her lifetime’s courage, she rushed out the small courtyard’s back door.

She didn’t lock the door, making it convenient for Ah Cai to return for him.

Xibao walked the longest journey of her life. Rain soaked through her shoes, her feet ached piercingly, her hair was thoroughly wet, her slender waist couldn’t support the heavy skirt—she fell every few steps. Vicious dogs barked beside her. Finally, the foot-binding cloth trailed long behind her. She simply removed it. The broken bones between her toes rubbed in the flesh—every step was like walking on knife points.

The rainwater at her feet turned pale red.

Thinking of Little Bai’s sleeping face, she gritted her teeth and continued forward.

Finally, she heard the sinister sound of water. By the dark Pearl River, she saw nothing but emptiness.

With strong wind and heavy rain, there were no boats by the river. No one was waiting for her either.

Xibao panicked, shouting:

“Ah Cai!”

“Brother Ah Cai!”

…

Finally, someone drowsily emerged from a small riverside hut, cursing.

“Which family’s woman is wailing here? I’ll report this to the authorities!”

Xibao said tremblingly: “Ah Cai…”

“That flat-nosed Ah Cai? Ha! He took a boat away this evening! With several big bundles! What do you want with him?…”

Xibao couldn’t hear the rest, feeling like her whole being was torn apart. Her feet felt like two snakes had burrowed in, gnawing at her heart.

Someone ran up behind her, calling sternly. Xibao closed her eyes and plunged headfirst into the icy Pearl River.

………………………

Xibao was fished out, unconscious and burning with fever.

The master was furious, ordering her beaten until her body was completely mangled, leaving only that porcelain-white face intact.

Her rotted, stinking feet were rebound, sewn tight, and doused with strong perfume powder. Then she was stuffed into a sedan chair and sold for an unknown number of taels.

She could no longer feel the sedan chair’s jolting. In her delirium, she remembered her “wedding” day.

Everyone said Xibao was blessed, born with devastating beauty, a lifetime of fine clothes and food, and married to wealth and nobility. Through her son’s honor, even in death, she would be a proper lady worthy of the family genealogy.

Though in her entire life, she had only one satisfying meal.

And never saw her, Little Bai, again.