Chapter 1The Price of a Daughter

Do you know how miserable it was for a family without a son in a traditional, tight-knit rural community?

At community meetings, my dad had no right to speak.

At Thanksgiving dinner, my mom wasn't allowed at the main table.

Even when inheriting property, we only got the dilapidated, leaky old farmhouse.

Until I was five, and my mom got pregnant again...

* * *

When my mom had me, she lost a lot of blood and almost didn't make it.

For years after, she didn't get pregnant again.

The local midwife said she likely damaged her body and wouldn't have any more children.

When we divided the family property with my uncle, I was four.

My dad was very angry: "I paid for half the materials and put in the labor to build the new house. Why do I only get the old farmhouse?"

My aunt, nursing my cousin, said dismissively: "You don't have a son, what do you need such a big house for?"

"Look at us, we have three boys. They'll need a place to live when they get married!"

My grandma chimed in: "Girls are meant to be married off anyway. You'll have to rely on your nephews to take care of you in your old age!"

My dad's spirit broke instantly.

It sounds ridiculous now, doesn't it?

But the idea that nephews were "real family" and daughters belonged to "other families" was very common back then.

My dad came out of the living room and sat on a big rock in the yard, his head hanging low.

The moonlight was bright, casting a deep, dark shadow beside him.

I walked over and hugged his neck from behind: "Daddy, I'll take care of you and Mommy when you're old."

He patted my hand, his voice choking: "Okay, Lily is such a good girl."

In the end, we still moved into the old farmhouse.

The family's old tractor and farming equipment were all given to my uncle.

We only got a rickety old manual thresher.

The night we moved in, my mom tried many times but couldn't get the old wood stove to light.

This house was built by my great-grandfather. It had mud-brick walls and a thatched roof.

Because it had been empty for so long, the dampness inside wouldn't dissipate anytime soon.

After using up a whole box of matches, my mom suddenly covered her face, her shoulders shaking continuously.

My dad poured the water he fetched into a cracked bucket and walked silently to her side.

My mom hugged his waist and burst out crying.

That night, I slept on a bed in the north room. The cold wind pierced me from all directions through the cracks.

I curled up in the stiff, old quilt, praying silently: Please let Mommy have a little brother.

That way, she and Daddy probably wouldn't be so sad anymore.

Perhaps God heard my prayer. My mom soon got pregnant.