This time, my grandmother took extra care of my mother during her pregnancy.

My usually timid mother sighed to me, "It's nice being pregnant with a boy. I've never received such treatment before."

Every day, Grandma cooked eggs, and every month, she had my three sisters bring home a slaughtered chicken in turn, calling it filial duty.

The whole family was eagerly awaiting the birth of this unborn brother.

Soon, the due date arrived.

My mother was in labor for two days, screaming in pain, and finally gave birth to a stillborn baby.

The midwife came out holding the baby, and Grandma and I rushed forward to see what happened.

The baby was indeed a boy, but his face was blue, his lips pale—he didn't look like a healthy baby at all.

The midwife held her hand under the baby's nose to check for breath. After a long while, she said solemnly, "Bella, don't be sad. The baby is gone."

Grandma refused to believe it. "No, I don't believe it! He just can't cry. How could he be dead?"

She reached out to pinch, twist, and slap the baby, leaving marks on his delicate skin that quickly faded.

But the baby remained silent, his eyelids unmoving.

My father, unable to bear it, stopped her frantic behavior.

"Prepare for the funeral."

Only then did Grandma realize her wish had once again been unfulfilled.

The Chad family still had no male heir.

At the funeral, the adults wailed loudly.

My three sisters returned, but our expressions were indifferent. Occasionally, we pretended to cry, saying symbolically, "Poor brother, what a bitter fate."

Luckily, Grandma was crying so hard she could barely breathe and didn't have the energy to care about us sisters.

Three days after the baby's burial, we were cleaning up the house with Grandma.

Suddenly, a man dressed as a Taoist priest walked in uninvited.

"Ah!" he exclaimed theatrically.

We stopped what we were doing, all eyes turning to him.

"There seems to be a lingering spirit here!"

Hearing this, Grandma's spirits lifted, and she rushed to grab the Taoist's hand, crying, "Is it my grandson? Does he not want to leave? Oh, my poor child."

The Taoist's gaze swept over us sisters one by one, finally resting on me.

He looked at me meaningfully for a long time.

Then he turned to my grandmother and continued, "Watch your words and deeds. This is karma..."

"What?" The old woman raised her tear-filled face, confused.

"Your grandson's spirit is indeed still here. It seems the resentment of someone here is too strong, and it has summoned him back."

"Children have a lot of energy and like to play. You might want to check if there's a dead sparrow behind the house." The Taoist pointed at me.

I froze until my third sister nudged me with her elbow. I snapped out of it and hurried to the backyard.

Sure enough!

I returned to the main room and reported what I had seen.

Grandma suddenly knelt at the Taoist's feet, crying and begging him to take my brother's spirit away so he could be reincarnated into our family again.

The Taoist muttered some incantations and drew a talisman, which he burned to ashes over a candle flame.

Everyone felt a sudden chill sweep through the room, swirling dust on the floor and rushing out the door.

"I have taken the spirit with me. He will be reincarnated."

Before leaving, the Taoist emphasized again, "Watch your words and actions."

Grandma thought that her habit of badmouthing villagers and taking small advantages had provoked divine anger. She kept beating her chest in repentance.

The Taoist's words, "He will be reincarnated," gave Grandma and my parents hope for another pregnancy.

In the three days between my brother's death and the burial, Grandma, despite her grief, did not spare my mother, who was still in postpartum confinement. She verbally abused her, saying she was incapable of giving birth to a son and had wasted so many chickens and eggs during her pregnancy—things that could have been sold for money.

I sat by the bedside, looking at my mother's pale face, feeling an overwhelming sense of sorrow.

"Mom, don't be sad about the baby brother. You still have me and my sisters," I comforted her.

"The only thing Mom needs to do now is to get well quickly and try to get pregnant again soon," she said, trying to act nonchalant.

"If I can't give birth to a son, your dad and grandma will never be happy."

"I'm already forty. If I don't have a son soon, the Chad family line will end. How could I face our ancestors?"

I wanted to persuade her otherwise, but she seemed resolute, so I had to give up.

The four walls of the house had confined my mother's entire life.

Her breasts sagged like those of a woman in her fifties; childbirth had caused her to suffer from hair loss, incontinence, and chronic back pain. After giving birth to my brother, she endured the agony of engorged breasts.

I saw all this and felt a deep pain in my heart.

"I hope Mom never has to have another child," I whispered a wish to the sky.

"Yvette, come over here and make some chicken soup for your mom. You can have some too," Grandma, uncharacteristically, was making chicken soup again, and this time, there was a portion for me as well.

I knew it was the Taoist's words that had rekindled her hope.

"He will be reincarnated."

But who knows where he will be reincarnated?

I found it quite amusing.

But still, I obediently added firewood to help cook the chicken soup.

After all, I was craving it too.