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.

The good times didn't last long.

Just as my parents and Grandma were enthusiastically discussing whether the secret recipe they got from Aunt Chelsea in the village would work for having a son, Mom entered menopause.

At first, they thought she had conceived again so quickly and planned to call the village doctor from last time to check the gender.

But this time, he told Grandma, "Your daughter-in-law isn't pregnant. If her period hasn't come for a long time, she should go to the hospital to check if there's a problem or if she's menopausal."

"How could that be? She's only forty!"

No one believed it.

So, even though my mother hadn't been able to go to the hospital during her difficult childbirth, she went this time.

But the result was menopause.

"Doctor, can she still have children?" my father, Sean, nervously asked.

Receiving a negative response, he was completely disheartened.

When he came home, he shared the news with everyone.

Except for me, everyone was surprised.

There were so many people in the village, but no one had ever heard of a woman reaching menopause at forty.

I asked, "Does menopause mean she can't have any more children?"

Grandma impatiently pushed me aside, "Kids shouldn't interrupt."

But from their conversation, I understood that Mom wouldn't have to bear any more children.

How coincidental, I thought. Could it be that some divine force had seen my mother's suffering and came to save her?

But then I thought, how could that be?

Just look at our village. The preference for sons over daughters is severe. Once a woman marries in, she is expected to keep having children. If she is lucky and has two boys in a row, she won't suffer as much. Women like my mom, who can't have a son, are many. How could she have the luck to be favored by heaven? If she had such luck, she would have had a brother long ago.

No, then there might not be me, maybe not even Sanjie.

Suddenly, I remembered what the Taoist had said to me, "Watch your words and actions."

Seven months ago, I said I would rather invite trouble than invite a brother.

Half a month ago, I wished for my mother to be free from the pain of childbirth.

It turns out the Taoist's watch your words and actions wasn't meant for my grandmother—it was meant for me.

I suddenly realized.

It was as if I saw a glimmer of hope in the darkness.

"I want to go to school! I want to be the top student! I want to make lots of money!" I shouted loudly as I ran.

The villagers saw me acting strangely and whispered behind me, "What a good girl. Her brother's death drove her mad."

Whether it was a kind compliment or a malicious guess, I didn't care anymore. I only knew I was saved!

I refused to be like my mother, trapped in this square courtyard for life. I want to live for myself.

I wanted to leave here.

Leave.