The Immortal Dandelion

Y'all know how brutal it was for families without sons back in the countryside? When the village elders met up, Dad didn't get a word in. New Year's Eve dinner? Mom wasn't even allowed at the table. Even when the brothers split the property, all we got was a rundown, leaky mud-brick shack. Until I turned five, Mom got pregnant again... chapter01The Weight of Home When Mom had me, she lost so much blood we nearly lost her. For years after, she couldn't conceive again. The village midwife said her body was too damaged—she'd never have more kids. The year we split from Uncle's place, I was four. Dad was furious: "I put in most of the money and sweat for that new house! Why're we stuck with this dump?" Auntie yanked up her shirt to breastfeed my cousin: "What do you need a big house for? You've got no son!" "Look at me—three boys! They'll need space when they find wives!" Grandma chimed in: "Girls marry off eventually. You'll need your nephew to take care of you in old age!" The fight went right out of Dad right then. Sounds ridiculous now, doesn't it? But back then? Nephews were family, daughters were outsiders. That's just how folks thought. Dad stumbled out of the main room and slumped onto the big stone in the yard. The moon was bright, casting a heavy shadow beside him. I walked over and hugged him from behind: "Dad, I'll take care of you and Mom when I grow up." He patted my hand, voice thick: "That's my girl. Xiaxia's so good." We still moved into the mud-brick shack. Our old ox and plow tools? All went to Uncle. All we got was a rickety foot-pedal rice thresher falling apart. Moving night, Mom knelt by the stove trying to light a fire. No luck. This place was built by my great-grandpa—mud bricks and a thatched roof. Empty for years, the dampness clung to the air like a shroud. She used a whole box of matches, then suddenly buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. Dad poured water into the cracked clay jar and silently went to her. Mom clutched his waist and just wailed. That night, I slept in the north room. Cold wind stabbed through every c***k in the walls. I curled tight under the stiff quilt, praying: Please let Mom have a son. Then maybe she and Dad wouldn't hurt so much. Maybe heaven heard me—Mom got pregnant again quick。 chapter02 Everyone in the village said: "Mom's carrying sharp! Craving sour food—it's gotta be a boy!" Dad kept saying "sons and daughters are the same," but at dinner he told Mom: "Big Head Zhang asked me to work in Guangdong next year. Says there's real opportunity down there." "Work a few years, save up, we'll build a proper house. Can't find a wife for our son without one!" Grandma brought over two laying hens and warned me: "Xiaxia, these eggs are for the little brother in Momma's belly. Don't get greedy, ya hear?" The village women asked: "Xiaxia, want a little brother or sister?" I didn't hesitate: "Brother!" They cackled: "Once you got a brother, your folks won't love you no more!" I panicked: "Will too! I'll always be their baby!" They laughed harder, not caring how those words scared a four-year-old half to death. The one-child policy was in force then. But the rule said: rural families could have a second if the first was a girl. When Mom's time came... She labored a whole day with no luck. Before dawn next morning, Grandma rushed to the butcher, bought a slab of fatty pork and a pig bone. When she got back... Mom had given birth. A sister! Grandma stood in the yard holding the meat. The midwife called: "Come see your granddaughter! Plump and fair!" "Nah," Grandma said. "My eldest's boys need their breakfast!" She left the bone, took all the meat. Times were hard—no grease, folks craved fat. Bones were cheap. I went inside to see my sister. She was all wrinkled, face red as a beet—looked like a little old man. Not "plump and fair" at all. Mom lay weak on the bed, staring at the thatched roof, tears streaming down her temples. Dad smoked: "Stop cryin'. What's done is done." Mom gave birth right during autumn harvest. Grandma and Grandpa were busy at Uncle's. Dad and I were bringing in the rice. Mom stayed in bed three days, then got up to cook for us. Left her with aches that flared up every time it rained. That New Year, my two city aunts came home for the feast. Auntie played mahjong with them while my sister wailed hungry. Mom cooked in the smoky kitchen with Grandma. After hours, they finally finished. Mom went to feed my sister, but when she came back—no place at the table for her. Dad and my second cousin started to leave. Grandma stopped them: "Don't fuss. We'll just eat in the kitchen." chapter03 Too much. I grabbed my parents' hands. "Let's go home." Mom hushed me, bouncing my crying sister: "Kids don't understand. Eat." Leaving Uncle's that night, Auntie smiled and twisted the knife right into Mom's heart: "Sis-in-law, you've got it way easier than me." "You have no idea how exhausting raising three sons is." That night, no moon. New Year's Eve—every house lit up. Dim yellow light pooled on the muddy village road. I whispered: "Why do we put up with this?" Dad snapped: "What do you know, kid?" Mom's face stayed in shadow: "Who told me I couldn't bear a son?" Ah. They didn't believe I'd care for them in old age. Dad never went to Guangdong. No son meant no need for a new house. Just get by. Folks say country people are simple? But when they turn nasty, they cut deeper than anyone. Somewhere along the way, Dad got a nickname: "Zhang the Mule." Mules—can't breed. When the clan collected money for the family tree, someone joked: "Skip Zhang the Mule! No son? Making him pay ain't right!" Dad stayed silent. Mom only cried at home—outside, she smiled and took it. Couldn't change them. So I changed myself. They called Dad "Mule"? I called their whole family mules. Cousins bullied me and my sister? I bit, I kicked. Even if I got beaten black and blue, I'd make 'em bleed. Grandma snatched our newly hatched chicks—"I'll raise 'em for you!" Next thing? They were Uncle's. I chased her down and took them back. Auntie tied our ox to our field and ate every single sprout of our new hollow-stemmed greens. "Accident!" she lied. I opened her garden gate and chased all our chickens in. They pecked her patch bare. She stood there shrieking, hands on hips. I screamed back: "Touch our crops again, and I'll take a scythe to your whole rice field!" Slowly, I got a reputation in the village. The aunties always warned me: "No brothers, that temper of yours? Nobody'll have your back at your husband's home." Mom sighed looking at me: "With an attitude like that? Who'd even marry her!" But Mom... I was just... Protecting you. Protecting this family. Years flew by. Time for my sister to start preschool. That day, two things happened that changed my life. chapter04 First: On my sister Qiuqiu's first day, the teacher taught counting. After three tries, she counted to one hundred perfect. The substitute teacher f rom our village told Mom: "Your Qiuqiu's way smarter than Xiaxia ever was!" Second: Uncle Eighth from our clan got stomach cancer. No health insurance back then. For country folks? Cancer was a death sentence. But Uncle Eighth's daughter—who'd finished vocational school and worked in the city—sent him to a hospital. They cut out most of his stomach. He lived! Even bragged to villagers about his city hospital adventures. Coming home from Uncle Eighth's, Mom grabbed Dad, who was heading out to play cards: "Jianjun! Qiuqiu's so smart! If we raise her right, she'll be just as good as any son!" That hope lit a fire under Mom and Dad again. They'd always treated us equal before. But from that day? Qiuqiu got the special treatment. One chicken leg? Hers. Didn't want breakfast at home? Mom gave her fifty cents for a corn cake. I only got that when I was sick. New Year? Qiuqiu always got new clothes. Me? Hand-me-downs from my two aunts. During harvest season? Qiuqiu never set foot in the fields. Mom said: "Those hands are for writing. Field work ain't for you." "Qiuqiu, study hard. Make our family proud." And Qiuqiu was brilliant. Always top of her class. Brought home awards every term. Those awards meant something back then. Gotta admit—learning takes talent. I worked ten times harder than her. Up at 5 AM, bed at 11 PM. Biked to school memorizing ten English words a day. Weekends? Cut bamboo, picked mushrooms, gathered tea leaves—sold it all to buy workbooks. Once, I took a math test into the school latrine thoselong − droppits . Solved a problem, stood up—legs were numb! Nearly stepped right into the mountain of crap below. I believed the early bird catches the worm... but barely made progress. Hard to admit, but I was just... ordinary. Background noise in life's movie. An extra in someone else's story. Mom kept nagging: "Xiaxia, you're the big sister. Protect Qiuqiu. Support Qiuqiu." No need to tell me twice, Mom. I've been protecting her since the day she was born. Soon, I took the high school entrance exam. Results weren't out yet when my friend Xiangxiang asked me to work in Guangdong. Her eyes sparkled: "Factories pay 800 a month! I'll buy pretty dresses, get my hair permed..." Summer heat baked the village. Auntie fanned herself under the big maple tree: "Xiaxia can earn money for Qiuqiu's tuition now! You two can finally breathe easy." Mom smiled: "True. All our hopes are on Qiuqiu now." I stalled until results day. Scorching summer, but my hands felt like ice. I'd given everything. Still missed the top high school by nine points. Nine points. If I'd just tried harder... done more practice... checked my answers... Would my life be different?