Ni Xiangdong didn’t want this child.
Wu Ximei already knew the answer before she even spoke.
It was sunset, the golden light of dusk resting on the white wall opposite them, painting everything in shades of orange and red. She paused her work, tilting her head slightly, her gaze tracing the outline of the man’s back like a brushstroke.
Ni Xiangdong lounged on the sofa, engrossed in a Hong Kong martial arts movie on TV. His left hand propped up his head, while his right hand lazily waved a fan, occasionally flicking it to shoo away the buzzing mosquitoes.
“Close the curtains,” he said, scratching a mosquito bite on his calf with his big toe. “The glare’s making it hard to see.”
Wu Ximei didn’t move, letting the evening light sting her eyes.
Before speaking, she desperately needed this light, needed to hold onto the last warmth of the day.
“It hasn’t come.”
“What?”
Ni Xiangdong turned his head, squinting, the scar on his left brow twitching.
“You know,” she murmured. “It’s been over two months now.”
“Oh,” he turned back to the TV. “Go see Uncle Chen then.”
Uncle Chen ran an unlicensed clinic. His shop was tucked away in a residential building in the northern part of the city, no signboard in sight—you had to know someone to find it.
People called him “uncle” to his face, but behind his back, they laughed at him for being a half-baked doctor. He’d never graduated from medical school, only knew the basics, but he was good enough for patching up the cuts and bruises from their fights. Because his prices were fair and he never asked too many questions, the local troublemakers brought their friends, and gradually, he built a steady clientele.
Rumor had it that for the right price, there was nothing he wouldn’t do.
He also knew a little about gynecology. The last few times Wu Ximei had been pregnant, he was the one who helped her get rid of the babies.
Just hearing his name now made Wu Ximei think of the grimy sheets in his clinic, one person after another lying on them without being changed. A wave of nausea rose in her throat.
“I don’t need him to tell me. I already know,” she said, opening her eyes and lowering her head as she folded an old undershirt twice over. “It’s not like it’s the first time.”
It was the fourth time, actually.
She vaguely remembered how the first pregnancy had been announced by the sea.
That year, standing on the embankment under a sky ablaze with sunset, he had laughed in disbelief, tossed his cigarette aside, and run to her, wrapping her in a tight embrace. He had rubbed her belly and sworn he would be a good father.
But a month later, he had held her just as tightly, telling her that after careful consideration, he didn’t think it was the right time.
The next day, he took her to Uncle Chen on his motorcycle. The whole ride, she kept thinking how strange men were—Wu Adi had wanted a child so badly, yet Ni Xiangdong couldn’t care less.
The second abortion had been an accident.
She had been sitting on the edge of the bed, eating rice noodles, her belly already showing, when a group of men burst in—seven or eight troublemakers, making a huge racket as they smashed everything in sight. Before leaving, their leader spotted her and kicked her square in the stomach, sending her and the noodles crashing to the floor.
Later, she found out that during her pregnancy, Ni Xiangdong had gotten involved with another woman.
That woman was also a gang leader. Only after she’d fallen for him did Ni Xiangdong admit he already had a woman at home—one who was pregnant, no less—and that he couldn’t just leave her.
Furious, the gang leader had ordered her men to beat him until he could never have children again.
By the time the dust settled, the affair was over, but so was the baby in Wu Ximei’s belly.
After her crying and screaming, Ni Xiangdong had held her and vowed to turn over a new leaf, promising they’d have another child someday.
By the third time, he hardly seemed upset at all.Ni Xiangdong turned over, his back to her, his voice muffled as he scolded her for being naive.
"Life's already hard enough for the two of us—how are we supposed to raise a kid?"
Back then, Wu Ximei kept it hidden from others and still insisted on working at the rubber factory.
The factory was even more remote than where they lived. Wu Ximei refused to stay in the dormitory, making the trip back and forth every day. Even if she didn’t say why, Ni Xiangdong understood.
But that still didn’t stop him. He grew busier and busier, coming up with all kinds of excuses.
Gradually, he even left the daily pickups and drop-offs to Cao Xiaojun—after all, Xiaojun was always free, lazing around at home all day.
Five years had passed, and the three of them still lived together. Xiaojun hadn’t found himself a wife either, coming and going alone. The man spoke little, caused no trouble, paid rent on time, and often bought drinks or treated them to meals. Ni Xiangdong had no reason to kick him out.
Most importantly, Xiaojun was ruthless to outsiders but obeyed Ni Xiangdong without question—a rare and loyal underling.
With just a word from him, Cao Xiaojun took over the task of ferrying Wu Ximei back and forth. Rain or shine, day after day, he rode his motorcycle, bumping along the country roads with her.
In the end, it was also him who sent Cao Xiaojun to take her for the abortion.
This was already the fourth one.
After hearing Wu Ximei’s words, Ni Xiangdong didn’t turn around, still staring at the TV, but his hands weren’t idle. He picked up a slender betel nut, split it into three pieces with a crisp crack, tucked one into a triangular betel leaf roll, and deftly tossed it into his mouth, chewing.
Wu Ximei watched his moving jaw, waiting for the fate of the child in her belly.
"Go take care of it."
He rubbed his nose and spat out betel juice, red as blood.
"Not the right time."
Wu Ximei lowered her head and said nothing more.
Ni Xiangdong kept his eyes fixed on the TV, unblinking, though he wasn’t really watching.
Over the past five years, Wu Ximei had grown more docile and dependent, her overflowing affection only making him feel annoyed.
Yes, Wu Ximei was a good woman—obedient, sensible, never defied him, and had never wronged him. But these facts only made him want to escape even more.
He was a wanderer, in love with the sea. What was a single ladle of seawater? How long could it stay fresh?
When he met an exciting woman, he’d flirt, spend some time with her, leaving his mark on her body and soul.
And then?
There was no "then." For him, it was already over—that was usually the ending.
No thoughts of responsibility, no rules. People like him only cared about being decisive and having a good time.
Now, Wu Ximei had changed—older, wearier, no longer fresh. She no longer wanted to take risks with him. All she wanted was stability, like an old person, craving a peaceful life with a foreseeable end.
She knew his heart wasn’t settled yet, so she tried to forge shackles out of morality and memories to bind him.
Again and again, she brought up the past, talking about her sacrifices and endurance. To him, her confessions were just ugly boasts—an endless nagging. The more she repeated herself, the more it revealed her insecurity and inferiority.
Still, he had never thought of leaving her.
Ni Xiangdong had never imagined a life without Wu Ximei.
Not out of sentiment or kindness. What he called love was, frankly, just a childish sense of possession.
Mine—whether I want it or not, it’s still mine. Even if I leave it to gather dust, no one else is allowed to touch it.
He enjoyed her docility and convenience but couldn’t be bothered to build a home for her.Ni Xiangdong was lost in his thoughts when the sound of sobbing rose behind him, growing louder and more insistent, as if afraid he wouldn't hear it.
Crying, always crying—the same old routine every time.
Irritation welled up inside him. He turned off the TV and flung the remote aside.
"Not eating. Going out."
He spat out the betel nut, stood up, and stuffed his phone into his pocket.
"Don’t wait up. I won’t be back tonight."
"Where are you going?"
Ni Xiangdong didn’t answer. With his shirt slung over his shoulder, he walked straight out the door.
The curtain swayed, his figure flickered, and then he was gone.
Wu Ximei stopped crying and sat alone in the twilight.
The room was silent, bathed in an orange glow. Tiny particles floated in the air, and some kind of small flying insect circled her disheveled hair, weaving in and out.
She watched her shadow stretch across the wall—thin, barren, like a tree on the verge of death.
Wu Ximei felt cold, icy from head to toe, as if lying at the bottom of a giant water vat, as if living in an endless night without dawn.
Finally, she had fallen from one quagmire into another.
She should have known. The hand that had helped her up would naturally reach out to others too.
Leading the virtuous astray, persuading the fallen to reform—wasn’t that just his favorite pastime, back and forth?
Wu Ximei suddenly felt a pang of sorrow. She had thought she’d won his heart, but in the end, it was just another organ.
He had finally grown up, from a boy into a man who terrified her.
A woman’s happiness needed to be seen. Alone, she didn’t even know if she was happy.
Ni Xiangdong had made a name for himself. The men in the county hated him, feared him; the women eyed him, teased him. She was his rightful wife—even if they’d never registered their marriage, she was the only one he had ever openly called his woman. She should have been content.
But another voice warned her that it was all just his promise.
His words changed like the wind—today one thing, tomorrow another, never reliable.
What frightened Wu Ximei even more was realizing that the only thing she could rely on for the rest of her life was this flimsy promise.
She stood in front of the mirror, peeling off her sweat-drenched shirt, staring at the tear-streaked woman inside.
A misshapen body, sagging skin, layers of stretch marks across her belly and thighs.
The woman stared back at her—sunken eyes, fine wrinkles at the corners, downturned lips, the habitual bitter smile.
Wu Ximei touched her cheeks in shock. She had aged so much.
She thought back to that scorching afternoon when she was seventeen, when the three of them had gone to the betel nut shop to confront him. At their parting, Dao Ge had sat in the dimly lit room and said slowly:
"One wrong step, a lifetime of regret. Be very careful."
Had she been wrong?
Uneducated, illiterate, her idea of a perfect life had been nothing more than marrying a good man and raising children. Was that wrong?
From Wu Adi to Ni Xiangdong, she had tried time and again to offer her heart. Had that been wrong?
All these years, it turned out she had never truly escaped her hometown.
Wu Ximei was trapped in a vast circle, meeting herself again at the starting point.
A circle, imprisoning her soul.
She cupped her belly, gently stroking it, imagining it slowly swelling like a bud about to bloom.
She was good at enduring grievances—this ability was a cruel gift from years of living under others’ roofs, like swimming, impossible to unlearn once mastered, etched deep into her instincts. Her instinct was to submit and endure, to swallow her pride for the sake of survival.Yet tears still fell.
Wu Ximei hadn't had the chance to tell Ni Xiangdong—this might be their last child.
When she'd aborted the third one, Uncle Chen had warned her: her body was too weak to endure any more of this.
Staring at her still-flat belly in the mirror, she sobbed—for the child, for herself, for this dead end.
Hurried footsteps sounded in the yard before a dark figure burst in.
"What's wrong?"
Cao Xiaojun gripped a stick, scanning the room.
"What happened?"
Then he caught sight of her hastily covered body and quickly turned away.
Flustered, he backed out the door, knocking over a stack of laundry basins.
By the time she'd straightened her clothes and stepped out, Cao Xiaojun was sitting on the threshold smoking.
Neither spoke. After all these years of knowing him, she'd long grown accustomed to this man's silence. She crooked a finger, asking for a cigarette.
"Better not."
Without a word, she snatched one from him.
"Doesn't matter anyway—it's getting aborted."
The daylight dimmed as children's laughter sounded outside, fading with their footsteps.
"If you want this kid, keep it."
"He said—"
"Screw him," Cao Xiaojun stubbed out his cigarette. "Your belly, your choice."
"I'm just an uneducated woman who can't earn much. How could I raise it?"
He stood, plucked the cigarette from her lips, and met her eyes for the first time.
"Have it. I'll raise it."
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