A few strands of morning mist drifted through the window lattice of the adobe house, carrying the cool dampness of the field ridges. Li Xia, five days old, lay on a wooden board bed covered with old cotton batting. Her small quilt wasn’t wrapped tightly, and the wind snuck in through the cracks in the door, making her feel exceptionally comfortable. Outside the room, the rustling sounds of Mother Yuan could be heard, followed by the dull thud of a hoe scraping the ground—she hadn’t even come close to finishing her postpartum confinement; after curling up at home for only five days, she was already gathering her strength to head down to the fields at the break of dawn.
“Won’t you rest for two more days? Your body can’t handle it,” Father Yuan’s voice came, raspy from sleep and sounding powerless to persuade her.
Mother Yuan was bending over to tie her straw sandals. Hearing this, she straightened up. “Rest? Cuifen next door was helping with the seedlings the second day after she gave birth. If I lie here for five days, the village’s gossip will drown me!” As she finished, the wooden door creaked open with a groan and then shut heavily. Only Li Xia was left in the room, blinking her eyes lonely at the spiderwebs on the ceiling rafters.
Before long, the sound of light, pitter-patter footsteps came from the doorway—it was the second sister, Xiaoman. She was only seven years old, her hair tied in two loose goat-horn braids, and she held half a cold sweet potato in her hand. As she leaned over the bed, sweet potato crumbs fell onto the bedding. “Mom told me to watch you. Don’t you dare wail; I still have to pull weeds in the courtyard.” The eldest sister, Chunfen, had followed Father Yuan to the fields before dawn, so the task of looking after the baby sister naturally fell to her.
Li Xia had intended to lie there obediently, but as the sunlight began to shine through the window, the urge to urinate surged. Unable to speak, she could only strain her throat to cry, her small body twisting in the cotton batting like a little loach. Hearing the crying, Xiaoman quickly put down the weeds in her hand, ran to the bedside in a few steps, clumsily lifted the quilt, and untied the diaper made of patchwork cloth—those scraps were a jumble of colors with frayed edges. “Shh… hurry up and pee. Don’t wet the cotton batting, or Mom will scold us.” Xiaoman imitated Mother Yuan’s manner, laboriously picking Li Xia up and aiming her at the chipped wooden basin at the foot of the bed.
Over these five days, Li Xia’s modern awkwardness had long since worn away. Initially, she felt ashamed about relieving herself into a wooden basin, but it was better than doing it on herself. Gradually, she became indifferent to it. The warm liquid hit the wooden basin, creating small splashes. Seeing that she had finished, Xiaoman gave her a formal-looking shake before placing her back on the bed and tucking the diaper back into place.
When the sun had climbed high in the sky, hurried footsteps came from outside the door; it was Mother Yuan, returning right on time to breastfeed. She had clearly run back; she was panting heavily as she entered, her coarse cloth jacket soaked with sweat and clinging to her back, stained with mud. A scent of sweat mixed with the raw smell of field soil drifted straight into Li Xia’s nose. Without stopping to wipe her sweat or even wash her hands, Mother Yuan reached out and picked Li Xia up, thrusting her nipple toward the baby’s mouth.
Li Xia’s body reacted first—she jerked her head away, clamping her mouth shut and even holding her breath. Twenty-plus years of hygiene habits were etched into her bones, and that smell made her stomach churn.
Mother Yuan’s movements froze, and the urgency on her face instantly turned into anger. “You little girl, you’ve actually become picky?” She was so angry her hands shook. She raised her hand and fiercely smacked Li Xia’s bottom twice. Two crisp “smacks” rang out, and the pain traveled from her bottom through her entire body. Li Xia was too embarrassed to cry out loud, so she stifled it, leaving only aggrieved whimpers. Tears welled in her eyes but she didn’t dare let them fall.
Seeing her daughter crying weakly, Mother Yuan’s anger softened a bit, leaving only a heart full of helplessness. She placed Li Xia back on the bed, turned and ran to the kitchen, scooped half a basin of cold water, and casually lifted her clothes to wipe her face and body before returning to pick Li Xia up for feeding.
This time, Li Xia didn’t resist. She stared at the undried beads of sweat on Mother Yuan’s brow, felt the warmth of her embrace, and took the nipple in one go, drinking in large gulps. She knew this was the greatest concession this mother could make. The rice-planting season could not be delayed; a single step behind, and the food for the second half of the year would be lost.
Toward evening, as it was getting dark, Mother Yuan finally returned with an exhausted body. She sat by the bed to feed Li Xia, complaining to Father Yuan, who had just entered the door, her tone carrying a hint of grievance: “This girl caused a fuss with me again at noon. I ran back to feed her, and she thought I was dirty. She refused to drink until I wiped myself down. She can’t endure even a bit of hardship.”
Father Yuan had just put down his hoe and was rubbing his aching waist. Hearing this, he leaned over to look at Li Xia and advised with a smile: “Alright, our Little Number Five is good enough. She hasn’t had many diapers washed since she was born, and she doesn’t make noise at night. She’s much easier to handle than Guyu was.”
Mother Yuan patted Li Xia’s head, her tone softening: “True, that’s the one good thing about this girl. When she needs to go, she just whimpers; you don’t have to keep a constant eye on her.”
Cradled in her mother’s arms, Li Xia felt as if something was blocking her chest, making her feel sour and bitter. Was it easy for her? It wasn’t easy at all. Transmigrating to this era where even hot water was a luxury, her twenty years of habits had long since shattered into pieces. She had learned to use patchwork diapers and to pee into a wooden basin; all that remained was this trivial “germaphobia” when drinking milk, but even for that, she was accused of being “unable to endure hardship” and was even slapped.
Tears silently slid from the corners of her eyes, wetting Mother Yuan’s lapel. Mother Yuan thought she was uncomfortable and gently patted her back. “Be good now. Sleep after you finish your milk. Mom will come back earlier tomorrow.” Li Xia shrunk further into her mother’s embrace, swallowing her grievances—in this family, in this era where they lived at the mercy of the elements, she could only learn to adapt and hide those modern obsessions away, bit by bit.