The Serpent in the Stepmother's House
Death did not come to the tofu shop in Cangqian as a thief in the night, but rather as a lingering, unwanted guest who refused to leave until he had eaten the house bare.
When the last spade of earth covered Ge the Eldest, his widow, Madam Yu, found herself standing in the ruins of her life. She had pawned her winter coat; she had sold the millstones that had defined her husband's existence; she had nothing left but three mouths that opened daily like the beaks of starving birds. There was Pinlian, her stunted son; Third Girl, her idiot daughter; and Bi Xiugu, the "Little Cabbage," the beautiful burden she had bought for a song and now could not afford to keep.
Survival required a sacrifice of pride. And so, Madam Yu made a widow's bargain. She folded her grief into a small, hard knot in her chest and married Shen Tiren, a clerk in the town with a "comfortable" income and a chaotic house of motherless sons.
It was a marriage of arithmetic, not affection. She brought order to his home; he brought rice to her table.
Years bled into years, the seasons turning the green hills of Yuhang brown and back again. The Taiping Rebellion swept through the province like a fever, taking Pinlian with it—he vanished into the armies as a porter, a beast of burden for the "Long Haired Rebels." When he finally stumbled back home five years later, he was twenty-five, but war had shrunk him rather than grown him. He was gnarled, bow-legged, and perpetually confused. The town, with its unerring instinct for cruelty, christened him "The Dwarf."
His sister, Third Girl, had swollen into a woman of grotesque proportions—bloated, dark-skinned, her laughter a cracked gong that startled the neighbors. They called her "The Withered Vegetable."
And then, there was Bi Xiugu.
Time had performed a strange, cruel alchemy on the girl in the kitchen. At eighteen, she was no longer a child. She was a vision that made men stop in the street to light pipes they had not intended to smoke. Her skin was the color of fresh cream, her figure curved like a willow branch in a spring breeze. She wore a tunic of cheap green cloth and a white apron, but on her, the rags looked like silk. The nickname "Little Cabbage" stuck, but the connotation shifted. It was no longer a name for a peasant girl; it was a name for something fresh, delectable, and dangerous.
The War of the Brothers
In the Shen household, affection was a finite currency, and Madam Yu's evident love for her own damaged brood was viewed as theft by her stepsons.
Shen Tiren had three sons. The eldest, Shen Da, was a sour twenty-year-old who counted every grain of rice that went into a stranger's bowl. He watched Madam Yu ladle extra broth for The Dwarf. He watched her mend the Little Cabbage's tunic with thread paid for by his father. And the resentment began to curdle.
"Do you see it?" Shen Da hissed to his brothers one evening, crouching in the shadows of the courtyard. "The old man is a candle in the wind. When he flickers out, who rules this house? That woman."
He gestured toward the kitchen, where the silhouette of Madam Yu moved against the lamplight. "She is funneling the family silver to her cripple and his whore. When Father dies, she will claim the inheritance for the Ge clan. We will be beggars in our own home."
Shen Er, dull and bovine, nodded. "She gave The Dwarf the pork fat yesterday. I saw it."
But it was the third son, Shen San, who sharpened the knife. At fifteen, he possessed the face of a hatchet and the cunning of a street rat.
"We don't need to fight her," Shen San whispered, a thin smile touching his lips. "We need to poison the well. Father loves his money more than his blood. We tell him she is stealing. We tell him The Dwarf mocks him. We make them unbearable."
The campaign was subtle and relentless. Shen Tiren was a man who prided himself on frugality; he had "soft ears" for anyone who spoke of saving a copper coin.
"Father," Shen Da would murmur, "The Dwarf threw away rice because it was cold."
"Father," Shen San would whisper, "Mother bought new shoes for the girl. Did she buy shoes for you?"
Slowly, the poison took hold. Shen Tiren began to see his stepchildren not as charities, but as parasites. He barked orders at Pinlian. He scowled at Little Cabbage. He slapped Third Girl when her giggling grew too loud. The house became a prison of tension, where every meal was eaten in suffocating silence.
Madam Yu saw the writing on the wall. "We are staying in a burning house," she told herself.
She went to her brother, Yu Jingtian. "Pinlian must leave," she said. "He is a man now. He needs a trade, not a master who hates him."
Yu Jingtian arranged an apprenticeship at the Luo family tofu shop on Guanyin Street. It was hard labor, but it was freedom. Pinlian packed his meager belongings and left, escaping the toxicity of the Shen house.
The Hunter and the Prey
But with Pinlian gone, the dynamic in the house shifted darkly. The buffer was removed.
Third Girl was too grotesque to notice, but Little Cabbage... Little Cabbage was a problem. She was eighteen, and her beauty was an affront to the misery of the household. It was a light that made the corners seem darker.
Shen San watched her.
He was fifteen, raging with hormones and malice. He watched her scrub the floors, her tunic riding up. He watched her wring out the laundry, the sunlight catching the curve of her neck. His hatred for the Ge clan began to twist into a possessive, ugly lust.
He began to corner her in the hallways. "Sister," he would say, leaning too close, his breath smelling of stale tea. "You look tired. Let me help you."
Little Cabbage was terrified. She knew her place—she was a guest on sufferance, a charity case. If she complained, who would believe the "beggar girl" over the master's son? She kept her head down. She scurried like a mouse.
But Shen San mistook her fear for coyness. She likes me, he told himself, feeding his own delusion. She knows I am the future master. She wants to climb.
One afternoon, the opportunity presented itself. Madam Yu had gone to visit her brother. Third Girl was in the street, chasing dust motes. The house was silent.
Little Cabbage was in her room, a small, airless closet off the kitchen. She felt the heavy silence of the afternoon pressing in on her and stood up to go to the courtyard.
"Little Sister Ge," a voice called out. "Are you in there?"
She froze. It was Shen San.
"I am here," she whispered, her hand going to her throat. "What do you want?"
The door creaked open. Shen San stepped inside and closed it softly behind him. The click of the latch sounded like a gunshot.
"Third Brother," she stammered, backing away. "I... I must go to the kitchen."
Shen San didn't move. He sat on the edge of her narrow bed, his eyes traveling over her. She wore a simple blue tunic today, with pale trousers. On her feet were tiny embroidered shoes—green flowers on pink silk—that made her feet look like delicate water chestnuts. Even in rags, she was a masterpiece.
He grinned, a wolfish, hungry expression. "Why the rush? Don't you like your brother?"
He stood up, the playfulness vanishing from his face. "You know," he whispered, stepping closer, "a tofu maker's wife lives a hard life. Smelling of bean curd and sweat. But a merchant's wife... that is soft. I could make your life soft, Little Sister."
"Let me pass," Little Cabbage said, her back hitting the cold plaster wall. "If Father hears..."
"Father is not here," Shen San laughed, the sound low and wet. "And Mother is gone. It is just us."
He lunged.
He caught her by the waist, his grip surprisingly strong for a boy of fifteen. "Sister, oh, good Sister," he panted, burying his face in her neck. "Be nice to me. Be nice to me and I will give you silver."
The smell of him—unwashed hair and lust—filled her nose. Panic flared, white and hot. She struggled, pushing against his chest. "Get off! Get off me! I will scream!"
"Scream then!" Shen San hissed, wrestling her toward the bed. "Who will come? And if they do, I will say you called me in here. I will say you seduced me. Who will they believe? The son of the house, or the charity whore?"
He threw her onto the mattress. His weight crushed the breath from her lungs. One hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her cries, while the other tore at the fabric of her tunic.
Little Cabbage kicked and clawed, tears streaming down her face, drowning in shame. She felt the cold air on her skin as her clothes gave way.
Just as the darkness threatened to swallow her, a voice rang out from the courtyard.
"Xiugu! Are you in there?"
It was Shen Tiren.
Shen San froze. The lust evaporated instantly, replaced by the cowardice of the bully. He scrambled off her, smoothing his robe with trembling hands.
"Not a word," he hissed, pointing a finger at her, his eyes wide with panic. "Or you are dead."
He slipped out the side door, vanishing like a cockroach into the shadows.
Little Cabbage lay on the bed, gasping for air, clutching her torn tunic. She heard Shen Tiren's footsteps approaching. She sat up, wiping her face, trying to compose herself, trying to pull the shreds of her dignity back together.
Shen Tiren peered into the room. "Xiugu? I heard a noise. Why are you crying?"
He saw her red eyes, her disheveled hair. But he saw no one else.
"Who was here?" he asked, suspicious.
"No one," Little Cabbage whispered, looking at the floor. "I... I tripped. I hurt my foot."
Shen Tiren grunted. He didn't really care. "Stop wailing. It brings bad luck to the house. Go buy some roast duck for dinner." He threw a few coins on the bed and walked away.
Little Cabbage waited until his footsteps faded. Then she buried her face in her hands and wept the bitter, silent tears of the powerless.
The Fatal Sanctuary
When Madam Yu returned an hour later, she found the girl still sobbing. It didn't take long to coax the truth out of her. Madam Yu listened, her face growing pale with a rage she could not express.
"This house is a pit of vipers," she whispered, holding the girl. "We cannot stay here another night. If that animal touches you again..."
She grabbed her shawl. "I am going to your uncle. We are leaving."
She ran to Yu Jingtian's house, breathless and desperate. She poured out the story—the abuse, the starvation, the attempted rape.
Yu Jingtian listened, his face grim. "I feared this," he said. "Shen San is a bad seed. But where can you go? You have no money."
He paced the room, the floorboards creaking under his agitation. Then, he stopped.
"Wait. There is a possibility."
He turned to his sister. "I heard a rumor today. There is a family in town looking for tenants. Not just any family. The Yang family."
Madam Yu's eyes widened. "The Yangs? The scholars?"
"Yes," Yu nodded. "Yang Naiwu. The Juren. The man who passed the imperial exams. He lives in that big compound near the Clarification Bridge. He lives with his wife and his widowed sister. It is a house of women and books. They have empty rooms and they want a quiet, respectable family to rent them—mostly to keep the house lively, not for the money."
He leaned in, his voice dropping. "I know Yang Naiwu slightly. He is a man of culture. He is handsome, wealthy, and fair. Everyone in Cangqian speaks of his upright character. And..." Yu hesitated, then plunged on. "He remembers you. Or rather, he remembers the girl. He asked about the 'Little Cabbage' the other day."
"He asked?" Madam Yu said, a flicker of unease mixing with hope.
"He asked if she was well," Yu said quickly. "It was polite interest. But listen, Sister. The rent is cheap—one string of cash a month. Pinlian can come home from the shop every night. You will be together. You will be safe. No more Shen brothers. No more beatings."
"A scholar's house," Madam Yu breathed. It sounded like sanctuary. It sounded like civilization.
"I will arrange it," Yu Jingtian said. "Pack your things. Tomorrow, you move to the House of Yang."
Madam Yu hurried back to tell Little Cabbage. The girl listened, her eyes widening.
"Yang Naiwu?" she whispered. She remembered the man in the white silk robe who had come when Ge the Eldest died. The man who had looked at her not with the hungry eyes of Shen San, but with eyes that seemed to understand sorrow.
"Yes," Madam Yu said, stroking the girl's hair. "We are going to a better place. A safe place."
Little Cabbage nodded, a strange flutter in her chest.
But here lies the twist, the seed of tragedy buried in the soil of hope.
They believed they were fleeing a wolf's den for a sanctuary. They believed that entering the house of a scholar, a man of law and ethics, would protect them from the cruelty of the world.
They were wrong.
The Shen household was a pit of petty malice, yes. But it was small. It was insignificant. By moving into the house of Yang Naiwu, they were stepping onto a stage illuminated by the glare of envy and power. They were bringing a girl of devastating beauty into the home of a man known for his romance and his arrogance.
The neighbors were already watching. The Shen brothers, spurned and hateful, were watching.
As Madam Yu packed their bags, believing she was saving her family, she was unwittingly placing the final pieces on a chessboard that would end in blood, torture, and the fall of empires. She was not moving them to safety; she was moving them into the eye of the storm.
To know what happened behind the high walls of the Yang family compound, read the next chapter.