Spring held no joy for Yin Su. She went about her daily routine as if in a daze. Monotony was her friend. Days turned into months with no realization of the passage of time. The small community celebrated the planting, then the harvest. She collected no herbs to dry. She took no joy in preparing food. Then the snows came. And her belly grew yet again.

The newest child received the same fate. Female. Taken to the mountainside ledge.

Her husband no longer reached for her in the night. 

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She spent more time on the mountainside, often retracing her path to the ledge which now held four small piles of stones. She knew she was not supposed to mourn. All four died before the naming day. Tradition said they did not exist. Yet here were four mounds of stones. She wondered why she could not put these births out of her mind. What was wrong with her moral character that she could not follow the teachings? Maybe she belonged on the ledge along with her babies.

Why would the gods not listen? What more could she do? Yin Su’s heart ached for a child to love. Even a female. Especially a female. How could sons be born without enough females? Men had to realize this. Her husband was intelligent. He had to know this. Yet he invoked his traditional right and would not accept a female child.

Her Husband spent more nights away from his sleeping mat.

Yin Su lost weight and vitality. She did not laugh with the other wives in the village. She kept to herself. And visited the mountainside ledge often.

By the second spring, the piles of stones had diminished as the small bodies decayed. Yin Su gathered tansy and placed it on the piles to discourage insects. She spoke to each pile as if her daughters could hear her. She imagined them sitting on the ledge the age they would be had they lived. She fashioned what clothes they would wear, what their features would be. Who would be the prettiest? The smartest? The favorite? Would they be as clever as she had been and want to learn to write the characters that represented words?

Hours would pass as she conversed with her imaginary daughters. They did not answer. She would tell an amusing story and laugh at her wit. They did not laugh. She longed to reach out and hold each one. There were only cold stones.

One day she sat in her usual spot on a nearby rock as a mist filled the air. Her mind’s image of her daughters faded as the mist thickened and the piles of stones became wet.

She looked at the world around her. Birds were nesting. Baby squirrels were running up and down trees. Ants were busy foraging. Emotions stirred inside her. She climbed to the ledge and, putting her hand on each pile in turn, she felt the cold, wet stones. There was too much life bustling to dwell on where life was not.

Her daughters’ images were eager to be elsewhere. They danced impatiently around their individual stone pile, their eyes imploring Yin Su for permission.

Yin Su’s tears were indistinguishable from the heavy mist that soaked through her clothes. With eyes tightly shut, she bade each nameless daughter farewell. Their images faded into nothingness.

As Yin Su walked back to her home the mist lifted. She spied some of her favorite cooking herbs. On impulse, she gathered some wild parsley and found wild yams and radishes. Her step was lighter. Her mind recalled recipes. She unearthed a white radish and hungrily ate it. She would prepare a proper meal.

At home she took stock of her kitchen. How had it become such a mess? She tidied what remaining herbs she had and tied the wild parsley in a bunch to hang upside down to dry. She dusted off the Kitchen God and placed him in a more advantageous spot to oversee activities. He might be a good influence to birth a man-child. Her spirits lifted as she prepared the food. She noticed her Husband’s surprised look when she set his eating bowl in front of him. He ate with relish.

That night, he again reached for her.

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