Chapter 3 The Peculiar Baby

• One summer, her son went swimming in the village river. He didn't know there was a sudden release of water from the upstream reservoir. When the flood surged, he was swept away. It was I who raised the alarm and called for help. Someone managed to push down a tree trunk, which he clung to, and pulled himself to safety.
• Later that year, during the autumn harvest, the village was devastated by flooding. Most fields were submerged, and crops were lost. Yet, I had already harvested my share before disaster struck.
• Incidents like these happened often, deepening their belief in my luck.
• That day, as I gently pinched the boy's plump cheek, I stroked his soft hair. He was only a few months old, but his thick hair reminded me of my daughter. My hand lingered, running through his hair repeatedly, as if caught in a trance.
• Noticing my affection for the child, my mother-in-law smiled and handed me half of a bread roll.
• I stared at the bread roll, and my thoughts drifted to my daughter. When she was six, the words she repeated most often were, “Mommy, I'm hungry.”
• She suffered too much for being born into this family. Even in death, I couldn't let her continue to endure that suffering.
• When everyone else was asleep, I would sneak out to the mountain. There, I'd leave offerings for her—flowers, three lit candles, and a bread roll hidden in my clothes. I'd call out softly, inviting her to eat.
• The mountain wind howled, scattering the flowers into the darkness. Before leaving, I glanced back. To my surprise, the bread roll now had a bite missing. At first, I thought my hunger had gotten the better of me, that I'd bitten it unknowingly.
• Not long after, my husband and father-in-law returned from town with two old hens. They claimed to have won money gambling and decided to celebrate with meat for dinner.
• My mother-in-law, who hadn't seen meat in a long time, eagerly eyed the hens.
• My father-in-law handed one to me, instructing me to salt it and hang it up to air-dry.
• Later, when no one was watching, my mother-in-law snatched the hen from my hands and scolded, “Don't tell your father-in-law about this.”
• Something about the baby she cradled seemed strange—his frailty, his unusual features. But I didn't think much of it then.
• As time passed, the baby's appetite grew alarmingly.
• Most babies begin teething around six months, but he had sharp teeth emerging by the time he was only two months old. My mother-in-law cautiously fed him shredded chicken, which he devoured like a hungry cat.
• She laughed it off, saying, “This boy is growing fast! He's going to be strong one day.”
• But his appearance unsettled me. His face became distorted, his mouth unnaturally large, and his teeth sharper than they should have been. When my finger got too close, he lunged to bite with a ferocious cry.
• Overjoyed, I agreed with her. “Yes, he'll grow into a strong young man,” I said.
• That evening, my father-in-law cursed loudly outside. “Who had the nerve to steal our rabbit?” he shouted.
• When I glanced over, I noticed bloodstains on my mother-in-law's quilt—and white rabbit fur scattered nearby.