Xiao Ling (GL) · Conversa

The autumn wind chilled the blue-stone street of Changqiao Town to the core, sweeping withered leaves across the stalls that lined the road, layering one chill atop another. It was already dusk. The lively hustle and bustle of the town market was gradually fading, leaving only lingering wafts of chimney smoke adrift in the wind. Xiao Ling's food stall stood at its usual, familiar spot at the corner of the street. She stood behind the stall dressed in coarse, faded cloth garments, her figure slender yet upright, her features calm and gentle. A faint scent of crisp plum blossoms drifted naturally around her, so subtle it was nearly masked by the smoke, leaving only a clear, soft undertone that felt quiet and dutiful. This year marked exactly six years since she ended up in this Central Plains town. Six years of displacement and confinement had long since worn away every trace of sharpness in her eyes, leaving behind only the compliant, submissive appearance of an ordinary townswoman. Three-year-old Ru'er squatted obediently in the corner of the stall, clutching a small leftover pastry in her hands. Making no fuss, the tiny girl pressed close against her mother, her quiet demeanor heartbreakingly mature. Most of the passing neighbors, uncles, and aunts who stopped by to buy the last of her goods were familiar faces who supported her business every day. Each carrying their parcels of food, they couldn't help but sigh before leaving. "Ling-niang is truly capable. Minding the stall every single day without fail, raising a child and running the household all by herself—it's far too hard." "Such a clever and deft girl with such a wonderful disposition, yet she had the misfortune of ending up with an unreliable Qianyuan partner." "Ru'er is so well-behaved too, never throwing tantrums. Life has truly been bitter for you mother and daughter." The pity was real, and the sighs were genuine, but in the end, they were nothing more than casual remarks from bystanders. Such was the world: no matter how much outsiders pitied them, none would ever reach out to interfere in someone else's "private family affairs." Hearing their words, Xiao Ling merely lowered her gaze, her slender fingers tidying the bowls, plates, and wooden chopsticks. A faint smile graced her lips as she softly thanked each of them in turn. Over the years, she had grown thoroughly accustomed to hearing it. Accustomed to sympathy, accustomed to lamentation, and accustomed to this world's most powerless form of kindness. Kindness could not save her, nor could it protect her child. Once the last patron walked away into the distance, the long street grew quiet and deserted. Xiao Ling bent down to pack up her stall, sorting the miscellaneous pots, bowls, and leftover snacks into her bamboo baskets with practiced, deft, and orderly movements. Taking Ru'er's soft little hand in hers, she stepped into the gathering dusk, walking step by step toward the cramped, aging Xiao family courtyard. When she pushed open the wooden door, a piercing creak shattered the silence of the courtyard. Xiao Ling's heart sank slightly. Today, the courtyard was not cold and empty as it had been for days on end. Xiao Lian, who had wandered outside and stayed away from home for so long, had actually returned. The female Qianyuan leaned casually against the wooden table inside the house, wearing clean, respectable robes tailored from fabric Xiao Ling had bought by pinching pennies over months of hard work. Her expression was indolent, her posture arrogant, carrying none of the warmth of a homecoming, only an air of entitled apathy. Hearing the sound, Xiao Lian looked up, her gaze bypassing mother and daughter entirely to lock firmly onto the heavy coin pouch in Xiao Ling's hand. That was every bit of hard-earned money she had made today, laboring over hot coals from dawn until dusk. Before Xiao Ling could even find her footing, Xiao Lian was already striding forward. Her movement was rough and abrupt, without the slightest hesitation; with a flick of her fingers, she snatched the thin cloth pouch straight from Xiao Ling's grasp. The drawstring snapped open, and loose copper coins and scattered silver tumbled heavily into her palm. Xiao Lian looked down and weighed the pouch in her hand, her expression completely indifferent, showing not a sliver of guilt or a shred of consideration, as if everything rightfully belonged to her. "I'm taking today's earnings to turn things over." A flippant sentence, serving as an explanation, or rather, a condescending notice. Xiao Ling's fingers hung empty, her palm still holding the thin, hard impression of the cloth pouch from moments ago. Her heart turned cold, inch by inch, until it was frozen through. She lowered her eyes, her long eyelashes casting shadows that concealed all the surging bitterness and chill beneath, standing deathly silent. Beside her, little Ru'er seemed to sense the tense atmosphere; her small body shrank instinctively behind her mother's legs, her tiny hands clutching tightly at the hem of Xiao Ling's skirt, too timid to make a sound. It was this subtle, cautious reliance that suppressed all the confrontations and protests rising in Xiao Ling's throat. She could not argue. She could not fight. And above all, she could not provoke Xiao Lian to anger. Xiao Lian was a Qianyuan, naturally volatile. Once her temper flared, the oppressive pressure of her pheromones would unleash without restraint, and when she struck, she possessed no sense of moderation. Taking beatings and swallowing humiliation was something Xiao Ling had long grown used to, but Ru'er was only three years old—so small and frail, she could not withstand the slightest fright or collateral harm. No one would protect them; no one would stand up for them. Over the past two years, it wasn't as though she hadn't tried seeking help. Every time Xiao Lian stayed out all night, squandered their resources, confiscated their money, subjected her to cold cruelty, or even raised her fists, Xiao Ling had clung to a faint, pathetic glimmer of hope and gone to report it to the town magistrate. Yet every single time, the authorities' response was identical: "Disputes between Qianyuan and Kunze are private household matters; the yamen does not intervene." In this small Central Plains town, in a world where patriarchal propriety crushed justice beneath its heel— A Qianyuan's dissolute nature was deemed inherent; a Qianyuan managing finances and governing the household was their natural duty; a Qianyuan treating their spouse with coldness and brutality was nothing more than an inconsequential domestic squabble. Only she, a Kunze without roots or registry, bought from a human market, was expected to endure, to suffer, and to possess nothing. The last ember of warmth in Xiao Ling's eyes died out completely. She stood quietly in place, watching Xiao Lian pocket the money as if nothing had happened, watching the shameless nonchalance in the other's expression. Six years together. The two years of tenderness had been real, but the subsequent years of callousness and exploitation were just as real. The very first time she had tasted human warmth in this lifetime had been given by Xiao Lian. And the heaviest, coldest, most hopeless hatred in this lifetime had also been nurtured, bit by bit, by Xiao Lian's own hands. Dusk settled over the small courtyard, the twilight dim and gloomy. Xiao Ling remained silent. No arguing, no crying, no pleading, no resisting. It was not because she was weak and easily bullied; it was because all of her bowing, all of her yielding, and all of her endurance just to survive were solely for the sake of the young, innocent child at her side. Tenderness had long since died; hope had long since perished. For the rest of her days, trapped within this tiny cage, she would quietly endure day after day, silently watching the person she once was completely fade away, piece by piece.