It was a year of famine. Our family had eaten all its stored grain, and my two sons were so hungry they resorted to eating Guanyin clay, shoving it into their mouths while crying that they were still hungry.
To keep them alive, I begged my husband to get ten jin of coarse grain. Mixed with tree bark, it would see us through for a while.
He was the grain depot manager, so it shouldn't have been difficult for him.
But when he heard why I'd come, he shut the door on me.
“The rules are perfectly clear. Reserve grain can only go to registered commune members. Those two haven't been registered yet. Giving them any would be a breach of discipline.”
I collapsed outside the door, kneeling and banging my head against the ground.
“They're your own sons! Are you really going to watch them starve to death?”
“The rules are there to be followed. If everyone acted like you, we'd have chaos before long.”
That night, I snuck out in the dark to dig up wild greens for the children, but I stumbled upon my husband with Wang, the village widow.
At the height of their passion, Wang gasped for breath.
“Brother Shouye, thank goodness you brought us white flour. Otherwise, Xiaobao would have starved away to nothing.”
“If you run out, just tell me. There's plenty of grain.”
At last, I understood. It wasn't that he couldn't get grain. He simply didn't want to give any to me and our sons!
By the time I ran home in a frenzy, both boys had stopped breathing. Their bellies were packed with Guanyin clay, swollen almost to the point of bursting.
Zhao Shouye, you used your rules to kill my two sons.
I'll use those same rules to make you kneel before them, and die without a proper burial.
