The Chronicle of Xia

"Qi, your father is a bastard!" "Oh." Qi murmured, still half asleep, and rubbed his sore neck. His mother's thighs were getting thinner and thinner. Lying on them was like resting his head on a rock. Qi was thirteen that year. Ever since he could remember, his mother had said this at least ten times a day. It meant nothing to him, no more than her saying, "The weather's lovely today," or "Pork tastes better roasted." So the first words Qi ever spoke were neither "Mama" nor "Grandma," but "Your father is a bastard." Theme: