In the cold winter of 1999, Lin Yecao, whose life was saved by fortune telling, was born at the Chenghuang Temple to offer a table.
The red birthmark on her back looks like a thorn,
It is a curse that devours men in the eyes of the family,
But it is the common password of the century-old women's dark web.
From sandalwood rice jars to ruined schools of the Republic of China,
From the ropes used to bind girls in ancestral halls to modern judicial documents,
Three generations of women run in relay through the cracks in time.
The coffin that once held the dead baby hides the way to life,
The indigo juice developing secret tunnel in the dyeing workshop,
The prison visit record under my father's tattoo,
It was actually a map written with menstrual blood by thirty-eight generations of women.
When weeds burn arranged marriage contracts at the door of the courthouse,
When the scholarship fund is named after three hundred grandmothers,
She finally understood the truth about the birthmark——
That's not the mark of a curse,
It is the fire that was pierced in the blood of female gentlemen a hundred years ago.
Intent: When the weeds burn, it is not only an indictment of oppression, but also a declaration of new life.