Chapter 70: Leap Year in the Seventh Month, Not the Eighth

The streets were battered by fierce winds, tree shadows swaying violently as yellow lightning crackled across the horizon. Pedestrians’ umbrellas were flipped inside out one after another.

A red Xiaoli raced through the rain-soaked haze, searching for a child under such turbulent weather.

Raindrops pelted the car like a barrage of bullets, and cold mist fogged up the windows. Shi Ying cranked the heater to its maximum to barely make out the street scenes outside.

Following Cheng Simin’s plan, the first stop on their search route was Little Red Riding Hood Stationery Store, and the second was the canal behind the elementary school. But to quickly determine which direction Cheng Jiabao might have gone, they needed to visit Banshan Elementary School first to review the surveillance footage from between 2:15 and 2:20 PM.

Seated in the passenger seat, Cheng Simin was clear-headed and focused. After mapping out the most time-efficient route, she handed her phone to Shi Ying for input. Then, turning back to Chen Xiaofen, she asked, “Mom, do you have any recent photos of Bao on your phone? Send them to my WeChat. Also, give me the homeroom teacher’s number—I’ll call ahead and ask the teacher to check the surveillance footage.”

When Lao Zhao heard that Cheng Simin had lost her sister, he volunteered to take Zhou Yan to search around the train station. Though Cheng Simin doubted that Jiabao—armed with only ten yuan—could reach the train station, every bit of help counted. She planned to post Jiabao’s photo on social media platforms.

After being helped up earlier, Chen Xiaofen stared blankly at Cheng Simin. Even now, seated in the backseat clutching the bottled water Shi Ying had handed her, her mind remained dazed. Memories of the past flickered before her eyes like a revolving lantern, refusing to settle. Though she knew Cheng Simin was speaking to her, her ears seemed deaf to the words. All she saw were lips moving, forming what looked like the word “Mom.”

Each time Cheng Simin called out, Chen Xiaofen responded with an “Ai,” but nothing more.

Growing increasingly impatient, Cheng Simin leaned forward and snatched the phone from her mother’s hand. Chen Xiaofen still used the old phone Cheng Simin had replaced during her first year of work. The pink TPU case had hardened over time, adorned with a faded heart-shaped charm bracelet.

The screen was locked with a gesture password. Cheng Simin tried swiping it—the abbreviation of her childhood nickname, “M.”

As the screen unlocked, Cheng Simin felt an inexplicable pang in her chest. Quickly composing herself, she took a deep breath and opened the photo gallery.

To her dismay, aside from a few software-generated icons, the gallery was empty. She had taught Chen Xiaofen how to set passwords and take photos, yet all she found were initial pictures Cheng Simin had posted on social media when she first started working.

Chen Xiaofen had saved every single one of those posts, organizing them into a separate album titled My Daughter.

Staring at the words My Daughter, Cheng Simin bit her lip, her throat emitting a faint, involuntary clicking sound.

Emotions surged like powerful waves, threatening to shatter the calm she struggled to maintain.

She felt both anger and sorrow. She wanted to scream at Chen Xiaofen, demanding why she kept photos of a stranger she’d cut ties with. She also wanted to scold her fiercely for treating her biological daughter so harshly, resorting to violence or verbal abuse at the slightest provocation.

Chen Xiaofen wasn’t incapable of being a gentle mother. During Cheng Simin’s upbringing, though not a towering tree, she had been as resilient as cattail grass.

While maintaining Cheng Wei’s authority at home, Chen Xiaofen had always been the voice of reason, the glue between father and daughter—not the enforcer of violence. No matter what mistakes Cheng Simin made—even questioning why she hadn’t aborted her pregnancy—Chen Xiaofen merely gazed at her with a pitiful expression, never laying a finger on her.

If Jiabao was her flesh and blood, carried for ten months and birthed with great effort, shouldn’t she cherish her even more?

How could she neglect her own daughter to the point of driving her away?

Why was Chen Xiaofen so contradictory? Why couldn’t Cheng Simin understand? Why did it make her want to wail uncontrollably?

Out of the corner of his eye, Shi Ying noticed Cheng Simin’s trembling fingers. Thinking she feared something irreversible might happen to Jiabao, he patted her knee gently and reassured her, “Don’t worry, everything will be fine. If we can’t find her in these places, we can still file a report later. It’s raining; she won’t have gone far.”

“Mm,” Cheng Simin murmured, pulled back to reality by Shi Ying’s words.

No matter what, adults’ feelings came second. Their priority was finding Jiabao.

Once they found her and ensured her safety, everything else would fall into place.

Suppressing the bitterness rising in her throat, Cheng Simin opened her mother’s call log and dialed the homeroom teacher, taking charge of communication.

Unlike Chen Xiaofen’s rambling, Cheng Simin spoke concisely. Besides informing the teacher about Jiabao’s disappearance, she specifically inquired about any incidents involving Jiabao earlier that morning. The call went smoothly.

After hanging up, the teacher realized the severity of Jiabao’s situation—her fight at school and the resulting injustice—and actively cooperated, reporting to the administration and arranging to retrieve the afternoon’s surveillance footage.

Handing the phone back to her mother, Cheng Simin briefly touched Chen Xiaofen’s hand. Feeling how cold it was, she wanted to hold her wrist but feared she might cry. Instead, she turned toward the windshield, mimicking Shi Ying’s tone, and softly said, “It’s okay, Mom. We’ll find her. We’ll definitely find her.”

“Trust me.”

Fifteen minutes later, the car paused temporarily at the school gate. Cheng Simin instructed Chen Xiaofen and Shi Ying to stay in the car while she braved the rain alone.

Shi Ying wouldn’t let her get soaked. After pulling the handbrake, he quickly told Chen Xiaofen, “Auntie, please stay in the car. Don’t worry; we’ll be right back.”

With that, he followed Cheng Simin out of the car, removing his jacket to shield her from the rain.

Chen Xiaofen opened her mouth, her movements clumsy. Instinctively, she wanted to follow Cheng Simin, but having never ridden in a private car, she fumbled with the door handle, unable to open it. Like a snail retreating into its shell, she sank back into her seat.

Her forehead, lined with fine wrinkles, pressed against the glass window. Countless raindrops reflected in her irises, streaming down the pane and creating a kaleidoscopic world. Lost in thought, Chen Xiaofen suddenly recalled the winter she and her husband first met Cheng Simin.

In 1996, it was the fourth year of marriage for Chen Xiaofen and Cheng Wei.

That year, according to the lunar calendar, was Yi Hai, with thirteen months. Rural elders often said, “Leap in the seventh month, not the eighth; leap in the eighth brings calamity.” It was destined to be a year of disasters.

Chen Xiaofen didn’t know if this superstition held true, but that year, she was indeed mired in despair, facing the imminent prospect of being cast out by her in-laws.

Rural areas didn’t enforce family planning, and the preference for sons over daughters was deeply ingrained. Men married wives primarily to bear children.

One child wasn’t enough; two recouped the investment. Three guaranteed male heirs—bloodline secured, labor force replenished—a foolproof deal.

Chen Xiaofen’s dowry hadn’t been meager, yet she failed to produce heirs within three years of marriage.

Initially, her in-laws treated her kindly, feeding her chicken soup and nutritious meals to aid conception. But as time passed, younger women in the village began bearing children while her belly remained flat. Patience wore thin. Her in-laws grew resentful, siblings mocked her, and even her teenage sister-in-law, Cheng Ying, looked down on her.

Every conversation subtly jabbed at her.

Today, someone praised the robust wife from the east end who bore a son shortly after marrying. Tomorrow, they lauded the remarried woman from the west end who brought a tractor as part of her dowry.

Cheng Wei, spoiled as the youngest of two brothers and three sisters, brushed off the gossip. But Chen Xiaofen, burdened by guilt, worked tirelessly, doubling her efforts in the fields. Returning home each night, she avoided the dinner table, eating leftovers like a mouse.

Her body wasted away. Despite trying everything, she couldn’t conceive.

In the summer of their third year, unable to endure his parents’ nagging, Cheng Wei took her to a hospital in the provincial capital. Reproductive medicine wasn’t advanced then—ultrasound machines were black-and-white. They left without answers.

Spending hard-earned money from selling crops, Chen Xiaofen refused to leave, insisting the doctor prescribe medication and acupuncture.

An elderly doctor, exasperated, noted her missing finger and casually remarked that perhaps the high-voltage electricity had damaged her reproductive organs—an uncertain diagnosis.

Though Cheng Wei never revealed the doctor’s words to his family, their dejected demeanor upon returning signaled hopelessness. From then on, Chen Xiaofen became invisible.

For six months, including Chinese New Year, no one spoke to her except Cheng Wei. Even her nephews and nieces ignored her.

Before spring arrived, her in-laws began introducing Cheng Wei to new prospects, clearly waiting for her to leave.

Each time, Chen Xiaofen tearfully asked if he intended to divorce her. At first, Cheng Wei firmly denied it, assuring her that his older brothers already had several sons—Cheng lineage secure. But later, his tone shifted, melancholy clouding his face. Villagers mocked him, calling him impotent and laughing at his inability to sire children. He could live without offspring, but not without dignity.

On a chilly March night, Chen Xiaofen sat beside her sleeping husband, pondering her misfortune.

Unable to sleep, she rose before dawn, dressed, and prepared to walk kilometers to the pharmacy for her hypertensive father-in-law. With nowhere else to turn, she clung to pleasing her in-laws as her sole recourse.

She was a sinner in the Cheng family.

Not far from home, biting winds pierced her abdomen. Desperate to relieve herself, she hurried to the village outhouse. Entering the women’s side, she collided with a shorter, unfamiliar young girl.

The girl winced, blood trickling from her lips. Before Chen Xiaofen could inquire, a cat-like wail echoed from the toilet.

Momentarily stunned, she turned back, but the girl had vanished. Summoning courage, she approached the toilet and discovered, two meters below in the cesspool, a newborn baby still attached to its umbilical cord and placenta.