"The Mortal Chapter Of Qing Zhuan" - Chapter 1

Rebirth into the World

As the pale yellow sun slowly dipped below the horizon, a vibrant new life was born in a small northeastern town — it was the afternoon of April 4, 1988, the day of Qingming Festival. That’s right, I was born — the reincarnation of a soul as pure as crystal — Li Yuan!

In a tiny, old hospital room tinged with the remnants of a bygone era, my mother — my great, selfless mother — gave birth to me without the aid of any anesthesia or painkillers.

According to my aunt, I was quite the troublemaker in the womb — like a restless meatball rolling around. My mother was in excruciating pain. She could feel the doctor’s large hands reaching inside and tugging left and right with all their strength to pull me out.

My mother later told me, “I even heard the doctor say my intestines came out along with the baby, and they had to quickly stuff them back in. That kind of pain makes you numb. I was trembling and convulsing all over until I heard a piercing, shrill cry — only then did I come to. That’s when I realized — my baby was here.”

Just hearing her describe it made me feel sharp pain — let alone experiencing it myself. According to local tradition, when a baby is born, you’re supposed to put a piece of sweet candy in their mouth — symbolizing that the child will grow up to be capable and successful.

I remember my mother told me more than once:
“At the time, your aunt bought you the most popular candy on the market — White Rabbit milk candy…”

My mother didn’t stay long in the hospital. Partly because our family couldn’t afford it, and partly because child trafficking was rampant — newborns being stolen wasn’t uncommon in those days.

That’s one of the biggest reasons my mother hurried home. Being an older mother, she knew how precious this child was — and she protected me with all her heart.

Those were chaotic times. Even though the government was cracking down on crime, human trafficking, drug dealing, and gambling were still rampant. Especially in the northeast, human traffickers were so notorious that the locals developed a deep, burning hatred for them…

After we got home, relatives came to visit and brought all sorts of gifts — wild game, old hens, eggs (chicken, duck, goose), pork, beef, lamb, and more.

Unfortunately, my loving mother couldn’t eat much during her postpartum confinement. All she could stomach was some pickled vegetables and instant noodle broth. In contrast, my father was visibly getting rounder by the day…

Uncle Lao Yin from our village, a good friend of my dad, came to congratulate him. On the way, he ran into my dad and cheerfully clasped his hands together, saying:

“Congratulations, Dr. Li! A baby girl, eh? That’s wonderful! Here, take this basket of black-bone chicken eggs!”

My dad was overjoyed and modestly replied:
“Oh come on, you really didn’t need to! This is too generous. Hahaha! But you must come to the full moon celebration, Old Yin! Don’t forget!”

Uncle Yin laughed and said:
“Dr. Li, of course I’ll be there!”

As the two laughed and walked together, they bumped into Shi Shiwen’s father on the road. The atmosphere immediately turned awkward — both men exchanged sidelong glances, clearly uncomfortable.

Why? Because about a year ago, around the same time, Shi Shiwen’s son was born — and my dad hadn’t gone to congratulate them.

Shi Shiwen’s father awkwardly scratched the back of his head and said:
“So I heard your wife gave birth, huh? A girl — no handle on that one, eh?”

My father shot back:
“What’s wrong with girls? Girls are like little padded jackets for their fathers! Unlike boys — you raise them only for their mother-in-law. You don’t even get to see them during the holidays!”

Shi Shiwen’s father’s face darkened, folding his arms and giving my dad a sideways glare, lips pursed in discontent.

My father, however, walked on with his head held high and chest puffed out. The awkward tension between them was so thick it could’ve frozen the air.

Trying to defuse the situation, Uncle Yin quickly changed the subject:
“Well, well! Seems like neither of you are busy today! Once we drop these eggs off at your place, Dr. Li, why don’t the two of you come help me move some chairs I ordered from the commune yesterday?”

My dad turned and asked:
“Chairs? You bought chairs, Old Yin? Do they sell baby strollers at the commune? I wanna get one for my baby girl!”

Uncle Yin replied with a laugh:
“Oh! I haven’t checked for that, but let’s take a look while we’re there!”

My dad nodded, and when my mother saw the three of them approaching, she hurried out to greet them.

She wore a light yellow headscarf, a grayish apron, and my dad’s slippers. “Brother Yin, you’re here! Please, come in and have some tea,” she said.

Uncle Yin smiled and waved her off:
“You should be resting! You just gave birth — what are you doing up and about? Go back inside before you catch a chill!”

My dad rushed over and gently scolded her:
“Didn’t we agree you wouldn’t cook today? Why are you still running around? Go lie down, my good wife!”

She pouted and said:
“Your cooking isn’t very good… I wanted to make something myself…”

The two men nearby burst into laughter.

Uncle Yin chuckled:
“Dr. Li, you may be a miracle doctor, but your cooking still needs some serious work! Hahaha!”

Even Shi Shiwen’s dad joined in laughing. My dad’s face turned red as he said to my mom:
“Don’t say stuff like that in front of people! Go put the eggs away. I’m heading to the commune with Old Yin. I’ll be back soon!”

My mom blinked with her starry eyes and asked:
“What are you going there for?”

“To help him move some chairs. And maybe pick up a stroller for our girl!” Dad replied.

She nodded, and my father waved goodbye:
“I’ll be right back!”

At the commune, Dad looked all around but couldn’t find a stroller.

After helping carry the chairs to Uncle Yin’s house, Shi Shiwen’s dad wiped his sweat and said:
“Nice chairs, Old Yin! Anyway, I’m off to check on my eldest boy. You two should come drink at my place sometime!”

Uncle Yin waved:
“Sure, take care!”

My dad muttered complaints, and Uncle Yin turned back, chuckling:
“Why bother with that guy? You’re an educated man, a doctor! He didn’t even go to school, just worked as a laborer for his brother. Who knows what his wife sees in him?”

The two shared a good laugh before Dad hummed a little tune on the way home.

When he arrived, he saw a brand-new baby stroller in the yard and ran into the house, grinning.

Right then, he bumped into my uncle who had just returned from Beijing.

Delighted, Dad clapped him on the shoulder:
“Anzi! You’re back! When did you get here? Let’s buy some groceries and have a drink later!”

Uncle smiled:
“Just got home — and here you are already. Your sister and I were just talking about you! You sure pop up when we mention your name!”

The two went shopping and chatted.
“How’s business?” Dad asked.

Uncle nodded:
“Fantastic, of course! Business is booming!”

Mom looked at the two of them fumbling around the kitchen and rolled her eyes before kicking them out.

She cooked up a feast and wiped the sweat from her forehead:
“Come eat already, you two! Stop chatting — talk after dinner!”

…

Time passed through the bowls of rice we shared as a family, leaving its trail by the riverbank and brushing the surface with ripples. The early spring sunset was beautiful — like a Chinese ink painting.

Pale red sunlight sank behind the misty mountains, clouds and peaks outlined with a soft glow.

Although the Northeast is known for its harsh winters, our region has the full splendor of all four seasons.

In spring, everything awakens. When the river ice breaks each year, the melting snow nourishes the black earth.

Green willows sprout, lush grasses cover the land, and the hills are dotted with wild daisies, violets, and vibrant unnamed flowers, dressing the world in spring’s finery.

Peach and plum blossoms bloom boldly on distant trees — that phrase “spring riots on the branches” fits perfectly.

Look up, and you’ll see delicate white pear blossoms, bashful and reserved. Pink cherry blossoms are enchanting, and wild mountain sakura with their soft petals are irresistible — one might feel tempted to press them to the cheek.

In summer, flowers bloom in thick clusters. Daylily fields are littered with fallen petals. In the pond, tall red lotuses dance in the wind, and even the reserved white lotus, pulled down by fat koi, will lift its head again — growing pure from muddy water.

When fog rolls in, our home becomes like a fairyland — like the dwelling of a hidden sage or the setting of Peach Blossom Spring.

Peach blossoms fill the air for miles, and willow trees wave beside our family’s hundred-herb medicinal garden. Even southern plants thrive under my father’s care.

In autumn, golden ginkgo and red maples color the village, especially the ancient maple tree at our gate — said to be centuries old, still full of life.

From a high point, rows of maple and ginkgo look like guards protecting our little village.

After rain, mist rises through the forest. Wild deer prance about, and birds chirp in harmony.

The beauty of it all is beyond words. Like in the poetic scene from Peach Blossom Spring, villagers laugh and talk, catching fish in the rain with traditional straw raincoats.

Our village feels like a land forgotten by time — a paradise hidden in ink and mist.

In winter, snow blankets the land, sacred and solemn. Everywhere is white.

And in the dead of winter, a warm spring flows year-round. Its steaming waters cut through the frozen land, forming a small pond — the village’s laundry haven.

That vast white expanse brings an inner peace.

…

To me, my childhood was the most beautiful time of my life — full of warmth, love, and genuine encouragement. I grew up in what felt like a fairyland.

We lived in an old earthen house — humble, but sturdy.

The seasons passed. When Mom lit the stove, the house would fill with warmth. In winter, we’d sit on the kang (heated bed) eating her signature “Northeast Braised Sauerkraut.” The heat inside would contrast with the freezing cold outside, forming tiny droplets of condensation on the windows.

As a kid, I used to draw hearts on the fogged glass. Water droplets would run down the heart’s tail and meet others, forming long, winding tracks.

Outside, snow fell thick and fast. Inside, we roasted sweet potatoes by the fire. I’d lay on Mom’s lap while we watched them cook.

Dad, always one to enjoy life, would sit on the kang playing with our cat.

Mimi, our tuxedo cat, had a classic “black cloud over snow” pattern. People called him my best pet, but I thought of him more as my best friend — he stayed by my side for nearly a decade.

From the day Dad gave him to me as a birthday gift, we shared countless precious memories together…