Writings
delicate emotions
horros / thrillers
nursery rhymes / narrative poems
- The Scholar
- Interlude I
- The Boy
- Interlude II
- The Aristocrat
- Interlude III
- The Exorcist
- Epilogue
Dramaturgy / PLAYWRIGHTing
delicate emotions
horros / thrillers
nursery rhymes / narrative poems
Dramaturgy / PLAYWRIGHTing
BLOODLINE
BLOODLINE
21/12/2023
Word count: 1971
Approximate reading time: 6-7 minutes
Word count: 1971
Approximate reading time: 6-7 minutes
As the cityscape faded away behind the car window,
I felt the knot in my stomach finally start to loosen. Rolling green hills and
quaint farm cottages replaced the looming apartment blocks I had known all my
life. I breathed deeply and a hint of a smile played at my lips—I think I may
have finally found happiness here with my new husband Wen and his family.
Wen reached over to squeeze my hand reassuringly as we pulled up the long gravel driveway to the ancestral country villa he called home. I had expected it to be bigger—older—with more of a brooding presence. But while the worn stone walls had indeed stood for over two centuries, glowing yellow light spilled invitingly from the arched wooden doorway. Before we could knock, the heavy oak door swung open and we were enveloped by Wen's smiling family, their warmest blessings and congratulations washing over me.
In my joy, I pushed away the darker whispers, the local superstitions Wen had hinted at; there would be time enough for village stories. For now, I let myself intoxicated in the affection and familial warmth that I had never had before.
My mother—in—law herself showed me to the bridal chambers—just across from hers, she said with pride. As she slid the door closed and I sank exhausted onto the inviting goose down mattress, I finally started to process the concept of having a home.
In the amber glow of the morning sun streaming through the lattice windows, I marvelled at how quickly I felt at ease here. The daily routines of this close—knit family folded me into their warmth—kneading dough while trading village gossip with the aunties, tending the vegetable gardens while Wen worked with his uncles mending fences, long afternoon walks to pick wild herbs with dear Grandmother who smiled more with her eyes than her lips.
My own mother had died bringing me into this world; I soaked up this place where I finally belonged. I even found myself adopting some of the local superstitions asking the village witch women for divinations.
On one such night I awoke suddenly to Grandmother's faint whimpers beyond our shared wall. Heart clenching, I slipped silently to her room with a cup of calming iron buddha tea I knew would soothe her restless dreams. But I paused just outside her door as hushed voices drifted into the passageway:
"...we will hold off until the first child, but be ready..."
My breath caught sharply. I grasped in vain for the doorframe, their words dropping like stones within my ribcage, each revelation driving the air from my lungs. Fortunately, nobody found out that I was there listening in. As time went by, the night became a fuzzy memory almost something that came out of a bad dream.
The months flew by in my newfound domestic bliss, and soon my belly swelled full with promise. The aunties fussed and doted on me even more as my time drew near, stuffing me with broths and herbs for strength and nutrition.
When the midwife at last helped Wen bundle our little pearl into my trembling arms, I expected cheers and blessings to echo through the halls. Instead, pin—drop silence permeated the villa, all eyes averted from the squirming pink blanket in my embrace. Confused, I searched their downcast faces until Grandmother stepped forward, etched smile not reaching her eyes.
"A daughter is still a blessing, my sweet girl," she said, voice hollow as a drum. The others shuffled from the room, Wen staring blankly ahead like a sleepwalker.
An icy chill slithered down my spine despite the blazing braziers at my bedside. I clutched my baby—my sweet Tingting—tighter to my breast as Grandmother backed away with a bow, sliding the door closed behind her with an air of grim finality.
In the lonely days after, the family tip—toed around us. Sideways glances cast our way when they thought I wasn't paying attention. But I couldn't shake the feeling I was being watched, judged...found wanting.
Things eventually settled back into routine, but an undercurrent now charged the very air. My bliss wavered in the uncertainty — had I failed some crucial test? Would I forever be an outsider cursed to gaze at happiness from its outskirts, so close yet worlds away?
I clung desperately to the illusion, painting the crumbling walls of my reality in brilliant strokes of imagined perfection, terrified that if I peered too closely into the cracks, they would splinter completely.
On breezy evenings we, all the families in the village, often gathered as one household before the ancestral shrine: the hallowed place that tethered who we were to who our forebears had been for twelve noble generations. Here the Elders proudly recounted the deeds that had brought glory and renown to our ancestral name.
Led by Grandmother's reedy voice, they sang of heroes of the old who had risen to become provincial governors, of scholars and poets whose works illuminated the cultural fabric of the land, of fearless pioneers who built merchant fortunes that raised cities along the Great Huanghe River, of true court officials who brought peace and prosperity to thousands at the height of the Qing dynasty's mandate from Heaven.
Swallowing back my questions, I nodded meekly through their tales of a gilded age long faded. But on one chill autumn night, Grandmother grasped my hands with a surprising vigour, fixing me to her rheumy but piercing gaze.
She reminded me that in my womb lay the future now, that our noble name faced the abyss of obscurity if not continued by a rightful male heir, and that my sacred task ahead was to deliver unto this family a son: a glorious thirteenth generation to carry the bloodline.
My hands wavered at the raw hunger in their eyes — so much longing for lost greatness heaped upon my slender shoulders. Skirts swishing around slender ankles, I fled into the moonlight with a whispered excuse, hoping they mistook my trembling for awe instead of the dread that consumed my heart.
The ceremonies grew more frequent…and stranger. Bitter herbal drafts pressed on me day and night now to "cleanse the womb’s humours." Though they turned my stomach, everyone insisted it was to give our son the best start.
One evening, as I heaved my increasingly cumbersome frame up the shadowed stairs, a piercing wail echoed from Grandmother’s chambers.
“It’s my baby!” I rushed anxiously to her room, only to find her sleeping soundly, face serene in the slatted moonlight, and my daughter resting peacefully in her arms. I must have imagined it. Just as I had imagined the furtive figures whispering beyond my sight as I wandered the quiet halls at night.
My dizzy mind conjured all sorts of phantoms in those final fevered days, till the contractions seized me with molten claws. When the last searing waves of agony finally crested and I heard the thundering cries of my baby, I peered up with desperate, craving need into the midwife’s eyes. Her wrinkled lips split into a checkerboard grin around empty gums as she rasped, “Healthy babe...”
My heart caught—finally, praise be, our son! The family name! But then she continued:
“...the Heaven granted you another daughter.”
The smiles ringing my birthing mat warped instantly to predatory leers as the circle of women closed ranks around my precious girl's unmodified body. Their teeth flashed wetly in the firelight as they chittered in tongues I could no longer comprehend. My vision tunnelled; I had to save her! But invisible bonds pinned me, screaming, to the sweat-soaked sheets. The last things I saw as veil of madness fell were Grandmother’s shadowed eyes boring into mine, dead and cold with remorse.
In the hollow days after, all pretence of warmth evaporated from their eyes, their smiles merely flesh pulled taut over ravenous jaws. Love, mercy, empathy, all stripped away to reveal the monsters beneath as they now gazed upon my daughters. Their hushed whispered turned my blood to ice.
When at last Wen came to my chambers, cold revulsion in his once loving eyes, I begged him to give me another chance, vowing to do anything Grandmother suggested to birth the coveted son. So, I hardened my heart—severing my soul to reclaim my place amongst their unfeeling ranks. The warm, sweet, happy family that I had always wanted was here. I just needed to prove to them that I could be and would be part of it.
Relief broke across his stone face as he led me to her, my daughters clutched desperately to my breast. The fire had left Grandmother’s eyes too as she pulled me close, pressing an engraved iron needle into my palm with skeletal fingers and rasping detailed instructions in my ear. Though her words turned my stomach, I embraced them—the only path back to the light I craved.
In the following months, I played my role flawlessly, buoyed by their returned affection each time I respectfully enacted Grandmother’s enduring fertility secrets, however disturbing. I had grown natural to it; I felt the same as tending the tea tree gardens every time Grandma handed me a new needle.
Until finally, joyfully, beautifully my swollen womb quickened with the long-awaited signs of the boy they needed, the beast I now knew I must birth whatever the cost.
My son’s lusty cries stirred the praise and jubilation I had long craved for, but my heart remained a hollow vessel. Gazing upon his angry red face, I recalled little of the birthing itself, only disconnected images pierced the fog in my mind.
Then resonating peace as beloved darkness took me in its arms. When finally I emerged, the proud, beaming boy nestled against my breast at long last washing away the aura of failure and disgust my previous issue had brought me.
Later, while the household sang their deafening victory toasts, I crept to the old wing as I did so in the past many months. My son’s delicate body anchored in one arm, I slid aside the red wood door with the other—and muffled cries erupted from within.
There my darling ones lay restless, their young faces cherubic in merciful sleep, their body dotted with red pinpoint scars. I extended my arm to show them their little brother, the triumph after all the hardship they had been through.
Grandma was sitting beside them with the softest expressions on her face. She stood up with the help of her cane as I stepped in, gently putting two silver charms on my babies’ chests, her movement so delicate one would think she was afraid that the weight of the charms would disturb their slumber. I watched her do this with the utmost affection, as if the cold and unfeeling eyes the past years were nothing but a trick of my mind. She patted my shoulder and gave a tender kiss on my son’s cheek as she walked out. I knew it in my heart that she had gone through the same, and when the moment comes, I will have to instruct my future daughter-in-law to do the same.
“Look at your little brother, my sweet, sweet flowers.” I tenderly caressed my daughters’ little angelic faces. “Thank you so much, my babies. Mommy promises no more needles. I just needed all the spirits out there to know that boys are welcomed, and girls are not, so when they choose a house to reincarnate in, they would know to leave us alone.”
My work was finally complete. I had earned and proved my place in this family, and my children would grow up without knowing any of this. Swaddled tightly to my chest, my son began to wail once more for milk.
Wen reached over to squeeze my hand reassuringly as we pulled up the long gravel driveway to the ancestral country villa he called home. I had expected it to be bigger—older—with more of a brooding presence. But while the worn stone walls had indeed stood for over two centuries, glowing yellow light spilled invitingly from the arched wooden doorway. Before we could knock, the heavy oak door swung open and we were enveloped by Wen's smiling family, their warmest blessings and congratulations washing over me.
In my joy, I pushed away the darker whispers, the local superstitions Wen had hinted at; there would be time enough for village stories. For now, I let myself intoxicated in the affection and familial warmth that I had never had before.
My mother—in—law herself showed me to the bridal chambers—just across from hers, she said with pride. As she slid the door closed and I sank exhausted onto the inviting goose down mattress, I finally started to process the concept of having a home.
In the amber glow of the morning sun streaming through the lattice windows, I marvelled at how quickly I felt at ease here. The daily routines of this close—knit family folded me into their warmth—kneading dough while trading village gossip with the aunties, tending the vegetable gardens while Wen worked with his uncles mending fences, long afternoon walks to pick wild herbs with dear Grandmother who smiled more with her eyes than her lips.
My own mother had died bringing me into this world; I soaked up this place where I finally belonged. I even found myself adopting some of the local superstitions asking the village witch women for divinations.
On one such night I awoke suddenly to Grandmother's faint whimpers beyond our shared wall. Heart clenching, I slipped silently to her room with a cup of calming iron buddha tea I knew would soothe her restless dreams. But I paused just outside her door as hushed voices drifted into the passageway:
"...we will hold off until the first child, but be ready..."
My breath caught sharply. I grasped in vain for the doorframe, their words dropping like stones within my ribcage, each revelation driving the air from my lungs. Fortunately, nobody found out that I was there listening in. As time went by, the night became a fuzzy memory almost something that came out of a bad dream.
The months flew by in my newfound domestic bliss, and soon my belly swelled full with promise. The aunties fussed and doted on me even more as my time drew near, stuffing me with broths and herbs for strength and nutrition.
When the midwife at last helped Wen bundle our little pearl into my trembling arms, I expected cheers and blessings to echo through the halls. Instead, pin—drop silence permeated the villa, all eyes averted from the squirming pink blanket in my embrace. Confused, I searched their downcast faces until Grandmother stepped forward, etched smile not reaching her eyes.
"A daughter is still a blessing, my sweet girl," she said, voice hollow as a drum. The others shuffled from the room, Wen staring blankly ahead like a sleepwalker.
An icy chill slithered down my spine despite the blazing braziers at my bedside. I clutched my baby—my sweet Tingting—tighter to my breast as Grandmother backed away with a bow, sliding the door closed behind her with an air of grim finality.
In the lonely days after, the family tip—toed around us. Sideways glances cast our way when they thought I wasn't paying attention. But I couldn't shake the feeling I was being watched, judged...found wanting.
Things eventually settled back into routine, but an undercurrent now charged the very air. My bliss wavered in the uncertainty — had I failed some crucial test? Would I forever be an outsider cursed to gaze at happiness from its outskirts, so close yet worlds away?
I clung desperately to the illusion, painting the crumbling walls of my reality in brilliant strokes of imagined perfection, terrified that if I peered too closely into the cracks, they would splinter completely.
On breezy evenings we, all the families in the village, often gathered as one household before the ancestral shrine: the hallowed place that tethered who we were to who our forebears had been for twelve noble generations. Here the Elders proudly recounted the deeds that had brought glory and renown to our ancestral name.
Led by Grandmother's reedy voice, they sang of heroes of the old who had risen to become provincial governors, of scholars and poets whose works illuminated the cultural fabric of the land, of fearless pioneers who built merchant fortunes that raised cities along the Great Huanghe River, of true court officials who brought peace and prosperity to thousands at the height of the Qing dynasty's mandate from Heaven.
Swallowing back my questions, I nodded meekly through their tales of a gilded age long faded. But on one chill autumn night, Grandmother grasped my hands with a surprising vigour, fixing me to her rheumy but piercing gaze.
She reminded me that in my womb lay the future now, that our noble name faced the abyss of obscurity if not continued by a rightful male heir, and that my sacred task ahead was to deliver unto this family a son: a glorious thirteenth generation to carry the bloodline.
My hands wavered at the raw hunger in their eyes — so much longing for lost greatness heaped upon my slender shoulders. Skirts swishing around slender ankles, I fled into the moonlight with a whispered excuse, hoping they mistook my trembling for awe instead of the dread that consumed my heart.
The ceremonies grew more frequent…and stranger. Bitter herbal drafts pressed on me day and night now to "cleanse the womb’s humours." Though they turned my stomach, everyone insisted it was to give our son the best start.
One evening, as I heaved my increasingly cumbersome frame up the shadowed stairs, a piercing wail echoed from Grandmother’s chambers.
“It’s my baby!” I rushed anxiously to her room, only to find her sleeping soundly, face serene in the slatted moonlight, and my daughter resting peacefully in her arms. I must have imagined it. Just as I had imagined the furtive figures whispering beyond my sight as I wandered the quiet halls at night.
My dizzy mind conjured all sorts of phantoms in those final fevered days, till the contractions seized me with molten claws. When the last searing waves of agony finally crested and I heard the thundering cries of my baby, I peered up with desperate, craving need into the midwife’s eyes. Her wrinkled lips split into a checkerboard grin around empty gums as she rasped, “Healthy babe...”
My heart caught—finally, praise be, our son! The family name! But then she continued:
“...the Heaven granted you another daughter.”
The smiles ringing my birthing mat warped instantly to predatory leers as the circle of women closed ranks around my precious girl's unmodified body. Their teeth flashed wetly in the firelight as they chittered in tongues I could no longer comprehend. My vision tunnelled; I had to save her! But invisible bonds pinned me, screaming, to the sweat-soaked sheets. The last things I saw as veil of madness fell were Grandmother’s shadowed eyes boring into mine, dead and cold with remorse.
In the hollow days after, all pretence of warmth evaporated from their eyes, their smiles merely flesh pulled taut over ravenous jaws. Love, mercy, empathy, all stripped away to reveal the monsters beneath as they now gazed upon my daughters. Their hushed whispered turned my blood to ice.
When at last Wen came to my chambers, cold revulsion in his once loving eyes, I begged him to give me another chance, vowing to do anything Grandmother suggested to birth the coveted son. So, I hardened my heart—severing my soul to reclaim my place amongst their unfeeling ranks. The warm, sweet, happy family that I had always wanted was here. I just needed to prove to them that I could be and would be part of it.
Relief broke across his stone face as he led me to her, my daughters clutched desperately to my breast. The fire had left Grandmother’s eyes too as she pulled me close, pressing an engraved iron needle into my palm with skeletal fingers and rasping detailed instructions in my ear. Though her words turned my stomach, I embraced them—the only path back to the light I craved.
In the following months, I played my role flawlessly, buoyed by their returned affection each time I respectfully enacted Grandmother’s enduring fertility secrets, however disturbing. I had grown natural to it; I felt the same as tending the tea tree gardens every time Grandma handed me a new needle.
Until finally, joyfully, beautifully my swollen womb quickened with the long-awaited signs of the boy they needed, the beast I now knew I must birth whatever the cost.
My son’s lusty cries stirred the praise and jubilation I had long craved for, but my heart remained a hollow vessel. Gazing upon his angry red face, I recalled little of the birthing itself, only disconnected images pierced the fog in my mind.
Then resonating peace as beloved darkness took me in its arms. When finally I emerged, the proud, beaming boy nestled against my breast at long last washing away the aura of failure and disgust my previous issue had brought me.
Later, while the household sang their deafening victory toasts, I crept to the old wing as I did so in the past many months. My son’s delicate body anchored in one arm, I slid aside the red wood door with the other—and muffled cries erupted from within.
There my darling ones lay restless, their young faces cherubic in merciful sleep, their body dotted with red pinpoint scars. I extended my arm to show them their little brother, the triumph after all the hardship they had been through.
Grandma was sitting beside them with the softest expressions on her face. She stood up with the help of her cane as I stepped in, gently putting two silver charms on my babies’ chests, her movement so delicate one would think she was afraid that the weight of the charms would disturb their slumber. I watched her do this with the utmost affection, as if the cold and unfeeling eyes the past years were nothing but a trick of my mind. She patted my shoulder and gave a tender kiss on my son’s cheek as she walked out. I knew it in my heart that she had gone through the same, and when the moment comes, I will have to instruct my future daughter-in-law to do the same.
“Look at your little brother, my sweet, sweet flowers.” I tenderly caressed my daughters’ little angelic faces. “Thank you so much, my babies. Mommy promises no more needles. I just needed all the spirits out there to know that boys are welcomed, and girls are not, so when they choose a house to reincarnate in, they would know to leave us alone.”
My work was finally complete. I had earned and proved my place in this family, and my children would grow up without knowing any of this. Swaddled tightly to my chest, my son began to wail once more for milk.