Yun Chu (2)

Over the next few days, Er Ya became extraordinarily obedient. She no longer cried, nor did she ask where Zhou Mingyuan had gone. Those eyes that had once reflected starlight and longing now held only the stillness of dead water.

The man was called Wang Hu, a peddler who usually wandered the streets and alleys selling miscellaneous trinkets. He had bought her in the first place to vent his lust and have someone to order around. Seeing her suddenly become docile, he assumed she had been beaten into submission, and most of his guard fell away.

Before dawn, while Wang Hu hummed a lewd tune and sorted out his peddler's load, she had already silently lit the stove. Corn porridge bubbled in the iron pot. She ladled out a bowl to cool, then soaked Wang Hu's blue cloth jacket, speckled with mud from the day before, in a wooden basin.

The collar of that jacket was always stained with cheap rouge powder from his peddler's load. She had to scrub it over and over with soap pods, until her fingertips turned red, yet she only kept her head lowered, not even furrowing her brow.

Wang Hu went from village to village selling wares during the day, and every night he returned reeking of sweat and liquor. The moment he touched the bed, he would turn rough with her. At first, Er Ya could only cower and tremble in the corner of the bed, but after a few days, whenever he came through the door, she would hand him a wrung-out cloth. Once he settled down, she would silently go warm the wine in the kitchen.

Cheap liquor steamed in a coarse porcelain bowl. As she handed it to him, her fingertips lightly brushed his callused hand. Seeing her yield, Wang