Chapter Seventy-Two: The Birth

A few days before Banxia was due to give birth, Gansui became increasingly restless, watching Banxia even as she took a sip of water, his nerves stretched taut. His anxiousness made Banxia almost wish the labor would start sooner—get it over with, to move on quickly.

When Banxia voiced this sentiment, Gansui immediately spat several times, “You’re about to become a mother! How can you speak so carelessly? Those words shouldn’t be uttered so lightly.”

“You mean the word ‘die’?” she asked.

As expected, Gansui’s veins bulged with anger. Banxia hurried to soothe him, “Don’t be mad, don’t be mad. I won’t say it again.”

Gansui kept a stern face. “You promised me you’d live well with me. If anything happens to you… No, I can’t rest easy. I must invite Old Master Huang over.”

“Let it go, you’ve already called him three times this morning. Any more and he’ll be annoyed…”

“You’re carrying twins, how could we not be extra cautious? Wait here…I’ll fetch him.”

It was as if the babies in Banxia’s belly decided to oppose Gansui. He had barely left when Banxia felt a sudden cramp in her lower abdomen. The pain intensified, and she grew unsteady on her feet.

“Xiangyu…” Banxia called out weakly.

Xiangyu hurried in.

“I think it’s time. Go, fetch the midwife.”

Gansui had arranged for the best midwife to stay at their home days before. The midwife came in and, after a quick assessment, said, “Madam, you still have a while. Eat something to keep up your strength.” She instructed Xiangyu to heat less water.

By the time Gansui returned with Old Master Huang, Banxia was already in the birthing chamber. The doors were tightly shut; not even a whisper of wind escaped, yet Gansui imagined the scent of blood filling his nostrils, so thick it made him dizzy. Anzi and Lu Ying had gone outside the city to catch wild pheasants for Banxia’s soup.

Banxia had been in labor for half an hour, sweat like beads rolling down her face, her body drenched as if fished from water. The pain seemed endless, wave after relentless wave, yet the babies showed no sign of coming.

“Banxia… Banxia, how are you?” came the anxious voice.

Banxia bit back the scream in her throat, only managing a pained moan.

“If it’s unbearable, Madam, you may cry out. Don’t force yourself. Quick, bring a handkerchief—don’t let her bite her tongue!”

The midwife’s words struck Gansui like thunder, making his legs weak, but Banxia still barely made a sound.

By noon, the babies still hadn’t arrived. Anzi, carrying two chickens, entered cheerfully but was thrown into a panic upon hearing Banxia was in labor. The two anxiously paced outside, beating their chests in worry.

Another half hour passed, and Banxia could no longer bear it, groaning in agony. The two outside trembled with concern. Only then did Lu Ying notice that their young mistress, usually unshaken even before the rampaging Kohler soldiers, now looked as if facing a formidable foe.

Old Master Huang, accustomed to childbirth, calmly sipped his tea and offered comfort, “This is how labor goes. No need to worry. Madam has great endurance—she hasn’t cried out much all day. She’s a courageous woman.”

Gansui found no solace, anxiously asking, “How much longer?”

“It should be soon.”

Banxia felt as if her soul were about to leave her body, tears streaming uncontrollably—not from sadness, but from the sheer physical pain.

“Madam, hold on, the head is coming. Push harder…”

Banxia followed the instructions, and finally, as dusk fell, the two babies entered the world with lusty cries.

The midwife wiped the babies down, tidied the room, then, with her apprentice, carried each child out. The doors, closed all day, now opened, and Gansui and Anzi rushed forward. “How is my wife, my sister?”

The midwife rarely saw such families—asking after the mother instead of the children.

“Madam fell asleep from exhaustion. Congratulations, sir, you have a dragon and a phoenix. The older brother is robust, the younger sister is weak, her cries are soft. She’ll need careful nurturing. With Old Master Huang here, I won’t meddle. I’ll take my leave.” She handed the babies to Gansui.

Gansui had practiced holding a child with a pillow countless times, but when he finally received the baby, his hands were stiff as if cradling a block of stone.

“Your posture is fine, don’t be so nervous. It’s alright.”

The apprentice handed the other child to Anzi, who was much calmer, though his hands trembled slightly as he took the baby.

“Xiangyu, see Lady Wang out.”

The midwife took her leave.

Gansui had Han Shui follow Old Master Huang to fetch medicinal recipes. Banxia had suffered greatly in childbirth; as the midwife advised, it would be best not to conceive again for at least three years.

Gansui cared little for this—now that he had a son and daughter, he felt no regrets; Banxia need not bear more children.

Anzi cradled the sister, who remained frail, while Gansui placed the brother in the crib, where he slept soundly. Anzi barely moved before the sister began to whimper—not quite crying, just a delicate fuss. Anzi dared not budge, holding her with a blank stare.

“Put her in the crib, or your arms will ache.”

“But she doesn’t want to.”

“Let me hold her,” Gansui said, realizing he hadn’t yet held his little girl.

Reluctantly, Anzi handed her over; before Gansui could even take her, the sister started fussing again. “She likes me holding her. It’s alright, she’s very light.”

Indeed, unlike her brother who weighed over six pounds, the sister only weighed a little over four. Anzi, watching his kitten-like sister, felt nothing but tenderness.

Gansui felt a pang of jealousy—his little girl liked another boy best. He was quietly annoyed.

Banxia slept until evening, waking only when the lamps were lit. She felt immeasurably lighter, as if her body had been remodeled, her bones stretched, though she was sticky all over.

Gansui watched by her side, and as she stirred, he said, “You must be exhausted. Eat something quickly.”

That suggestion made Banxia realize she was starving. The first meal after childbirth was to be liquid; she saw brown sugar water boiled with eggs, egg custard, and tomato and egg soup.

“Gansui, did you wipe out an entire flock of chickens?”

“The most important thing is for the family to be whole.”

Chicken: Not particularly grateful for such wholeness, thanks.

“These dishes are tasteless. I want spicy crayfish.” Banxia’s mouth watered at the thought. After six years here, she still craved crayfish, and now the longing was almost unbearable.

“Spicy food is forbidden. Anzi caught you two wild pheasants; after feeding them for a couple of days, we’ll make soup. It’ll be delicious, not greasy at all.” Gansui’s description whetted Banxia’s appetite, and she finished all the eggs.

Just then, an old woman arrived, and Banxia realized there were more people in the house. Gansui explained, “This is Aunt Yang. Old Master Huang said we lack experience and don’t have elders around, so he recommended Aunt Yang to help. She’s very experienced with children.”

“Madam, the young master and young miss are hungry. Shall we feed them?”

Not every woman produces milk after childbirth; Aunt Yang had Banxia let the babies suckle to stimulate milk production.

Aunt Yang held the two babies—how different they were. The brother’s head was plump, the sister’s was fragile. Banxia kissed her delicate daughter tenderly.

The brother was strong, crying loudly and energetically, while the sister rarely cried, preferring to whimper and beg for attention, making her all the more cherished. Especially Anzi, who could hold her for hours, even while reading, provoking Gansui’s jealousy, who would sneak in at night to cuddle the sister. Once she got used to him, he could hold her during the day too.

Children grow quickly. By their first month, the two red-faced little monkeys had become fair and tender. The sister’s eyes were wide and moist, misty as she gazed at you—you’d want to place the whole world in her hands.

For the first time, Gansui booked the largest restaurant in Liangzhou to celebrate the babies’ month. He not only hosted a banquet inside but also set up a feast along the street for the townspeople. The invitations specifically noted that anyone bringing gifts would be stopped at the door. Subordinates and local gentry marveled at Gansui’s integrity—such a chance to collect gifts, yet he refused. They did not realize that Gansui simply wanted to share his joy and bless his children. Only after becoming parents did they understand how children give meaning to every little thing in life.

Lin Tianyu wanted to attend, but the war was too intense for him to leave. He sent a subordinate with gifts: a jade-carved white horse and phoenix, both exquisitely made, clearly not ordinary items. Banxia treasured them, grateful for his sentiment.

Gansui, in high spirits, drank too much that day; his jade-like face flushed, he staggered about, his expression silly and happy. Han Shui, witnessing the usually unflappable master so soft for the first time, realized how children could change a person.

Gansui, reeking of alcohol, entered the room. Banxia, having completed her month of confinement, had happily bathed in two tubs of water. After two months without bathing, she felt sour and foul all over and wondered how Gansui could stand it. Now, freshly clean, Gansui’s stench was overpowering.

“Did you fall into a wine vat? You smell awful,” Banxia pinched her nose, feeling faint.

“I was happy and drank a few extra cups…” A few? He accepted every glass offered.

“Banxia… I’m happy.”

“I know.”

“Wife, I’m really, really happy.”

“Alright, alright. Happy.”

“Wife, I love you the most! Mwah.” Gansui kissed Banxia fiercely, then passed out drunk.

Truly, men are unbearable when drunk.