Chapter 1
For generations, my family had passed down a single secret art, a forbidden ritual that turned female fetuses into male ones.
The ritual could change a child before birth, with a success rate as high as 99%.
And I was the only exception.
Before my father died, he stared into my eyes and said, "So it wasn't the ritual that failed, but..."
He never understood why the ancestral ritual that had always worked stopped working on his own child.
After all, the dark art guaranteed a male child once a pregnant woman drank the potion.
Since my great-grandfather's time, my family built staggering wealth on this ritual.
Even though every boy created this way died before turning 30, nobles and officials still paid any price for a son.
The family rules allowed no more than 36 transformations a year.
But my father was blinded by greed. As long as the money came, he never refused anyone.
In the most extreme year, he performed 360 transformations. Then I was born.
For the first time, the ritual my father took such pride in failed.
He stared at me swaddled, trembling.
He couldn't understand it. The same potion had always worked. Why not on his own child?
He spent his days digging through our ancestral records, never finding an answer. When I was eight years old, he died in despair.
At the end, he looked into my eyes and whispered, "So it wasn't the ritual that failed..."
Later, I learned the truth. And it was far more terrifying than any dark art.
*****
After my father passed, all those powerful elites desperate for a son started hounding our family.
Mom shut them out, telling them straight up that the boy-turning ritual was a family secret. It passed to sons, never daughters.
But they didn't believe her. They stormed into our house, tore through every room, and even dug up our ancestors' graves, hoping to find the secret for themselves.
That night, Mom packed up our things and whisked me away from the capital. We drifted from place to place until we finally found shelter in a small town at the foot of a mountain.
Mom traded away her last gold hairpin just to buy some food, and we survived on her midwifery and sewing skills.
We used to have mountains of gold and silver at home, but now even beggars looked down on us. Still, Mom took it all in stride, never once complaining.
She'd often sit with me by the oil lamp, gently stroking my face and saying, "Those boys created by the secret ritual never live past thirty.
"But you, my daughter, you'll live to a hundred. You'll be wise and educated, and one day, you'll achieve great things. Just like any man."
Later, Mom sacrificed everything for me.
To make sure I had enough to eat and could go to school, she married the landlord, Bob, with a bad leg in town, becoming his sixth concubine.
Every day, the head wife made her kneel on a washboard, while the other concubines withheld her monthly allowance and cut her meals.
Whenever Bob got drunk, he'd beat up and yell at Mom, but she never said a word, just hugged me close and held on tight.
Every time I came home from school, I'd see Mom secretly wiping away her tears. As soon as she spotted me, she'd instantly plaster on a smile and wave me over.
She'd dig out the little bits of silver she'd stashed under the bedding and press them into my palm. "You're still growing, go treat yourself to something tasty."
It wasn't until Mom got pregnant that the landlord finally showed us a real smile for the first time. And for once, we actually had some meat on the table.
He patted Mom's belly, his beard shaking with excitement. "This time, it's gotta be a boy!"
Bob was fifty-nine, had five daughters, and not a single son. No wonder he was treating Mom's pregnancy like it was the most important thing in the world.
Three months later, the lame landlord brought in a physician to take Mom's pulse.
After the physician finished, he went to report to the master, and I quietly trailed after him.
"Sir, it's a girl," the physician announced.
Bob smashed his teacup on the spot. "Another money pit! Brew up some abortion medicine and get rid of it."
I actually remembered a bit about my dad's secret art for turning girls into boys.
Mom had gone through so much for me. If I could make this baby a boy, maybe she'd finally stop being bullied and looked down on. I wanted to give it a shot for her sake.
So I burst into the hall and dropped to my knees. "I know a way to change the baby in Mom's belly into a boy. Please, don't force Mom to get rid of it!"
Bob's eyes lit up. If it weren't for his bad leg, he probably would've rushed right over to me. "Are you sure?"
I replied, "I'm sure. But I demand Mom gets meat at every meal, and nobody better dare lay a hand on her ever again."
Bob asked, "How long will it take?"
"Three months."
"Fine. But if that baby pops out and it's still a girl..."
I didn't need him to finish. I knew exactly what he was saying. If it were still a girl... Mom and I were as good as dead.
He flashed a grin, that gold tooth of his shining like a warning sign.
Back then, I had no clue the real cost of the boy-turning ritual was way more complicated than just dying young.
I started mixing the ingredients, just like the secret recipe I remembered. Mugwort, ginseng, that rare herb snow-in-summer... and finally, three drops of blood of the baby's father.