Chapter 3

"You've been through all of this before, haven't you?"

The child didn't move.

I stared at its back.

An utterly impossible thought struck me.

"You've lived before?"

The room was quiet.

Somewhere, I heard ticking.

Tick.

Tick.

After a very long time, the child nodded.

"Yes."

My blood seemed to turn cold.

"Once?"

It shook its head.

"Twice?"

Again, no.

It was getting hard to breathe.

"How many times?"

Slowly, the child raised both hands.

Ten fingers.

Then it folded three down.

I stared at those little hands.

"Seventeen?"

"Yes."

I sat motionless.

It took a long time before I could ask, "You're saying… you've lived this life seventeen times?"

"Yes."

"As my child, every time?"

"Yes."

"And you remember every time?"

"Yes."

"Then why…"

I stopped.

An unease I couldn't put into words rose inside me.

"Why do you keep coming back?"

No answer.

I stood.

"Tell me."

Still nothing.

"Why?"

After a long while, the child slowly turned.

This time, darkness didn't hide its face.

At last, I saw my child.

A little girl, about five.

Long hair.

A bloodless face.

Huge eyes.

And a terrifying resemblance to me.

But what rooted me to the spot was the purple bruise around her neck.

As though someone's hands had squeezed it very hard.

She looked at me.

No tears.

No hatred.

Only a strange calm.

"Do you really not remember, Mommy?"

I stepped back.

"Remember what?"

She climbed down from the bed.

"The last seventeen times."

"Every time, I tried to save you."

"Every time, I told you what was going to happen."

"But in the end…"

She stopped in front of me and tipped up her face.

Her eyes slowly reddened.

"You still killed me."

I went numb.

"That's impossible."

"You're my child."

"Why would I kill you?"

She watched me for a long time.

Then she asked something completely unrelated.

"Mommy."

"What's tomorrow's date?"

I stared.

"The eighteenth."

Her face went white.

She took a step back.

For the first time since she'd appeared in my dreams, I saw her afraid.

Not of me.

Of something that was about to happen.

"It's too late."

I caught her hand at once.

"Too late for what?"

She struggled hard.

"Wake up, Mommy!"

"Tell me!"

"Mommy!"

The room began to shake.

The red walls around us slowly ran downward.

Only then did I realize, horrified—

It wasn't red paint.

It was blood.

She screamed, "Don't drink anything Grandma gives you tomorrow!"

Boom!

I jerked awake, soaked in sweat.

Footsteps sounded outside the bedroom.

Then my mother-in-law's voice.

"Qinghe, are you awake?"

I stiffened.

The door opened.

She came in carrying a bowl of hot soup.

She set it in front of me, smiling kindly.

"I've had this simmering all morning."

"The doctor said the baby's been a little unsettled. You need more nourishment."

I stared at the bowl.

For some reason, I remembered the bruise on the little girl's neck.

My mother-in-law held out a spoon.

"Drink up."

I didn't take it.

Her smile never changed.

But her voice slowly lowered.

"Qinghe."

"Why aren't you drinking?"

I looked at her.

At that moment, the baby kicked hard.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then that small voice sounded in my head again.

This time, she was crying.

"Mommy."

"Don't drink it."

"The eighteenth time…"

"I want to be born."

MY UNBORN BABY CAN TELL THE FUTURE

Story Continued—Chapter 2 to the End

Chapter 2: The Eighteenth Bowl of Soup

"Mommy."

"Don't drink it."

"The eighteenth time… I want to be born."

That small voice inside my head stopped my hand as I reached for the bowl.

My mother-in-law still stood beside the bed.

She watched me, the smile unchanged on her lips.

"What's wrong, Qinghe?"

I looked at the soup.

Pale yellow broth, with pieces of red date and goji berries floating on top. A faint scent of medicinal herbs rose from it.

Normally, I loved this soup.

Ever since I'd become pregnant, she'd made a bowl every three days.

She said it was a family recipe, to support the pregnancy and nourish my blood and energy.

I'd been drinking it for six months.

A chill swept down my back.

Six months.

Six months of drinking this.

"Mom, I feel a little sick."

I tried to keep my voice steady.

"Could I have it later?"

She didn't move.

She still held the bowl.

"It's best while it's hot."

"But I really don't feel like it."

"Qinghe."

Her voice suddenly deepened.

"I spent all morning making this."

I looked up.

For an instant, I realized her eyes were nothing like usual.

Not the eyes of a mother worried about her daughter-in-law.

More like someone waiting for the outcome of something terribly important.

I forced a smile.

"Then leave it there. I'll drink it after I use the bathroom."

As I tried to stand, she put a hand on my shoulder.

Her hand was cold.

"Drink it first."

I went rigid.

Just then, the phone on my bedside table rang.

Mingyuan.

I snatched it up.

"Hello?"

"Are you up?"

"Yes."

"I just got to the office. Has Mom made you soup?"

I looked at her.

She was looking at me too.

"Yes."

Relief immediately entered his voice.

"Make sure you finish it."

I didn't answer.

"Qinghe?"

"I'm here."

"What's wrong?"

I looked at the bowl.

A thought flashed through my mind.

"Mingyuan, can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"Do you know what your mother puts in the soup?"

Silence.

Only two seconds.

Long enough for my heart to sink.

Then he laughed.

"What a strange question. It's just tonic herbs."

"Which herbs?"

"How would I know?"

"Then why do you keep telling me I have to drink it?"

This time, he didn't laugh.

"Qinghe, you're overthinking things again."

I wanted to ask more, but my mother-in-law took the phone from my ear.

"Don't worry," she told her son. "I'll look after Qinghe."

Then she ended the call.

My head snapped up.

"Mom!"

She put the phone down.

"You're pregnant. Don't worry so much."

The bowl came toward me again.

"Drink."

I looked at her.

She looked at me.

The bedroom felt stifling.

Just as I ran out of ideas, my lower belly cramped.

A sharp pain stabbed through me.

I clutched my belly and cried out.

"Ah!"

Her expression changed.

"What's wrong?"

"My… my stomach…"

I doubled over.

"It hurts…"

She put the bowl down at once and came to support me.

"Is something wrong with the baby?"

I shook my head, deliberately gasping.

"I need… the hospital…"

She hesitated.

That hesitation chilled me.

A woman six months pregnant was crying out in severe pain.

Shouldn't her family's first response be to get her to a hospital?

Why was she hesitating?

I gritted my teeth.

"Mom, if anything happens to me, Mingyuan will blame you!"