Journey to the West – Episode 4: Lady Yin's Heartbreaking Choice and the Birth of the Floating River Monk

 A child born in a garden, among chrysanthemums and blood. A voice in the dream: protect him. A mother who loves him and doesn't know how.

A pinky toe. The pinky toe of a newborn's left foot. Small as a grain of rice. Pink. Alive. And in a few moments, it will be gone. Because a mother is about to bite it off. To sever it. To leave it on her son as a mark — the only mark — the one that, in eighteen years, will let her recognize him.

The woman holds the baby in her arms. Her hands are shaking. The newborn sleeps. He doesn't know what's about to happen. He doesn't know his mother is giving him a mutilation as a gift. As a prayer.

And outside, in the palace of Jiangzhou, a man wants to throw this baby into the river. Tomorrow. At dawn.

Liu Hong enters the room. Sees the child. His face shuts like a bolted door.

"Throw him in the river," he orders. "Now."

Lady Yin feels the blood freeze beneath her skin. But the panic must not show. It cannot show.

"It's late," she answers, and her voice does not tremble. "Wait until tomorrow. You'll drown him at dawn."

He looks at her. Nods. Leaves. His footsteps fade down the corridor like distant hammer blows.

Lady Yin is alone with the baby. Her heart beats in her ears — a dry, metallic sound that fills her mouth.

That night she doesn't sleep. She can't. She stares at the ceiling, then at the child. She counts the hours like beads on a rosary. At dawn, Liu Hong will return. And the baby will die. There is no escape. And she knows it.

Then morning comes. Light enters through the window like a thin blade. Lady Yin hears footsteps in the corridor and every muscle in her body turns to stone. But it isn't Liu Hong. It's a messenger. The man who passes himself off as governor has been summoned urgently on business. Gone. Who knows when he'll be back.

Lady Yin closes the door. Kneels beside her son.

If he comes back and finds the child, he'll kill him for certain. Better to give him to the river: let Heaven decide whether he lives or dies. And if someone saves him, perhaps one day we'll find each other again.

She takes a needle. Bites her finger. Blood wells up — warm, metallic. She dips the brush. And writes.

Father's name: Chen Guangrui. Mother's name: Yin Wenjiao. Family origin. How he was born. Why she is leaving him. The words come out crooked, trembling, red. The blood smells of iron. It drips down her wrist.

Then she looks at the baby. Looks at the left foot. The pinky toe. Small. Pink. Alive.

She bends down. Holds the tiny foot between her fingers — her hands won't stop shaking. The newborn stirs in his sleep. She closes her eyes. Her breath breaks in her throat.

She bites.

It's something no mother should ever do. But she does it.

The baby cries. A sharp, brief sound. Then silence. A red drop on the white cloth. Lady Yin wraps the little foot in her robe. Presses her son to her chest with a strength she didn't know she'd had.

She won't cry. Can't. Not now.

She wraps him in her undergarment. The fabric smells of milk and sweat. She tucks him against her breast. Slips out of the palace, a shadow among shadows.

The river is close. She reaches the bank. The sound of water. The cold of the night on her skin. And there, on the shore, a wooden board. Washed up. As if someone had left it. As if the river had carried it there on purpose.

Lady Yin breaks into a long, gut-wrenching sob. A sob that rises from her gut, from the bones, from eighteen days of silence. She weeps for her dead husband, for her blind mother-in-law. She weeps for the son she is about to lose — and perhaps for herself, too, for the woman she was before this night.

Then she wipes her eyes. Looks at the baby, then at the river.

She's about to cast him into the waves. Her arms stretch out. Her body leans forward. One more moment, and he'll hit the water. DEAD.

Then she sees the board.

She stops. Prays to Heav

en. Lays the baby on the board. Ties him with a rope. Pins the letter to his chest. Her hands are still shaking. The blood from her finger has dried, black beneath her nails.

She pushes.

The board moves. Drifts away. Becomes a shadow. A dot. Nothing.

Lady Yin stays on the bank. With tears still in her eyes. With the taste of blood in her mouth. With the emptiness in her chest where the weight of her son used to be.

She walks back to the palace. She doesn't look back.

The board follows the current. One day. Two. The baby cries, then sleeps, then cries again. The sun burns his skin. The night freezes it.

It stops beneath the Temple of the Golden Mountain.

This is only the origin. The journey begins now.

Journey to the West – Vol. 1: The Origins of the Monkey King 👉 [Read the first volume]