At 14 years old, Wang Ying doesn’t want to be a mother. She scowls darkly as her younger brother and sister squabble in the corner while she does the housework. But she grudgingly cleans up after them and cooks them a potato stew, which they eat with rice crouched together on the mud floor of their farmhouse. The house is perched right on the edge of a steep valley, so that when the rainstorms roll in across the mountains, you can sometimes look out the front door and see nothing at all.

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