Silkworm Woman

Chapter 1

[1]

If there were a piece of clothing that could make you the person who got the highest score on SAT effortlessly, would you wear it?

My mother is a legendary figure known for producing magical silk. The clothes made from this silk can transform even the most unremarkable person into the top student.

Because of this, our village became famously known as Genius Village. However, no one noticed that the children's eyes gradually lost their sparkle and they became listless.

[2]

1. Our village is nestled deep in the mountains, a journey requiring at least three hours of trekking from town. Despite these humble beginnings, we've recently gained a reputation for producing academic geniuses, earning the nickname Genius Village.

This year, the village leader's son, Ian, achieved the highest score in the entire state for the science section of the college entrance exam. When the TV station arrived to interview our top-scoring village, I was in the cellar feeding my mother.

The cellar was filled with the smell of freshly picked mulberry leaves, still glistening with morning dew. My mother lay on a pile of straw, eyes closed, mouth open, chewing with a serene rhythm. Her actions and appearance were unsettlingly similar to that of a silkworm.

Up above, I could hear the reporter's admiring voice, "Your village is extraordinary. Last year, both the top scorers in the county's college entrance exams came from here, and this year, you've produced the state's top science scorer. Truly remarkable!"

The village leader, basking in the attention, boasted, "You have no idea. My son Ian has been remarkably intelligent from a very young age. He excelled in everything he did. Becoming the state's top scorer was actually an underachievement for him. If he took that test again, he would surely be the top scorer in the nation."

I glanced at the simple-minded person beside me, who was picking his nose, and sighed helplessly. "Your grandpa sure knows how to brag," I muttered.

The simple-minded person didn't grasp my words and just smiled foolishly at me.

Everyone in the village knew the truth about Ian. He had developmental delays: he couldn't walk until he was three years old, didn't speak until he was six, and only learned to feed himself the previous year.

The reporter, confused, asked, "So why didn't you send Ian to study in a big city earlier? There are far better educational resources there."

The village leader coughed, signaling my dad, who immediately took on a somber tone. "We don't have many resources here. Once the kids are old enough, they need to help out at home. There's not much time for studying."

The reporter wasn't satisfied and pressed further, "A couple of years ago, didn't you plan to build a road? With a proper cement road, the kids could go out to study, and it would be more convenient for everyone. Why hasn't there been any progress?"

I knew the answer to that. A couple of years ago, there had indeed been plans to build a road. The county had even allocated funds. But on the day before construction was to begin, there was a massive argument between my father and the village leader.

My father, who had always been respectful to the village leader, shocked everyone by grabbing him by the collar and saying, "If the road is built and people discover this secret, your grandson Ian won't be able to take the college entrance exam in two years."

All these measures were to prevent others from discovering my mother's existence.

My mother was the most unique person in the village. She was a "silkworm woman" who could produce magical silk.

For as long as I could remember, my mother had lived in the cellar like a silkworm, needing to eat fresh mulberry leaves every day. By spring, she would produce a batch of silk, which my father would make into clothes and sell.

Those clothes had an amazing effect: they made the wearer incredibly smart.

Moreover, the clothes my mother produced each year were progressively more effective. This year, the clothes had transformed simple-minded Ian into the state's top scorer.

Faced with the reporter's persistent questioning, my dad carefully replied, "Our village kids have always been known for their hard work and resilience. Building a road would spoil them."

Though this answer seemed dubious, the reporter didn't probe further and instead asked about Ian's whereabouts. "Why isn't the top scorer at home today?"

The village leader vaguely responded that Ian had gone to the neighboring village to visit his grandparents, attempting to dismiss the reporter.

I couldn't help but chuckle. They crafted stories so easily. Ian didn't have any grandparents; he only had a mother who had been living in a tragically abusive situation. His father had beaten her to death a few years ago and had later died in a fall.

The reporter remained insistent. "Last year, we didn't get to meet the county's top scorer, and this year it's the state's top scorer. We must meet him this time!"