Chapter Seventy-Five: Hold On Tight, the Dowager Is Taking the Wheel

There are indeed tricks to having a daughter—what tricks, you ask?

The moment Song Ci uttered these words, not only Jiang and the others were taken aback, but even Lin Qing felt a tinge of curiosity. Having spent only a short time with the Dowager of the Prime Minister’s residence, Lin Qing already found her rather fascinating—there was something of the mischievous old child about her. Though it was said the family hailed from humble origins and the Dowager herself was but a countrywoman with little learning—her only literacy gained when she urged her eldest son to study, learning alongside him—she did not seem to possess any great wisdom.

Yet, from time to time, the Dowager would say things that struck Lin Qing as startlingly reasonable, sometimes even unheard of. Immunity, resistance—those were novel terms; and now, there were tricks to bearing children? As a physician, Lin Qing herself could not so confidently claim there were ‘tricks’ to conceiving a child, so her interest was naturally piqued.

In the room, aside from a few daughters-in-law, there were only some old maids and serving girls. Song Ci’s maids were all unmarried, and upon hearing the Dowager’s words, their faces flushed red, each wondering if it might be best to take their leave.

“You should listen as well—sooner or later, you’ll find the knowledge useful. Just remember, what’s said in this room stays here,” Song Ci said with a cheerful smile.

“Mother, what are these tricks, truly?” someone pressed.

Song Ci took a sip of tea to moisten her throat, then replied, “When it comes to having children, it’s really a matter of timing, place, and harmony between people. While nothing is guaranteed, there are patterns to follow. Take your monthly courses, for example—on the very first day, you must begin counting the days…”

She then outlined, in simple terms, how to calculate the ‘safe period.’

Everyone present wore subtle, complicated expressions—was there really such a thing?

“…During these particular days, if you share your bed, the likelihood of pregnancy is greater, so you must seize the opportunity. Of course, this method only works for those whose cycles are regular; if not, it won’t do. If you can count on your courses to arrive on the same days each month, this method will serve you.”

Jiang was a little anxious. “Mother, just by calculating this ovulation period you mentioned, will that guarantee a daughter?”

“Of course not,” Song Ci replied. “This only tells you the days when you’re most likely to conceive. If you wish for a girl, you and your husband must adjust your diets. You should eat more protein—meats and foods with acidic properties, like chicken, beef, wheat, peanuts, egg yolks, persimmons, and sweets… There are so many, it’s hard to remember them all at once. I’ll jot them down for you later. As for your husband, he should eat lighter foods, such as more milk, flour, tea, seaweed, kelp, green beans, red beans, tofu, mushrooms, loquats…”

Song Ci rattled off the list of foods she remembered.

It was to her advantage that she’d once played the role of a gynecologist in a script, and there had been a scene about the tricks to having boys and girls—the lines nearly tied her tongue in knots. Later, she even looked it up online and found that, in fact, the sex of the child depended on the father, but with dietary adjustments, while not a certainty, the odds could be swayed significantly.

“Mother, if there are so many considerations for having a daughter, what about for a son?” The eldest daughter-in-law asked eagerly, recalling that before she conceived her daughter Qian’er and the others, she’d tended to eat a lot of meat.

“Then you must do the opposite, naturally,” Song Ci said. “You should eat the foods I just mentioned for the men, and as for your husband, there’s a type of seafood called oysters—you can have some sent over. Quanzhou sits by the sea; there must be plenty of fresh seafood.”

Song Ci paused, then grinned mischievously. “Actually, besides diet, there’s something else that’s quite important.”

“What is it?”

“It’s the position when you share your bed. For a girl, you do it like this, like this…”

Song Ci described it in vivid, lively detail, completely unaware that her audience’s faces had turned as red as cooked shrimp, nor did she notice the look of utter astonishment on Madam Gong’s face beside her.