The Chinese Dream on Earth

Childhood Under Burdens

On January 1, 1982, the CCP Central Committee transmitted the "Summary of the National Rural Work Conference," which clearly proposed various rural responsibility systems. These included fixed payment for piecework, joint production and remuneration by specialty contracts, output linked to labor, and responsibility systems extending from collective output to individual households or groups, all under the socialist collective economic framework. The Central Document No. 1 of 1983 further clarified that the contractual production system combined unified and decentralized management to simultaneously enhance both the superiority of the collective and the initiative of individuals. My father, eager to heed the Party's call, took on contracts for the village flour and cotton processing factories. With his urban work experience and contacts with cooperative factories securing orders, he thought making money would naturally follow. A straightforward man, he believed managing the logistics through finance and workshop directors would suffice, trusting his employees as Liu Qiangdong did when he first opened a restaurant. However, he soon realized that human nature sometimes demands systematic safeguards. Despite steady orders, the factories consistently incurred losses. Initially, villagers queued at our home for loans; later, they lined up to demand repayments. Within a few years, the factories became insolvent, and our family became the village's major debtor, with daily debt collection calls blaring through the village loudspeaker.

As a primary school student, the sound of the loudspeaker made me wish I could vanish into thin air. In class, I dared not answer questions loudly, making me an easy target for some teachers' children who saw me as weak. They mocked me and sometimes ganged up on me, knowing no one would defend me as my parents were overwhelmed with their own troubles. Learning to rely on myself, I fought back when attacked, ensuring they too learned their lesson. Being small and skinny, I often returned home bruised and battered, hiding my injuries from my parents. Once, after school, a teacher's son named Tao chased me for my pencil case and scattered my pencils. Unable to tolerate it any longer, I fought back, and he scratched my face deeply, drawing blood. Panicking, he fled home, and I followed, only to find the door locked. In frustration, I threw a large stone at his door. When I got home, I pretended nothing happened and hid in my room. Soon his parents came to complain, and without seeking the truth, my mother severely beat me. She was not interested in my explanations or grievances.

Knowing the pain of being bullied, I didn't hesitate to chase down and scold anyone who harassed my younger brother, hoping to make him feel safer and fortunate to have a sister to protect him. To my disappointment, he wished for a brother, thinking that would deter bullies more effectively. Although his words hurt at the time, they made sense in hindsight.

I never submitted to bullying, even from bigger or more numerous opponents, and never sought help from teachers or parents, as it was futile—often the bullies were teachers' children. I always fought back, even if it meant accumulating scars. Whether it was during fights where boys used chairs or other implements, I retaliated in kind. Sometimes, the fights left me breathless, but I always stood up to continue. Whether it was my stubborn resistance, their maturing, or my improved fighting skills, from third grade onward, no one dared to bully the quiet, skinny girl from a debt-ridden family without support. Although I gained a reputation among teachers for being mischievous and was frequently punished by being made to stand outside the classroom, I never shared these experiences with my family. Sometimes, watching sparrows fight over food or trees swaying in the wind was more interesting than class.

Once, my foot was caught in a bike, and I limped for days. A teacher remarked that it was good for keeping me quiet, confusing me as I never understood what I had done to be considered disruptive. Teachers rotated dining at students' homes, and when it was our turn, my mother went out of her way to prepare several dishes, hoping to impress. Despite our efforts and significant debts, including fines for my brother and debts from the contracted enterprises, it seemed we never fully satisfied the teachers, possibly contributing to their bias against me.

Primary education was supposed to be compulsory, but each semester involved numerous "work-study" tasks. Sometimes these were collective efforts like gathering herbs in the mountains, led by teachers who instructed us on what to collect while students spread out to gather. Other times, we were expected to collect items like pinecones or hawthorn leaves during weekends or holidays. Only once did we need to collect hundreds of pounds of hawthorn leaves, and with everyone in the village also collecting, the good spots were quickly taken, leaving only the areas around the cemetery. My mother and I spent an entire day gathering there, and despite the eerie setting, we persevered until dusk. Hawthorn leaves, known for their cooling and pain-relieving properties, are both edible and medicinal, offering benefits like detoxification and constipation relief. However, their consumption should be moderate. It remains unclear why the school required such large quantities of hawthorn leaves, and neither parents nor students dared to question it. Everyone simply met their quotas.

I didn't place much importance on academic studies in elementary school. My brother often disrupted my homework, tearing up my books or scribbling on them. Once, a required reading section was missing from my book, and I had to sneak peeks at my classmate's copy during class. When the teacher called on me to recite, I managed to do so after a quick glance, surprising even myself with my quick thinking. My mother rarely inquired about my studies, and while I consistently ranked within the top ten, I never received any awards from school evaluations. At the end of each term, my mother closely scrutinized my grades, and because I never ranked first, I always had to promise to try harder, despite not understanding the point of striving for the top. The highest I ever ranked was second, and still, I had to apologize.