to help a depressed classmate had become an ordeal of deceit, violence, and slander. As a result, a hostile department could easily decide to send me to some remote province to complete my graduate studies. It was my dream, and Feng’s, to study overseas together. Now I could lose the man I loved and the opportunity to travel abroad.
I understood as never before that in China virtue and merit are not rewarded like a stable currency with a fair exchange rate. Instead, you have to purchase opportunity on the black market, through the medium of guanxi , a system that depends on the power of connections and favoritism. That’s not how I was raised, trained, or educated. The real Chinese system was not for me.
Crush, crush, crush. At the ripe old age of twenty-one, I had tasted the bitter cup of defeat and despair—the feeling that, no matter how hard I tried, I could not overcome the inner hurt and outward assault of the world. These were not physical beatings or the severe kind of punishments that people considered enemies of the state suffered. Yet the whispers and insinuations swirling around me seemed no less terrifying.
Tears dripped down my cheeks. For the first time in my life, when I was supposed to know everything—or at least more than I had known before Beida—I simply did not know what to do. I was in such pain that the other passengers’ curious looks were the least of my concerns.
Hush, hush, hush. As the train barreled on through the dark night, each stop reminded me I was one step closer to home, my rock and my refuge—the home my father had promised I could always come back to, no matter what happened. Today I needed to be there more than ever. I felt like a five-year-old girl again. I could no longer afford to be proud or stubborn. Like Scarlett O’Hara, I felt that once I got home, I would be strong again.
* * *
I arrived unannounced, to surprise everyone, as I always liked to do when returning home on break. I loved how everyone crowded into the living room, screaming and hugging me with tears of joy to welcome me home.
This time no one seemed surprised or particularly delighted when I arrived. As I stepped through the door, my dad was busy washing the dinner dishes in the kitchen, and my sister was in her room preparing for an exam. Dad looked older than I remembered, his usual ramrod-straight posture now hunched over like that of a man who had spent his life bearing loads of firewood on his back. I had always thought of my father as strong. Now he looked frail. And I detected unease behind his smile.
“Where’s Mom?” I asked him.
“She’s out running some errands.” As he spoke, he rapidly blinked his eyes. He did that whenever he had something on his mind.
“Why don’t you get some dinner, Ling Ling,” he said. “You must be hungry from the long trip. Sit down and eat.”
When I had finished my dinner, my father took my sister and me to show us the new apartment they would soon occupy. It was on a long street flanked by single-story apartment buildings. Chickens pecked at the ground in the late evening light. An older woman, a soldier who worked in the hospital with my father, called out to us as we walked along.
“Ling Ling, welcome back!” she shouted. “Did you come to visit your mom?”
“I’m just back for a short break,” I told her. “What about my mom?”
The woman started to say something, but my father intervened.
“We’re on our way to visit our new apartment,” he said. “Ling Ling hasn’t seen it.”
“What’s this about Mom?” I asked him as we hurried along.
“Oh, it’s nothing. She’s been a little under the weather, but everything’s fine.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Well . . . it isn’t exactly life threatening. She’s had a nervous breakdown.”
“What! Where is she?” A familiar sensation clenched at my throat. “I want to see her. Where is she?”
“Calm down,” Dad said. “We’ll go see her. It’s no
I understood as never before that in China virtue and merit are not rewarded like a stable currency with a fair exchange rate. Instead, you have to purchase opportunity on the black market, through the medium of guanxi , a system that depends on the power of connections and favoritism. That’s not how I was raised, trained, or educated. The real Chinese system was not for me.
Crush, crush, crush. At the ripe old age of twenty-one, I had tasted the bitter cup of defeat and despair—the feeling that, no matter how hard I tried, I could not overcome the inner hurt and outward assault of the world. These were not physical beatings or the severe kind of punishments that people considered enemies of the state suffered. Yet the whispers and insinuations swirling around me seemed no less terrifying.
Tears dripped down my cheeks. For the first time in my life, when I was supposed to know everything—or at least more than I had known before Beida—I simply did not know what to do. I was in such pain that the other passengers’ curious looks were the least of my concerns.
Hush, hush, hush. As the train barreled on through the dark night, each stop reminded me I was one step closer to home, my rock and my refuge—the home my father had promised I could always come back to, no matter what happened. Today I needed to be there more than ever. I felt like a five-year-old girl again. I could no longer afford to be proud or stubborn. Like Scarlett O’Hara, I felt that once I got home, I would be strong again.
* * *
I arrived unannounced, to surprise everyone, as I always liked to do when returning home on break. I loved how everyone crowded into the living room, screaming and hugging me with tears of joy to welcome me home.
This time no one seemed surprised or particularly delighted when I arrived. As I stepped through the door, my dad was busy washing the dinner dishes in the kitchen, and my sister was in her room preparing for an exam. Dad looked older than I remembered, his usual ramrod-straight posture now hunched over like that of a man who had spent his life bearing loads of firewood on his back. I had always thought of my father as strong. Now he looked frail. And I detected unease behind his smile.
“Where’s Mom?” I asked him.
“She’s out running some errands.” As he spoke, he rapidly blinked his eyes. He did that whenever he had something on his mind.
“Why don’t you get some dinner, Ling Ling,” he said. “You must be hungry from the long trip. Sit down and eat.”
When I had finished my dinner, my father took my sister and me to show us the new apartment they would soon occupy. It was on a long street flanked by single-story apartment buildings. Chickens pecked at the ground in the late evening light. An older woman, a soldier who worked in the hospital with my father, called out to us as we walked along.
“Ling Ling, welcome back!” she shouted. “Did you come to visit your mom?”
“I’m just back for a short break,” I told her. “What about my mom?”
The woman started to say something, but my father intervened.
“We’re on our way to visit our new apartment,” he said. “Ling Ling hasn’t seen it.”
“What’s this about Mom?” I asked him as we hurried along.
“Oh, it’s nothing. She’s been a little under the weather, but everything’s fine.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Well . . . it isn’t exactly life threatening. She’s had a nervous breakdown.”
“What! Where is she?” A familiar sensation clenched at my throat. “I want to see her. Where is she?”
“Calm down,” Dad said. “We’ll go see her. It’s no
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