Do you know how miserable it was for a family without a son in a traditional, tight-knit rural community? At community meetings, my dad had no right to speak. At Thanksgiving dinner, my mom wasn’t allowed at the main table. Even when inheriting property, we only got the dilapidated, leaky old farmhouse. Until I was five, and my mom got pregnant again… 01 When my mom had me, she lost a lot of blood and almost didn’t make it. For years after, she didn’t get pregnant again. The local midwife said she likely damaged her body and wouldn’t have any more children. When we divided the family property with my uncle, I was four. My dad was very angry: “I paid for half the materials and put in the labor to build the new house. Why do I only get the old farmhouse?” My aunt, nursing my cousin, said dismissively: “You don’t have a son, what do you need such a big house for?” “Look at us, we have three boys. They’ll need a place to live when they get married!” My grandma chimed in: “Girls are meant to be married off anyway. You’ll have to rely on your nephews to take care of you in your old age!” My dad’s spirit broke instantly. It sounds ridiculous now, doesn’t it? But the idea that nephews were “real family” and daughters belonged to “other families” was very common back then. My dad came out of the living room and sat on a big rock in the yard, his head hanging low. The moonlight was bright, casting a deep, dark shadow beside him. I walked over and hugged his neck from behind: “Daddy, I’ll take care of you and Mommy when you’re old.” He patted my hand, his voice choking: “Okay, Lily is such a good girl.” In the end, we still moved into the old farmhouse. The family’s old tractor and farming equipment were all given to my uncle. We only got a rickety old manual thresher. The night we moved in, my mom tried many times but couldn’t get the old wood stove to light. This house was built by my great-grandfather. It had mud-brick walls and a thatched roof. Because it had been empty for so long, the dampness inside wouldn’t dissipate anytime soon. After using up a whole box of matches, my mom suddenly covered her face, her shoulders shaking continuously. My dad poured the water he fetched into a cracked bucket and walked silently to her side. My mom hugged his waist and burst out crying. That night, I slept on a bed in the north room. The cold wind pierced me from all directions through the cracks. I curled up in the stiff, old quilt, praying silently: Please let Mommy have a little brother. That way, she and Daddy probably wouldn’t be so sad anymore. Perhaps God heard my prayer. My mom soon got pregnant. 02 The women in the community all said that since my mom’s belly was pointy and she craved sour food, it must be a boy. My dad kept saying a boy or a girl was the same to him, but at dinner, he told my mom: “John invited me to go work in Texas next year. He says there are more opportunities there.” “I’ll work for a few years, save some money, and we’ll build a nice two-story house. Otherwise, he won’t be able to find a wife in the future.” My grandma brought over two laying hens and instructed me: “Lily, the eggs are for the little brother in Mommy’s tummy. You can’t be greedy, understand?” The gossiping women in the neighborhood asked me: “Lily, do you want a little brother or a little sister?” I answered without hesitation: “A little brother!” The women laughed out loud: “If you have a little brother, your parents won’t love you anymore.” I got anxious: “No way! I’ll always be Mommy and Daddy’s precious.” The women laughed even louder, completely oblivious to how terrifying those words were for a four or five-year-old child. The day came, and my mom went into labor. She was in pain all day without giving birth. Before dawn the next day, my grandma went to the local butcher and bought a large piece of fatty pork and a huge pork bone. By the time she returned with the meat. My mom had given birth. It was a little sister! My grandma stood in the yard holding that bag of meat. The midwife called out to her: “Come in and see your granddaughter, she’s so fair and chubby!” “I’m not looking. My oldest’s boys are still waiting for me to make breakfast!” She left the bone behind and took all the meat with her. Times were hard then, meat was scarce. Every household loved fatty meat, so bones were sold cheap. I went into the room to see my sister. She was wrinkled, her face red like a little old man, completely different from the “fair and chubby” the midwife described. My mom lay weakly on the bed, staring at the thatched roof, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes. My dad smoked his cigarette: “Don’t cry, since she’s here, she’s here.” My mom gave birth right during the autumn harvest. My grandparents were busy at my uncle’s farm, and my dad was busy harvesting our crops too. My mom stayed in bed for three days before getting up to cook for us. Because of this, she developed a chronic condition; her whole body would ache whenever it rained. That year during Thanksgiving, my two aunts from the city also came back for dinner. My aunt was playing cards with them while my sister cried from hunger. My mom was in the smoky kitchen preparing the Thanksgiving dinner with my grandma. After a busy afternoon, it was finally ready. My mom found a moment to go nurse my sister. When she finished, she found there was no seat for her at the table. My dad and my older cousin were about to get up, but my grandma stopped them: “Why make it so complicated? We’ll just eat in the kitchen.” 03 It was too much bullying. I pulled at my parents, wanting to go home. My mom held my endlessly crying sister with one hand and patted my head with the other: “What does a child know? Just eat.” That night, as we left my uncle’s house, my aunt smiled and twisted the knife in my mom’s heart: “Sister-in-law, honestly, you have it much easier than I do.” “You don’t know how exhausting it is to raise three boys.” There was no moonlight that night. Every house was brightly lit. The dim yellow light spilled over the muddy country road. I softly asked my parents why we had to endure this. My dad’s tone was irritated: “What do you know, you’re just a kid.” My mom’s face was steeped in shadows: “Who asked me to be unable to bear a son.” Ah. They didn’t believe I would take care of them in their old age. My dad didn’t go to work in Texas. Because he didn’t have a son, there was no need to build a new house. We just got by day by day. People say country folks are simple, but when they twist the knife, they are more ruthless than anyone. I don’t know when it started, but my dad got a nickname: “Mule Smith”. A mule is a hybrid of a horse and a donkey. It cannot reproduce. When the community was raising funds to repair the local church, someone laughed and suggested: “Let’s skip the Mule’s family. They don’t have a son. Making him pay would be too much bullying.” My dad stayed silent. My mom only dared to choke back complaints at home, but put on a smiling face outside, never daring to argue back. I couldn’t change them, I could only make myself stronger. They called my dad “Mule Smith,” so I cursed their whole family as mules. When my cousins bullied me and my sister, I used my teeth to bite and my feet to kick. Even if my face was bruised and swollen, I had to tear a piece of flesh off them. My grandma took away the chicks our family just hatched, saying she would raise them for us. As she raised them, they became my uncle’s. I chased them all the way out and snatched them back. My aunt tied her cow near our vegetable patch, and it ate a whole patch of newly sprouted spinach clean. She hypocritically said it wasn’t on purpose. I opened the gate to her vegetable garden and let all the chickens in. They pecked her whole garden of vegetables away. She was so angry she stood with her hands on her hips, cursing my mother. I cursed back at her: “If you dare to eat our vegetables again, I’ll take a scythe and cut down all the crops in your field.” Gradually, I became notorious in the community. Those aunts and older women always advised me: “You don’t have a brother. If you have such a big temper, when you get married, there won’t be anyone to back you up.” My mom also sighed looking at me: “Just like this, it’s not even certain she can get married!” But Mom. I am only… Protecting you, protecting this family. In the blink of an eye, it was time for my sister to go to preschool. That day, two major events occurred that affected my life. 04 First, on my sister’s first day of preschool, the teacher taught counting. After only three times, my sister could count from one to a hundred. The substitute teacher, who was from our community, praised her to my mom: “Your Chloe is much smarter than Lily.” Second, an older relative in our extended family was diagnosed with stomach cancer. Back then, there was no good medical insurance. For people in rural areas, getting cancer was basically a death sentence. However, unexpectedly, his daughter, who had gone to community college and was working in the city, took him to the hospital. They removed half his stomach. He survived, and even chatted eloquently with people in the community about interesting things during his hospital stay in the city. That day, returning from that relative’s house, my mom grabbed my dad, who was about to go play poker: “David, Chloe is so smart. If we just cultivate her well, she won’t be worse than a son!” With conviction, my parents were revitalized. At heart, they treated me and my sister the same. But from that day on, my sister received more favoritism. If there was only one drumstick, it definitely belonged to her. If she didn’t want to eat breakfast at home, my mom would give her fifty cents to buy a muffin. I only got that kind of treatment when I was sick. Every Christmas, my sister would definitely get a new outfit. While I always wore the hand-me-downs my two aunts brought back from the city. During the busy harvest seasons, my sister didn’t have to go to the fields. My mom said: “Your hands are for writing. These chores aren’t for you.” “Chloe, you must study hard and bring honor to our family.” My sister was indeed very smart. She was always first in her class and got certificates every semester. The certificates back then held much more weight than they do now. I have to say, studying relies heavily on natural talent. I had to work several times harder than my sister. I went to bed at eleven and woke up at five every day. On the way riding my bike to school, I would memorize ten vocabulary words. On weekends, I went to the mountains to cut bamboo, pick mushrooms, and gather wild berries. I saved the money from selling them to buy extra workbooks. Back then, the school had row latrines. Once, I took a math test paper while squatting in the toilet. By the time I solved the problem, my legs were numb, and I almost stepped into the pile of waste. I always adhered to the idea that “the clumsy bird catches the worm by starting early,” but the results were not obvious. Although I didn’t want to admit it, I was just an ordinary person in the crowd. The background extra in a TV show, the passerby A in a novel, the “who was that again” at a class reunion. My mom kept nagging in my ear: “Lily, you’re the older sister. You must protect your sister, support your sister.” You don’t need to repeatedly remind me, Mom. From the moment my sister was born, I have been protecting her. Soon a few years passed, and I took the high school entrance exams. The scores hadn’t come out yet when my friend Sarah from the community invited me to work in a factory in the city. Her face was full of longing: “In the factory, you can earn eight hundred a month!” “I could buy pretty dresses, and I want to get my hair permed.” The midsummer heat was brutal. My aunt sat under the big maple tree fanning herself and said to my mom: “Lily can go make money to pay for Chloe’s tuition. You two will have it much easier.” My mom smiled: “Yes, it all depends on Chloe now.” I stalled as long as I could, finally reaching the day the scores were released. It was a scorching summer, but my hands and feet were as cold as ice. Even though I had given it my all, I was still nine points short of the cutoff for the top high school. Just nine points… If I had worked a little harder, if I had done a few more practice tests, if I had carefully checked every exam… Would my life have been different? The admission letter for a vocational high school was sent home. That night, under the dim yellow light, my mom sighed looking at the letter: “Lily, hardly anyone from this vocational school gets into a good college each year.” “Chloe is in fifth grade this year. Your dad and I want to send her to the middle school in town next year, but that’s a big expense…” “If both of you study together, your dad and I… sigh…” The incandescent bulb had a bad connection, making a “sizzle sizzle” sound, like a saw repeatedly cutting the bottom of my heart. My parents looked at me silently, waiting for me to say: “Never mind, I won’t go.” 05 My sister, innocent and naive: “If sister wants to go to high school, she should go. I can just go to the middle school in the community, it’s the same.” My dad scolded her: “What do you know? Can the community school be the same as the one in town?” After a long silence, I clenched my fists and spoke: “Then I won’t go to high school.” “The homeroom teacher said with my grades, if I go to community college, tuition will be waived.” I practically begged, “Mom, Dad, when I graduate from community college, I will definitely earn back the money spent these three years.” Looking back at that period now, I can understand my parents’ choice. The family’s resources were limited, so they had to supply the one who had a better chance of succeeding. An ordinary girl like me was destined to be given up on. But if I had the chance to travel back in time, I would definitely throw a tantrum, kneel and beg, do everything in my power to go to high school. My grandma and aunt both scolded me: “Why can’t you be more considerate of your parents? The other girls in the community have all gone to work. Your grades aren’t even good, what’s the point of continuing to study!” The women in the community also advised my parents: “Community colleges don’t guarantee jobs anymore. It’s useless to go. If it were a son, that’s one thing, but a daughter? Why spend so much money on her!” “Let her go to work early and build you a house. You never know when your mud-brick house is going to collapse.” Before school started, my mom gave me living expenses and repeatedly reminded me: “It’s not easy for us to support you. You must spend frugally.” The community college was in the city, and the cost of living was completely different from the countryside. Two hundred dollars a month was barely enough for food. The internet was starting to boom then, and I signed up for Facebook. Chatting with Sarah on Facebook, she said: “The work on the assembly line isn’t meant for humans. 12 hours a day, only four days off a month. If you don’t finish your quota, they dock your pay.” “Facing those parts every day, I’m going crazy.” “Lily, it’s better to study. There’s a foreign company across from our factory. Those white-collar workers wearing heels and lipstick sitting in offices, they have it so easy.” Korean dramas were popular then, so I chose Business Korean as my major. I set a goal for myself: I must get into a foreign company, I must work in a cubicle. Although I wasn’t as desperate as in middle school, I didn’t slack off either. I worked hard. When my roommates went to the internet cafe, it was all to play games or watch shows. I usually went to look up information or practice pronunciation along with Korean dramas. I got up punctually at six every day, ran, ate breakfast, studied by myself, and then went to class. When there were no classes, apart from doing part-time jobs, I basically spent my time in the library. I read a lot of books. I was young then and didn’t know how to discern and choose well. So I just swallowed everything whole, cramming it all in. The atmosphere at our school wasn’t good; not many people studied. Boys and girls all dyed their hair in trendy, edgy styles. Girls wore heavy smoky makeup that obscured their eyes; boys wore earrings and smoked. Some of the bolder ones hugged, kissed, and groped in the cafeteria. As long as there were no pregnancies, the teachers didn’t care at all. To save on travel expenses, I didn’t go home normally. Every time I called my mom, she would always remind me repeatedly: “Don’t cause trouble at school. Spend your money frugally. It’s not easy for your dad and me to make money.” I rarely bought new clothes, always rotating the same two bras, and didn’t touch cosmetics. Going out with my roommates, even spending two dollars on the cheapest lemonade made me feel guilty. Yes. My mom’s reminders made me feel guilty for every penny I spent. Many years later, when I could make money myself, the first thing I did when shopping was check the price tag. Even if I could completely afford that piece of clothing, I still lacked the underlying confidence. Poverty had been firmly etched into my bones. I spent a very, very long time slowly wearing away its brand. But, perhaps I will be affected by it for the rest of my life. An upperclassman named Ryan, who was very handsome, liked me. He pursued me for over two months, buying me food every day and waiting downstairs. 06 My roommates all advised me to go out with him. “He’s so handsome, and I heard his family is quite well-off.” “He’s not bad to you, give it a try.” … I refused. Smoking, drinking, fightingâin the eyes of a fifteen or sixteen-year-old girl, there’s a wild kind of handsomeness. But I didn’t like it. About a month later, Ryan got a new girlfriend, who actually turned out to be a senior from the neighboring state university. He paraded around with her, and many guys praised him for his skills. He even made a point to show off in front of me. During our late-night dorm chats, my roommates were indignant. “It hasn’t been that long, and he’s already moved on to someone else.” “I don’t think that girl is all that. She’s three or four years older than us, and not as pretty as you, Lily.” … After a round of condemnation, the dorm president said softly: “But she’s from the state university, a real university student.” For a moment, the dorm was dead silent. We already understood then: there was long an invisible chasm dividing us from them. Because of the reverence for academic degrees, those guys all envied Ryan, because he crossed that chasm and held the hand of someone on the other side. That senior seemed to never have class, following Ryan around our school every day. My sister passed the entrance exam for the junior high in the county seat. My parents rented a small place there to accompany her. This caused a huge uproar in the community. My grandma stamped her cane and cursed: “She’s a girl! You put in so much effort, just to spend money for another family!” “If you have that money, help out your own nephews. Don’t end up with no one to mourn you when you die.” The villagers also mocked them overtly and covertly. Saying my parents might as well just adopt a son-in-law to live with them. My mom held onto her pride, telling my sister she must succeed. She also told me: “You must study hard too. When you start interning, the burden on me and your dad will lighten a bit.” Opportunities in the small county seat were scarce back then. My parents pushed a cart selling street food, often getting chased away by city management. The money they earned was barely enough for the family’s expenses. Community college was a two-year program. During the summer after the first year, internships started. The school arranged for everyone to go to assembly lines. I refused. Along with a few classmates who usually stuck together to study, we decided to find jobs ourselves. These past two years, my grades were always at the top. I also participated in several competitions and won awards. I had leverage. I bought myself a set of professional clothes and had a roommate do my makeup. The weather was great that day. When I left, the sky was filled with a radiant sunrise. It was a good omen. I brought my resume, full of confidence and hope, to attend an interview at a foreign company. Surprisingly, I ran into that senior from the state university. She was also among the interviewees. I felt a moment of panic but quickly calmed down. She skipped classes every day, spending her time in internet cafes or bars. While I had been studying seriously all along. While waiting, I went over my Korean self-introduction in my mind again and again. Striving to be flawless. Finally, the interviewer appeared. She quickly scanned the collected resumes, then divided them into left and right piles. “Jessica, John, Sarah, Lily…” She called my name. I quickly stood up, ready for battle. However, the HR manager’s next words were like a bucket of ice water poured over my head.
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