I am a rural girl born and raised in the countryside. In my family, there's Dad, Mom, two older sisters, a younger brother, and me. From as far back as I can remember, our family’s living conditions were not good. At that time, all four of us girls had hearty appetites. I remember there was a large wooden steamer, and even when it was filled to the brim with rice every day, it wasn't enough for us to eat. Perhaps friends from the countryside would understand us because everyone was a manual laborer, and the living conditions were poor. Sometimes, we could only eat meat once every few months or even once a year. Back then, rice yields were too low, and annual income was minimal. Our family’s rice was often just a small layer covering one corner of the big wooden steamer. Mom and Dad never hesitated to eat a single grain of rice. No matter how much white rice was cooked each day, they always gave it to us four siblings. They themselves only ate corn cakes and bitter buckwheat flour cakes (in our area, these are considered coarse grains). Seeing their expressions of enjoyment while eating and their satisfied looks as they watched us eat the white rice made my heart ache. Deep down, I wanted to study hard and make money in the future so that my parents could live a good life and change our family's situation.
My two older sisters were also very understanding, but they didn’t do well in school. Because our family was too poor, and both sisters were timid and often bullied by classmates from our village and neighboring villages. I remember one time when my second sister went to school, the teacher dictated words for spelling, and she made a mistake. The teacher scolded her loudly in front of the whole class, calling her "silly big sister." Afterwards, all the classmates called her "silly big sister." My second sister, who had a smaller temperament and was more introverted, dared not speak up and cried in a corner. When she got home, she kept crying and said she wouldn't go to school anymore. Although I was very young at the time, after hearing this incident, I became extremely angry and said I would go argue with the teacher. After that, she stopped going to school altogether. At that time, it seemed like you could get an elementary school graduation certificate after fourth grade, so both my sisters only had a fourth-grade graduation certificate. They started working in the fields with our parents at a very young age.
To avoid my younger brother being bullied, my parents decided after discussing that I should take him to school with me, so I started school a bit later, around eight years old for first grade. I studied with my younger brother in the same class. Perhaps because I was older, I had a stronger ability to accept knowledge. Plus, I had already set a goal from a young age to study hard. Therefore, starting from first grade, my grades were always among the top. The teachers all liked me. I remember that because our family was poor, our parents rarely took us children to the market, fearing we might want to buy things but couldn't afford them. Many times on my way to school, I encountered teachers going to the market, and they invited me to go along, but I didn't. However, once, my homeroom teacher said I was studying well, and I had already mastered what we were learning in the afternoon, so she invited me to go to the market with her, and I actually went. She also brought her own child along. Her husband worked in the township government. That day, she took me to her father-in-law's place, enthusiastically brewed several cups of something white, handed me a cup, and told me to drink quickly, saying it was delicious and nutritious (at the time, I couldn't really appreciate what 'nutritious' meant; I only knew whether something could be eaten or fill my stomach). I had never drunk such a thing before, but seeing them enjoy it and her child loving it, I picked up the cup to drink. But just as the cup reached my lips, I smelled a sour odor and couldn't bring myself to drink it. The teacher saw my troubled expression and eventually let it go. Later, I found out that it was milk, specifically prepared for her child, and she had poured me a cup to try. I ended up wasting it without knowing. Every year, I received many awards and won lots of notebooks. Except for sports, I was first in everything else. And after school, I never returned home empty-handed. Everyday after school, I went to collect pig grass and find firewood, being very diligent. All the teachers in the school knew me. I led the morning exercises and recess activities for the entire school, making me a well-known top student in the school and a celebrity in the village. Many people knew me, and upon seeing me, they would say, "This is someone's child, studies well, and is very capable." At the time, hearing this made me feel proud inside, thinking that I was truly bringing glory to the adults. From first to sixth grade, it was a glorious period in my academic career.
A few days into the second semester of sixth grade, on a Saturday morning, Mom took me and my two sisters to the mountain to cut firewood. Seeing Mom and the sisters working hard, I thought, if I climb up a big tree and chop off a huge branch, wouldn't it be enough for all four of us to carry home? Taking advantage of their distraction, I climbed a large walnut tree, reaching the branch I intended to chop. But when I got there, my hands lost strength. At that moment, Mom saw me and called for me to come down quickly. I insisted I was fine, but soon after, I couldn't hold on any longer. My hands slipped off the tree, and an accident happened—I fell from the tree branch. The branch was 20-30 meters above the ground, and the ground below was full of rocks. Mom only heard my scream and watched helplessly as I fell from the tree. According to my sisters, Mom was shocked and regained consciousness after quite some time. Running over to call my name, I had already passed out, unresponsive to her calls and shaking, seemingly lifeless. Mom and the sisters were terrified, but seeing no response from me, Mom immediately performed first aid by giving me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Then, using her frail body, she carried me down the high mountain and ran home. Carrying me, she ran and called my name. Perhaps moved by Mom's efforts, when she carried me halfway down the mountain, I finally heard her voice, opened my eyes briefly, and answered her before passing out again. Mom carried me, weighing about eighty to ninety pounds, all the way home, where she placed me and nearly collapsed herself from exhaustion. An hour or two later, I opened my eyes and found myself lying on a large bench in our living room, warm and cozy. I saw Dad, Mom, my sisters, brother, grandparents, uncles, aunts, and my doctor uncle-in-law all gathered around me. Dad and Mom still had tears in their eyes. Everyone surrounded me, caring and asking questions, celebrating and rejoicing that I had awakened again. The warmth and care from the whole family helped me recover quickly. Due to the heavy workload in sixth grade, I had to return to school to catch up on the lessons I missed. The school was about six kilometers away, and usually, we lived on campus. However, since I needed to return home daily for meals and change medicine on my wounds, I couldn't stay on campus. Every morning, I walked to school. On the way to school, I had to cross a river called Longchuan River, where the wind was strong. Since I had just been injured and was physically weak, I caught a cold from crossing the river every day. My face also suffered from the cold, causing my lips to twist. At the time, my doctor uncle-in-law joked with me, saying that when I grew up, I would become a crooked-mouth official. Actually, both my parents and I were extremely worried because if it remained like that forever, I would have become a laughingstock and an ugly person. Fortunately, thanks to my uncle-in-law's careful treatment, both my injuries and twisted lips healed. However, due to falling and injuring my brain, I developed neurasthenia and couldn't keep up with my studies, so I didn't score well in the entrance exam for junior high school that year.
Because of the low score in the entrance exam, I didn't enter the key class in junior high school but was placed in a regular class. In the first year of junior high, my homeroom teacher was an English teacher surnamed Yin, whom I liked very much. So at the time, I was the best in English in our class. In the first year of junior high, I achieved good results, became the class monitor, and was awarded an excellent county-level class cadre and a three-good student. In the second year of junior high, a handsome physical education teacher came, and I liked him very much. So my sports performance gradually stood out. While maintaining good cultural scores, I also developed well in sports. As the winter sports meeting approached, I signed up to earn points for our class, originally just wanting to try. Unexpectedly, I won two first places. More interestingly, during the 1500-meter race, my shoes weren't comfortable, so I kicked them off and ran barefoot ahead of others, winning the first place. After the race, my feet were completely frozen numb. The new homeroom teacher brought hot water for my classmates to warm my feet. At that time, I was moved to tears. Because of this event, many teachers and students recognized me. Later, I heard that other classes' students said that teachers used my name in class, even using my running story to teach vocabulary and sentence construction. Ha ha, it was really funny, Mom. In the third year of junior high, personally nominated by the principal, I joined the school sports team to compete for the school in the county. Our homeroom teacher didn't want me to go at first, saying it might affect my studies, but under the principal's insistence, I still participated in the school sports team training. During that time, I endured a lot of hardship. After training, I couldn't eat dinner, and my feet hurt unbearably. Still, I endured it for the competition. Unfortunately, our hard work didn't yield good results, and we didn't perform well in the county competition, which was a regret in my athletic career.
After finishing the third year of junior high, amidst the expectations of my parents and teachers, we anxiously spent two days taking the high school entrance exam. After waiting for over a month in nervous anticipation, I didn't get into my dream vocational school but only managed to enter the first high school in our county. Although the first high school in our county was the best, and the tuition fees were relatively low, I still wanted to go. But my parents asked me to consider it carefully. Thinking about my parents' hard work, I initially said I wouldn't continue schooling and stayed at home for a few days doing chores. One night, a sentence from my younger brother changed my mind. He said, "Dad, Mom, I won't continue schooling. I'll stay home and save tuition fees for my third sister to attend school." Hearing this, I cried on the spot. In the following days, I went up the mountain to look for mushrooms, crying there. Neighbors, seeing me, felt pity and told my parents that I really wanted to continue schooling. Considering my usual good academic performance, they thought it was a waste if I didn't continue. With the support and concern of many people, I finally made the decision again. I heard that normal schools and vocational colleges were state-assigned placements, and graduates could quickly join the workforce and receive salaries. Being a rural kid, ignorant of worldly matters, I considered our current family situation and the long duration and cost of attending high school, unsure if I could pass the college entrance exam. Therefore, under the guidance of the head teacher, I chose to repeat a year, staying another year at my alma mater, gaining a little more warmth and love from it, which was a good thing. Ha ha, I could only think that way. The next year, again amidst the expectations of all those who cared about me, I endured a difficult wait. When it was time to check the results, I didn't go to see. Dad said he would check for me. By the afternoon, I finally saw Dad's figure returning home. I asked Dad if I had passed the vocational school exam. He said no, and I immediately felt ashamed, wondering why I was so stupid. After repeating a year, why couldn't I pass? I said on the spot that I would never study again and would stay home to work. After a while, Dad laughed, and so did Uncle and Auntie, saying I had passed. This news left me both surprised and delighted, speechless. It turned out Dad had played a joke on me. I thought, I had finally passed the vocational school exam, and my future job was secure. After all, it was a small mountain village, and the number of people who could pass exams at that time was very few. Even though I repeated a year, I had passed, which was indeed a remarkable achievement in the village. Moreover, at that time, graduates of financial schools were assigned to good units such as local finance and taxation departments. I thought, I would finally bring honor to our family, having passed into a good school, and surely, a good unit would await me to work!
Amidst the expectations of my family, the blessings of kind-hearted people, and the financial assistance of my aunt, Dad and I set off for the financial school I had dreamed of. For the first time, I saw an airport, finding it hard to believe. Dad said it was, but I kept doubting, probably amusing the people around me, instantly identifying me as a country bumpkin. Upon arriving at the city level, I was utterly disoriented, unable to distinguish east from west. Luckily, there was someone from our county who came with me to the financial school by bus. Their family had relatives there, and as soon as they got off the bus, someone came to pick them up. But Dad and I didn't know how to proceed. A kind parent from the same bus suggested we follow them to the financial school, and Dad agreed. We hitched a ride in a microcar for the first time, reaching the financial school in no time. Just as we were worrying about how to proceed, a group of enthusiastic upperclassmen arrived, saying they were there to welcome us. Happily, I followed them to where I would be staying. Chatting with them, I realized that the person welcoming me was a fellow townsman. I was overjoyed. I thought, this school was truly great. Fellow townsmen looked out for each other, so there was nothing to fear. When I entered the dormitory, I found the bed too hard. With my thin mattress, it was impossible to sleep. Dad noticed and said he would buy me a straw mat. The townsman suggested Dad stay overnight at the school, but Dad said he had to rush back home. Despite this, he still bought the straw mat. The townsman said Dad should take a horse-drawn carriage (at that time, there were many horse-drawn carriages outside the financial school). At the time, I didn't realize how far it was because I had come in someone else's vehicle. Later, I learned that Dad had walked for several hours from the school to the city center without eating. It was too late to return to the school, so he spent the night in the cheapest inn in the city. The next morning, he set off early, carrying the heavy straw mat and walking to the school to find me. When he arrived at the school that noon, his sweat-soaked clothes moved me to tears. It was all for me, all to save money for my education, so Dad walked for hours to buy me a straw mat and save five yuan. After laying down the straw mat, he tested it, found it comfortable, and left. I saw Dad off to the gate and asked him to take the horse-drawn carriage back. He promised me and told me to tidy up back in the dormitory, saying he would take it. Watching Dad leave the school gate, I returned to the dormitory, thinking he would take the horse-drawn carriage, which would be faster and allow him to reach the city sooner, sparing him some fatigue.
Several weeks after school started, I received a letter from my parents. Having never been away from home, I cried with excitement upon receiving the letter. It was also from the letter that I learned Dad had walked home that day.
The second semester of vocational school began, and I saw my first test paper at the financial school. Looking at the scores, I was utterly astonished. My math score was actually failing. Although no one said anything to me, I felt the shame of failing for the first time. Since scholarships were being distributed, the homeroom teacher posted the rankings. I didn't dare to look, but my seatmate informed me that I ranked twelfth and won a third-class scholarship worth fifty yuan. This was a result I had never experienced before, as I had always been first or second. I was so upset that I didn't talk for several days and didn't have the courage to write to my parents about my scores. Later, I remembered something an English teacher from middle school had once told us: "You are now the top students in your school, but if you enter other schools, you will be among all the top students from various schools. You may not necessarily rank first or second then, so you need to adjust your mindset and continue to work hard." At the time, I didn't believe it, thinking I would always rank in the top three in other schools. Reflecting on it now, I realized how arrogant I had been. The failing grade finally made me recognize my shortcomings and understand the meaning behind the teacher's words.
The second year of vocational school began, and the school held a school-wide assembly announcing shocking news to all students. The principal announced: "Starting this year, the state will no longer guarantee job placement for graduates of all secondary and higher vocational schools. In the future, graduates will all implement self-employment. There will also be no more state subsidies for incoming students." Before the principal finished speaking, the students were in an uproar, looking at each other, discussing, complaining, and expressing anger. Seeing the panic among the students, my heart shattered. I never imagined my dream would be shattered in an instant. At that time, I thought, was the school deceiving us? We came here because the state guaranteed job placement, but now we had become self-funded students. In the future, we would have to find jobs ourselves. What could we do? My heart was in complete chaos. I thought of dropping out and returning home. For a rural girl who had never seen the world and only wanted to finish school and get a job assigned by the state, this news was like being struck by lightning. I didn't hear a word of what the principal said afterward. In the following weeks, the school held several meetings specifically about this issue, offering psychological counseling. Every day before class, the teachers would say a few consoling words. After all, it wasn't just me who was affected. Thus, we became the "victims" of the era's development.
During the four years of vocational school, it seemed like I spent them in complaints, yet also in growth.