Night fell, as deep as ink that would not dissolve.
Su Wanqing lay on the broken wooden box in the small cubicle. The flame of the kerosene lamp flickered, casting shifting shadows across her face.
The lamp had been taken out from the space tonight—it had originally been taken by Liu Meilan, who said, “It wastes oil.”
In front of her lay three sheets of letter paper.
The fountain pen was the Hero brand left by her mother. The tip was a little worn, but it still worked.
The ink was blue-black, catching a cold gleam under the dim yellow light.
The first letter was addressed to the Discipline Inspection Committee of Liaocheng Machinery Factory.
She took a deep breath and began writing:
“Respected leaders of the Discipline Inspection Committee:
With the conscience of an ordinary worker’s child, I am reporting in my real name the serious violations and misconduct of Su Jianguo, Deputy Director of Workshop Three (Employee No. 0375).
I. Embezzlement of State Property
From August 1973 to November 1975, he used his position to steal a total of 142 kg of workshop lubricating oil in seven separate incidents. Through his wife’s brother, Liu Tiezhu (unemployed, residing at 17 Liushu Alley), he sold it on the black market, illegally profiting 85 yuan.
He forged 12 material requisition forms, claiming 47 pairs of labor gloves and 13 sets of work uniforms; some were used personally, some sold.
II. Corrupt Personal Conduct
While his original wife, Comrade Su Wan (a textile worker at the factory, who was injured in 1969 while protecting state property and later passed away), was critically ill in the hospital, he maintained an illicit relationship with his current wife, Liu Meilan.
There are six letters exchanged between the two from winter 1972 to spring 1973, evidencing plans to force the original wife to divorce and embezzle her inheritance.
III. Abuse of a Martyr’s Child
Misappropriated the inheritance left to their only daughter Su Wanqing by her original wife: 128 jin of grain coupons, 15 chi of cloth coupons, 187 yuan 3 jiao in cash.
Long-term rationing of his stepdaughter, forcing her to handle heavy housework, often beating and scolding her.
For personal gain, he intended to forcibly marry his 18-year-old stepdaughter to the 45-year-old disabled director Wang Defa (Grade 8 worker, left leg disabled), a move to secure a promotion.
The evidence is clear:
Original embezzlement accounts, hidden in the doghouse in the Su family backyard, wrapped in oiled paper.
Six love letters, hidden in the bottom layer of the camphor wood chest in the east room, wrapped in blue cloth.
Inventory and source of the misappropriated inheritance attached.
Wang Defa can testify to the matchmaking matters.
Su Jianguo, as a Party member and cadre, has lost his principles, morally decayed, seriously damaging the Party’s image and the interests of workers. I earnestly request the Discipline Committee investigate and remove this corrupt element!
A whistleblower unwilling to go along
December 8, 1975”
Pausing here, Su Wanqing stretched her stiff fingers.
The pen lingered on “December 8, 1975”—tomorrow was actually the 8th, but she chose to predate it.
Because first thing tomorrow, she would send the letter.
The kerosene flame flickered again.
She took a new sheet and began the second letter.
“Women’s Federation of Hongqi Street, Liaocheng:
Respected comrades of the Women’s Federation:
My name is Su Wanqing, 18 years old, daughter of a martyr (my mother Su Wan, a former textile worker at Liaocheng Factory, injured in 1969 while protecting state property and later passed away). I wish to report the long-term abuse by my stepmother Liu Meilan, with my father Su Jianguo condoning and covering it up.
I. Abuse Facts
Since Liu Meilan married into the Su family in 1974, she has long withheld my rations, giving only 15 jin of coarse grains per month (the state quota is 27 jin), selling the rest for eggs and sugar for her biological son Su Xiaobao.
In winter, she denied me cotton clothing and bedding, forcing me to sleep in the drafty firewood shed. Last winter, my feet froze and ulcerated; Liu Meilan refused medical care, saying ‘It will heal when frozen.’
She frequently beat and scolded me, often using a broom or rolling pin, leaving old wounds worsened and new injuries. On the 3rd of this month, for washing vegetables too slowly, she poured a basin of ice water on my feet, causing me to have a high fever for two days.
II. Misappropriation of Inheritance
Secretly rifled through and seized the iron box left by my mother (containing 128 jin of grain coupons, 15 chi of cloth coupons, 187 yuan 3 jiao in cash).
Sold my mother’s belongings: a Butterfly sewing machine, a wool coat, wool scarf and gloves, pocketing all proceeds for herself.
III. Forced Marriage
To secure my father Su Jianguo’s promotion, Liu Meilan conspired with him to force me to marry the 26-years-older disabled director Wang Defa. I clearly opposed it and was threatened: ‘Refuse and we’ll break your legs and throw you out to feed the dogs.’
IV. Evidence
One page of Su Xiaobao’s diary (stating ‘My mom said sister’s dowry can buy me new cotton shoes’).
Neighbors can attest to my long-term sleeping in the firewood shed in thin clothing.
The textile factory union can provide my mother’s injury files and compensation records.
I just turned 18 this year, unable to live independently. With my father indifferent and stepmother abusive, I have nowhere else to turn but the Women’s Federation. I earnestly request the organization to stand for me and protect the legal rights of underage children!
Su Wanqing
December 8, 1975”
At this point, Su Wanqing’s eyes reddened.
Not pretending—she truly wanted to cry.
Every stroke was like a knife, carving the suffering of these five years: frozen feet, beaten back, a starving, dizzy stomach, and the iron box her mother left, stolen…
She sniffed and held back the tears.
She could not cry. Crying was weakness, and she no longer needed weakness.
The third letter was the simplest, yet the harshest.
“Hongqi Street Office:
Reporting the personal conduct of Deputy Director Su Jianguo of Workshop Three.
Su Jianguo (residing at 3-202, Machinery Factory Staff Housing) engaged in an affair with the unmarried young woman Liu Meilan (current wife) while his original wife was critically ill in winter 1972, worsening her condition, and leading to her death in spring 1973. To cover up their scandal, they hastily married, but the neighbors knew the truth.
Su Jianguo, as a Party member and cadre, is morally corrupt, with serious negative influence. I earnestly request the street office to investigate and handle the matter, to purify the social atmosphere.
An informed citizen
December 8, 1975”
With the three letters completed, Su Wanqing capped her fountain pen.
The kerosene lamp flickered dimmer and dimmer; the oil was nearly spent.
She pricked the wick, and the flame brightened slightly, though still weak.
Just like this household: it appeared to have light, but the oil was spent, the lamp exhausted.
She read through the three letters from start to finish.
The first demanded Su Jianguo’s downfall—embezzlement, adultery, abuse enough to expel him from the Party, fire him from his post, perhaps even imprison him.
The second demanded Liu Meilan’s ruin—abuse of stepdaughter, misappropriation of inheritance—enough to make her bow her head in shame in a society that values women and children.
The third added the finishing blow—personal conduct issues, in this era, enough to destroy a political career.
Three letters, three perspectives, three recipients.
They corroborated and complemented each other.
Su Wanqing folded the letters neatly and took three envelopes from the space—unused by her mother, printed in red with “Liaocheng Textile Factory.”
She carefully addressed them:
“Discipline Inspection Committee of Liaocheng Machinery Factory (To Receive)”
“Women’s Federation of Hongqi Street, Liaocheng (To Receive)”
“Hongqi Street Office, Public Letters and Visits Office (To Receive)”
She hesitated when pasting stamps.
Three letters, three eight-cent stamps, totaling 24 cents.
Not a small sum for her now.
Yet she still took the money from the space—the coins her mother had left—counted out 24 cents, and even dug some paste from the wall by the stove (hidden by Liu Meilan to prevent theft).
The stamps were affixed, envelopes sealed.
Three letters sat neatly on the box.
Like three knives, their points aimed at this decayed household.
Leaning against the wall, Su Wanqing exhaled deeply.
The letters were finished, but the matter was far from over.
She had to plan how to send them.
Drop them directly in the mailbox? No—the staff housing mailbox was emptied at 4 p.m. daily.
If sent tomorrow afternoon, the letters wouldn’t arrive until the day after. Too slow.
Go to the post office for registered mail? Faster, but sender information would need to be recorded.
She could not leave her real name.
After thinking, she had an idea.
Early tomorrow, while Liu Meilan took Su Xiaobao to the supply and marketing cooperative (every Monday morning without fail), she would go to the post office in the west of the city.
No one there knew her. She would send registered letters under a false name and address.
That would work.
Su Wanqing placed the three letters back into the space and blew out the kerosene lamp.
Darkness swallowed everything.
She lay back on the bed, eyes closed, yet sleep would not come.
Her mind replayed the past five years like a movie: her mother’s cold hands at the bedside, Liu Meilan’s fake crying at the funeral, the first time Su Jianguo hit her because she “broke” her brother’s toy (when it was actually Su Xiaobao himself), Liu Meilan stealing her white flour buns to feed her son, saying, “A loser doesn’t deserve fine grain”…
Hate?
Yes.
But not just hate.
There was also a cold determination—she would make them pay, reclaim what was hers, leave this hell, and live the life her mother had hoped for: a life after the storm, under clear skies.
The wind outside picked up, rattling the torn window paper.
Su Wanqing wrapped herself in the quilt—the half-new cotton one from the space, warm and thick.
She recalled her mother’s last words: “Wanqing… you must live… truly live…”
“Mom,” she whispered into the dark, “I will live well. Better than anyone.”
…
The next morning, Su Wanqing was woken by Liu Meilan’s shouting.
“Su Wanqing! Where are you?! Get up and cook!”
She scrambled up, donned the patched cotton jacket, and shambled out in her worn cotton shoes.
Liu Meilan stood at the kitchen doorway, face ashen: “Look! Look at this!”
Su Wanqing peeked and froze.
The grain cabinet had been opened.
She hadn’t touched it—the lock still hung there, but the door was ajar, with obvious prying marks.
“The rats have grown smart?!” Liu Meilan’s voice rose. “They can pick locks?!”
Su Jianguo got up, draped in clothes, and examined the lock. “Not rats… someone’s pried it.”
“Who?” Liu Meilan screamed. “Who stole our grain?!”
Su Jianguo said nothing, scanning the room until his gaze fell on Su Wanqing.
Her heart skipped, but her face remained timid: “Dad, it wasn’t me… I was asleep all night…”
“Sure, you didn’t have the guts,” Su Jianguo said grimly. “It’s an outsider.”
“Outsider?” Liu Meilan panicked further. “What do we do? Call the police?”
“Call what police!” Su Jianguo lowered his voice. “How much is missing?”
Liu Meilan hurriedly counted.
“White flour… five jin. Corn flour… ten? No, fifteen! Sorghum half a jar, millet also less…”
She grew alarmed, finally collapsing to the floor: “Damn thief! They want our lives!”
Su Jianguo’s expression darkened.
The stolen grain wasn’t too much or too little—just enough to hurt but not starve.
If it were an outsider, why not steal it all at once?
Suspicion arose, but he said nothing.
“I’ll buy a new lock today, three locks,” he told Liu Meilan. “You stay home, go nowhere.”
“But I need to take Xiaobao to the supply cooperative…” Liu Meilan murmured.
“Another day!” Su Jianguo shouted, slamming the door.
Inside, only Liu Meilan and Su Wanqing remained.
Liu Meilan cried for a moment, then suddenly glared at Su Wanqing: “Tell me! Was it you?!”
“Mom, I really didn’t…” Su Wanqing stepped back. “I don’t have the skill to pick a lock…”
“Then did you hear anything last night?”
“I… I slept deeply, didn’t hear anything…”
Liu Meilan stared for a long while, then sulkily stood: “Even you didn’t have the guts.”
She went to the grain cabinet, packing the remaining grain into jars, moving them to the east room, stacking them by the kang.
“Let’s see who can steal now!” she growled.
Su Wanqing lowered her head, secretly smiling.
Moved to the east room? Even better.
Tonight she would collect the jars too.
Breakfast was thin soup—corn flour porridge so watery it reflected her figure, not a single pickled vegetable.
Liu Meilan cursed while eating, ranting from the thief stealing grain, to Su Jianguo’s uselessness, to Su Wanqing being a loser.
Su Wanqing sipped the porridge in small bites, thinking about another matter.
Liu Meilan wasn’t leaving today. How could she send the letters?
She needed another plan.
Just then, someone knocked.
“Sister Liu! Are you home?” It was Aunt Zhang next door.
Liu Meilan wiped her mouth and went to open the door.
Aunt Zhang held a bowl of pickled vegetables, smiling: “I made this, try some.”
“Oh, thank you, Aunt Zhang,” Liu Meilan took the bowl.
“Sister Liu, you’re not going to the supply cooperative today?” Aunt Zhang peered in. “I heard some processed fabric came, no tickets needed. Go late and it’s gone.”
“Really?” Liu Meilan’s eyes lit up.
Fabric without tickets—a rare opportunity. She worried about losing cloth coupons; Xiaobao’s new cotton jacket couldn’t be made…
“My daughter already bought two pieces, says she can make a small jacket,” Aunt Zhang whispered. “But you must go early, lots of people lining up.”
Tempted, Liu Meilan glanced at the grain jars in the east room and at Su Wanqing.
“Wanqing,” she commanded, “stay home and watch the grain. Don’t go anywhere. If even one grain is missing, I’ll skin you!”
“Yes, Mom.” Su Wanqing nodded obediently.
Still uneasy, Liu Meilan tied the lids of several jars with hemp rope, fastening them to the kang post.
“Now you can’t move them,” she said proudly.
Su Wanqing looked at the rope, thinking: it’s just rope, she could cut it.
But she said nothing.
Liu Meilan hurriedly changed clothes and took Su Xiaobao out.
Before leaving, she warned Su Wanqing again: “Watch the house! If anyone comes, say I’m not here!”
The door closed.
The house instantly fell silent.
Su Wanqing stood in the living room, listening until the footsteps disappeared.
The opportunity had come.
She rushed back to the small cubicle, retrieved the three letters from the space, and tucked them into her chest.
She changed into an inconspicuous gray outer garment and wrapped a scarf around her neck.
At the door, she stopped.
She glanced back at the tied jars in the east room.
After a thought, she walked over, focused her will—
The three jars vanished from sight.
All the grain was stored in the space.
She placed the empty jars back, retied the ropes. From outside, everything looked normal.
Done with this, she opened the door and slipped outside.
The snow had stopped, but the sky remained gray. Few people were on the street, huddled and walking quickly.
Su Wanqing lowered the brim of her hat and headed swiftly toward the post office in the west.
The three letters pressed to her chest burned like hot coals, scorching her heart.
Every step felt like a farewell.
Farewell to the cage that had imprisoned her for eighteen years.
Farewell to the beatings and hunger.
Farewell to the weak, pitiful self called Su Wanqing.
From today onward, she would live differently.