Even in such hardship, she cherished the chance to study with all her heart. The world within her textbooks became the only ray of light in her dark days. She studied frantically, memorized everything she could, and nurtured a secret hope: Study hard, and one day I’ll leave this place.
But then her aunt became pregnant again—and with a single sentence, cut off her education for good. I’m suffering so much with this pregnancy, she’d said. You’ll drop out to take care of me. And just like that, she was forced to leave school forever, spending her days in the fields and at the stove.
She told herself to endure it—that it would pass. But then her great-aunt secretly arranged a marriage for her, pressuring the young girl to wed. Everyone in the village knew what kind of family it was. The man was twenty years old—nearly twice her age. His family was destitute, yes—but worse, their reputation was vile: his father beat his wife at the slightest provocation.
Villagers had quietly warned the girl: Marrying him is jumping into a fire pit. To her despair, the man already had a son—she would be a stepmother at fourteen, condemned to serve his entire family for life with no hope of escape.
The girl refused to agree. She was only fourteen. She still wanted to study. She still dreamed of leaving the countryside. She did not want to be trapped in the fields forever, or married to a stranger who would beat her, slaving away for the rest of her days.
But her aunt and uncle cared nothing for her life. They saw only the generous bride price and the chance to be rid of their burden. They forced her to accept, ignoring her tears and pleas. Everyone around her agreed: as an adopted daughter, she should be grateful anyone wanted her at all.
Cornered, the last spark of stubbornness in her flared to life. She threw herself against a wall, fighting with her life itself—and won a temporary reprieve from the marriage. But she knew it would not last. Once her wounds healed, her aunt’s family would press her again. Next year, or the one after—sooner or later, they would drag her to that man’s door.
She had no way out.
It was in this moment of desperation that she remembered gossip she’d overheard over the years: She’s not her aunt’s real daughter. Her birth parents live in the city.
Her birth father was Lu Jianguo, who worked at a machinery factory. Her birth mother was Wang Xiulan, employed at a clothing factory. Both held “iron rice bowl” jobs—stable, government-backed work that made their lives a hundred times easier than those in the countryside.
All these years, they had never once come to see her, never asked how she was, never sent a single coin of support. She knew in her heart why: she was a daughter. They had likely given her away to have a son. After ignoring her for so long, they would probably refuse to acknowledge her even if she found them. Hoping for their love was pure foolishness.
But what other choice did she have?
Staying in the countryside was a death sentence—a lifetime of torment. Going to her birth parents, even if she was scorned, ignored, or cast out—at least it was the city. The city had factories. The city had ways to survive. It was better than being at the mercy of others in the countryside.
She had nothing left to lose—barefoot and with no possessions, what did she have to fear from those who wore shoes and held stable jobs? If it came to it, if her birth parents turned their backs on her, she would make a scene at the factory gates. Let their neighbors and colleagues see: the daughter they abandoned was being broken in the countryside, and now that she had nowhere else to go, they refused to help.
People valued their reputations. As factory workers, they would have to save face—and that, at least, would give her a chance to live.
Lu Xiaxia slowly clenched her cold hands, her toes curling in the rough straw sandals. The wind bit at her face, but she felt no chill at all. The wound on her forehead throbbed faintly, but the congee and steamed bun in her stomach gave just enough strength to her frail body. The supplies in her space were her final safety net. She could not fall. The memories alone filled her with rage.
Those heartless birth parents. The aunt and uncle who had no shame. And most of all, her uncle’s mother—Old Woman Wang. From the memories, she learned that when her aunt was away, the old woman had tormented the girl without mercy. After her aunt had children and lost interest in the girl, Old Woman Wang no longer bothered to hide it—sometimes she would abuse her right in front of her aunt.
The thought made her seethe. It reminded her of her own early days after graduating from university, when she had first entered the workforce. Those had been hard times too—her boss, colleagues, and fellow interns had all been difficult. She had been pushed around endlessly, until eventually she learned to stand up for herself. But she had never forgotten the frustration of those days; thinking of it still made her want to pound her chest in anger.
“Sigh.”
She let out a breath, wondering if she would ever find her way back.
After resting for a short while, she felt a little stronger. She pushed herself up using a tree trunk, brushing the dust from her clothes. She quickly returned the empty bowl and stool to her space, then glanced down at her tattered straw sandals—her toes poking through the holes. She frowned. These would not hold up for a long journey; walking far would blister her feet until she could not go on.
From her space, she pulled out a pair of simple, plain flat shoes she had stockpiled—styles that fit the era perfectly. She changed into them, tucking the worn straw sandals away in her space—they might still be useful later. With her feet warm, her steps felt lighter.
Following the directions from her memories, she set off for the city. The sky was fully bright now, and occasionally she passed villagers heading out early. They all wore patched coarse clothes, their faces sallow and their footsteps hurried. No one paid any attention to the unremarkable young girl.
Lu Xiaxia kept her head down, trying to stay unnoticed, walking forward with steady steps. She did not know the way to the machinery factory, but she could ask. Along the way, she spoke to elderly villagers chatting by the road—they were all warm and gave her clear directions. She followed their guidance toward the factory.
Whether her birth parents acknowledged her or not did not matter. She only wanted a way to live—a chance to survive. Their home would be her stepping stone.
The closer she got to the city, the more the atmosphere changed. The muddy dirt road gave way to smooth pavement. Fields and mud-brick houses were replaced by rows of low brick buildings, street-side supply shops, and the gates of government-owned work units with white signs and black characters. More and more people wore blue or gray work uniforms, and the jingle of bicycle bells mixed with the hum of voices—lively and unfamiliar.
Lu Xiaxia still kept her head down, following the stream of workers. She found a small alley, changed back into the straw sandals, then walked on for another half-hour until she saw a wide iron gate. Hanging above it was a sign that read “Red Star Machinery Factory,” and two uniformed guards stood watch at the entrance.