Real China

Author: Yang Xiaosheng (Editor) / Country:
Publisher:
Publishing Date: 2004-05-01
Features: The decline of contemporary Chinese literary journals is not due to a lack of literary readers in China, but rather because literary journals lack works that genuinely interest readers. For a long time, a significant portion of writers and literary journal editors have severely neglected the fierce competition in the newspaper and magazine market and the changing reading psychology of readers, directly leading to severe punishment from readers toward literary journals. We are in an era of a comprehensive transition from a planned economy to a market economy, and the immense physical and spiritual pain experienced by the Chinese people is profound. Every individual must undergo role searching and transformation, and everyone needs to strive and toil for survival. Before a new social fair distribution mechanism is fully established, social phenomena such as layoffs, the influx of migrant workers, corruption, and public safety are prevalent, yet readers struggle to see works by writers who deeply engage with reality, empathize with the public, and pour their emotions and efforts into truly impactful creations. Since the first issue of the reform in 2001, Beijing Literature·Featured Readings (the original version of Beijing Literature) has gained widespread attention and enthusiastic support from readers nationwide due to its fresh content, sense of reality, массовость, and readability. Especially the carefully planned report literature in the "Real China" column, which addresses hot topics of public concern each issue, has sparked great interest and strong responses among readers. With a passionate focus on reality, a keen follow-up to the times, and a sincere closeness to the mass readers, as well as meticulous planning and organization of works, Beijing Literature·Featured Readings has won over readers in the new century. Given the powerful market impact of the report literature in Beijing Literature·Featured Readings, at the strong request of readers from all walks of life, we once compiled the Real China—Selected Works of Report Literature from Beijing Literature·Featured Readings in 2001 (Published by Baihua Literature Press in May 2002). Now, we have selected the outstanding report literature from Beijing Literature·Featured Readings in 2003, presenting it to readers as the Real China—Selected Works of Report Literature from Beijing Literature·Featured Readings in 2003, published by Dongfang Press. Every year, we will promptly compile an annual selection of report literature from Beijing Literature·Featured Readings, gradually establishing it as a brand in the literary book market. The report literature published in Beijing Literature·Featured Readings has one prominent feature: its strong sense of the times and market appeal. It focuses on the lives and emotions, hot topics, and focal points that concern the public, so each issue's report literature is widely welcomed by readers and eagerly reprinted and translated by newspapers and magazines across the country. This kind of report literature, with its strong sense of the times and market appeal, becomes even more pronounced after annual selections, offering readers a long-lasting spiritual enjoyment in a short period. At the same time, readers will easily notice the strong sense of social responsibility and unique perspectives on contemporary society demonstrated by these report literature writers. With enthusiasm, fresh perspectives, and original creativity, they have enriched and flourished the creation of contemporary Chinese report literature, becoming a bright landscape in modern Chinese literature. Reading Beijing Literature·Featured Readings and enjoying the latest and most engaging report literature has become a widespread consensus among the literary circles in China, especially among the readers. Every issue is enjoyable, every piece is. Why not start by reading this annual selection of report literature from 2003?
In 1995, Zhou Jianshe, who was serving as the head of a business department in a commercial bank in Shandong, was transferred to the Beijing headquarters. The following year, his wife also resigned and moved to Beijing, finding temporary work at a company. After she arrived, they rented an apartment and established a temporary home. It was also around this time that Zhou Jianshe began to consider transferring to Beijing, not for himself but for his son. Shandong is a major province for the college entrance examination, with over 300,000 students taking the exam each year, yet the total admission rate, including junior college, is only around 50%, making the competition extremely fierce and the admission scores consistently high across the country. In 2001, a major central newspaper published the admission scores for all provinces and cities, revealing that Shandong's top-tier university admission line was over 100 points higher than Beijing's. During the college entrance examination period that year, fairness became a social hot topic, with Beijing and Shanghai as the focal points. Outsiders believed that Beijing students had an advantage, benefiting not only from the capital's prestige but also from its abundant university resources. Due to Beijing's rich university resources, it was easier for Beijing children to enter university—about seven out of ten could attend higher education. Faced with widespread resentment, someone said, "Beijing students may have lower scores, but they have higher quality." This only drew more fierce criticism. In September 2001, Beijing announced that the college entrance examination would be independently administered starting in 2002. Jealousy, resentment, and criticism all fell silent—now they were not playing by the same rules, so what could they say? If it weren't for the fact that he also had a child preparing for the college entrance examination, Zhou Jianshe might not have been concerned about admission scores or fairness. His son attended a top high school, with grades that were neither excellent nor poor—getting into a university seemed possible, but getting into a top-tier university was still uncertain. Although transferred to Beijing, Zhou Jianshe had no intention of settling there. The two deputy heads of the branch were expected to retire within a year or two, and as the head of a key business department, he seemed like a natural candidate for a deputy head position. Moreover, he didn't see anything special about Beijing—there were plenty of bureau-level cadres there, and even becoming a bureau chief required riding a bicycle to work. So his initial goal was to work hard for half a year and leave a good impression on the leadership. The effort to move to Beijing was first proposed by his wife, who told him, "If Xiao Xuan takes the college entrance examination in Beijing, he might get into Tsinghua. You must work hard for him." Shortly after this conversation, his wife quietly quit her good job at the bank and came to Beijing herself, determined to take a bold step. Zhou Jianshe worked tirelessly, hoping to gain the leadership's recognition, as this was his only way to secure a Beijing hukou. When asked about his initial motivation, Zhou Jianshe smiled bitterly and shook his head, "It wasn't noble or grand, but it was real."
In January 2002, it had been Zhou Jianshe's seventh year in Beijing on loan. Due to his outstanding performance, the headquarters granted him an exception, allowing his entire family to move to Beijing. Zhou Jianshe said that when he received the household registration certificate from the Beijing Municipal Public Security Bureau, he was filled with mixed emotions. He recalled that one year, when he returned home for the New Year, his son looked at him strangersly and said, "Dad, if you don't come back soon, I'll forget what you look like." Hearing this, he almost burst into tears. If it weren't for his son, he might have given up long ago. When he finally received the household registration book he had longed for and waited for, he silently said in his heart, "My wish has finally come true. My son is finally a Beijing resident."
After obtaining the household registration, Zhou Jianshe immediately began arranging his son's transfer to a high school. He went through many connections and, with the help of an old leader, found the municipal key high school where his son was currently attending. The principal told him that without confirming his son's actual academic performance, he could only enroll as a temporary student. Two months later, he would take the second-term final examination. If his total score ranked in the top 100 of his grade, the school would then process his transfer. Someone told him that this was already a great favor—how could a student get into this school without going through rigorous competition? Even temporary students were not admitted freely; in addition to paying a substantial tuition fee, connections were required. When his son heard he would be attending school in Beijing, he seemed neither excited nor happy. Two days before leaving, he came back very late at night. When Zhou Jianshe asked where he had been, he said he was with classmates. After arriving in Beijing, Zhou Jianshe had a serious and solemn talk with his son. He said, "This final examination is very important. If you don't rank in the top 100, you won't get into this school, and if you don't get into this school, you'll only end up at a second-tier school. So you must take it seriously and not be careless." His son listened quietly, his expression hidden in the shadows. Zhou Jianshe suddenly felt a distance between them—the half-grown boy before him was no longer the chubby child who used to cling to his neck, asking him to tell stories. Worried that his son wouldn't adapt to the new environment, Zhou Jianshe visited the school almost every day. He found that after class, his son rarely left the classroom, didn't talk to his classmates, and always sat at his desk doing homework. When he got home, he wanted to have a serious talk with his son, as he was not a shy person. That evening, after dinner, his son sat in front of the computer, saying he wanted to email his classmates, yet he stayed there for over an hour. Zhou Jianshe was both angry and frustrated. After enduring it for a while, seeing that he had no intention of coming down, he finally couldn't help it and walked over, saying, "It's this late, and you're still not making progress." His son looked up at him and shut down the computer with a loud "bang." Zhou Jianshe said, "Once you're here, you need to get along well with your new classmates and stop always thinking about your old friends." Before he could finish, his son turned and said, "The moment I open my mouth, they laugh at me, imitate my Shandong accent, and call me an outsider. What's so great about being a Beijing resident?" Zhou Jianshe didn't expect his son to have so much resentment and was momentarily speechless. If his son couldn't integrate into the new group or study happily, it would surely affect his academic performance. He was frantic and went to the school the next day to talk to the homeroom teacher about his son's current mindset, hoping the teacher could intervene. Perhaps the teacher did some work behind the scenes, and gradually, a smile appeared on his son's face. Although he still didn't interact much with his new classmates, his personality became more lively. Xiao Xuan's final examination scores placed him in the top 100 of his grade, and his school registration was transferred from Shandong to this key high school. When the new semester started, Xiao Xuan became a student in the senior grade, and Zhou Jianshe became a parent of a senior student. As his son entered senior year, Zhou Jianshe and his wife felt even more tense—this was the year that would determine his fate, and many students failed to succeed in this year. However, Zhou Jianshe found that he and his son could barely communicate. Seven years of separation had made them strangers, as if an invisible distance separated them, preventing them from getting closer. On his bedside stood a cloth mouse toy, which he had brought from Shandong. He was very fond of it and even slept with it in his arms. Zhou Jianshe couldn't stand it—he couldn't believe a young man in his late teens was still like a child, sleeping with a toy. It made him feel uncomfortable. One day, while his son was not home, he hid the mouse toy. When his son came back that night and noticed the mouse was gone, he asked anxiously, "Where's my little mouse? Where's my little mouse?" and began searching the room. Zhou Jianshe frowned and said, "What little mouse? You're this old, still playing with toys? I took it away for you." Unexpectantly, his son, who was taller than him, glared at him and said, "What right do you have to interfere with my freedom? I like my little mouse, what's wrong with that? It's my freedom!" Zhou Jianshe was so angry that his whole body trembled, and he raised his hand to slap him—a slap he had never given his son before. Xiao Xuan didn't cry but just glared at him hatefully and said, "Zhou Jianshe, I'm telling you, not because you're my dad, but I'm going to knock you down right now." With that, he returned to his room and slammed the door shut. This slap only widened the distance between them. Why was his son so attached to the little mouse toy and even brought it to Beijing? Zhou Jianshe couldn't help but suspect—was he dating? Was the mouse toy a token of affection from someone? Thinking of how often his son had been online since arriving in Beijing, sometimes staying on for over two hours, Zhou Jianshe's heart jumped to his throat.
Unable to handle things well: At the age of six, he still wore his shoes the wrong way; in sixth grade, he still couldn't tie his red scarf himself. Lack of self-control: He took apart everything—his toys, the radio, even the gun his father hung on the wall. Irresponsible: In elementary school, he skipped school for a month, going out and coming back on time every day, wandering around parks and streets all day. Naive and reckless: Smoking, fighting, inviting classmates over to cause trouble, imitating Li Bai's drinking poems, dipping bread in strong white wine, and getting a room full of children drunk. For such a "good-for-nothing" only child, Hao Maishou had already spoken and beaten him, but no matter how much his parents lectured or punished him, Hao Ding always had his own little schemes: "I'm like this, what can you do? After all, I'm your only son. No matter how angry or upset you are, you can't abandon me." He had tortured his parents for 20 years. By the time he finally graduated from vocational high school, Hao Maishou, who had always dreamed of his son succeeding, couldn't take it anymore and came up with the drastic idea of signing a contract with his son—a "harsh" measure to properly discipline the "emperor's son" who couldn't be molded by his parents. This led to the "September 18" night and the father-son agreement.
However, the cruelty of the situation stemmed from Hao Ding's physical condition. Hao Ding was born prematurely, having spent one month less in the womb than expected, and was born as pitifully as a kitten. Not only that, but he also coincided with the Tangshan earthquake. Adults were forced to live in earthquake-resistant tents, and the frail Hao Ding was sent back to his hometown in Shanxi by his mother to be raised by a wet nurse. Later, it was discovered that his health was too poor, and at eight months old, he was brought back to Tianjin. Growing up, he often had colds, fevers, dysentery, and pneumonia, and every night at midnight, his mother had to take him alone to the emergency room (by then, Hao Maishou had not yet returned to Tianjin from the army). In other words, Hao Ding grew up day by day in his mother's pity and complaints. For such a "sickly child" or "poor thing," Grandma Sunfang, his mother, only felt lucky that she could raise him, thanking the heavens that he didn't die along the way. How could she have high expectations for him to become a success? Because I am also a mother and have a child who has been weak since childhood, I deeply sympathize with Grandma Sunfang. I don't know whether mothers like us would approve of Hao Maishou's actions or if most would prefer their weak children to grow up under their care, prioritizing health, and then rely on their parents to arrange a decent job later. Who would be so heartless as to force their child into society early with an "agreement" to make them independent, only for them to "succeed" in the future? Grandma Sunfang told me that her thoughts were not that conservative—in her company, she had always been in charge of political work. If it were her way, she would rather have Hao Ding be ordinary than see him suffer this much torment from his father. "Fathers and mothers are all different," she said. "Hao Ding was raised by me day and night, and now he's grown to his twenties. Look how frail he still is. If it were up to me, I couldn't bring myself to do what his father did." She said this, and couldn't help but shed tears several times, making my heart feel heavy too. What could be done? Hao Ding had grown weak and soft into his twenties, but Hao Maishou, despite his son being twenty years old and still as weak and unproductive as ever, had decided to force him—a war was unavoidable. Hao Maishou saw the father-son agreement as a "successful experiment," but what about Hao Ding? What had he become? I asked him if he knew what his role was. Hao Ding had a bitter face: "How could I not know? As my classmates often mock me, 'I'm just the passive 'lab mouse' in my father's experiment!'