A Father’s Quest
by Huina Zheng
In 1992, when China’s economy hit a rough patch, Yao found his brick factory on the outskirts of Shenzhen barely hanging on, as the demand for new buildings dried up. After two tough years, mounting debts and even a power cut due to unpaid bills, the government’s move to buy his land felt like a lifeline. By 1994’s close, Yao had sold the factory he’d poured eight years into and bought a house in a nearby town, eyeing a fresh start and new job prospects for the following year.
Yao’s personal life was equally demanding. He was a father to four children, all at ages requiring education: his eldest daughter, Lan, was 12, and his youngest, Ming, was 7. Fortuitously, a public primary school was located conveniently close, a mere ten-minute stroll from their new home. However, a significant obstacle loomed: the public school’s policy welcomed only students officially registered as local residents, a criterion Yao’s children did not meet.
Undeterred, Yao leaned on his social network for solutions. Among his acquaintances was Chen, a friend and restaurant owner in the town for over a decade, who was well-embedded in the local community. Chen had a relative who could facilitate a crucial introduction to Principal Zhang of the nearby school, potentially smoothing the path for Yao’s children’s admission.
Seizing the opportunity, Yao prepared meticulously for the meeting, selecting fine gifts — a symbol of respect and goodwill — comprising several packs of Zhonghua cigarettes and a bottle of Wuliangye liquor, to present to Principal Zhang. Despite his thoughtful offering, Yao was taken aback by the principal’s blunt terms: enrollment of his children would cost 500 yuan each, a figure mirroring the monthly income of an average urban worker at that time. Although Yao had braced himself for some form of financial contribution, the actual amount demanded was a harsh blow. Nevertheless, prioritizing his children’s education, he consented, parting with 2,000 yuan in a mix of gratitude and resignation.
This financial sacrifice had immediate repercussions on the family’s Lunar New Year celebrations. Traditionally a time for new beginnings and joy, this year was markedly different for Yao’s family. The customary new clothes for his children and the promised remote-control car for Ming were forgone. Only his wife, Ling, understood the depth of Yao’s predicament. She consoled their children, “When your father and I were young, our clothes were patched, and we shivered through cold winters without thick coats. Your clothes are still fairly new, so let’s not complain. Remember, it’s hard to transition from luxury to frugality.”
Right after the Spring Festival, with the new school term underway, Yao, accompanied by his four children, approached the school to secure their enrollment. However, at the registration desk, the teacher in charge requested a family planning certificate, which Yao couldn’t furnish.
Following the birth of his first child, Lan, Yao had chosen to skirt the family planning policy. He took his wife, Ling, and their daughter to live off the grid in a mountainous locale some 400 kilometers from their hometown. There, amidst nature, they tilled the land and expanded their family with three more children: daughters Shan and Yan, and eventually a son, Ming.
Previously, the children had been attending a local village school, where Yao managed their enrolment through informal channels and gifts to the village chief. It was a stark awakening for Yao, realizing too late that Principal Zhang’s informal nod of approval did nothing to bridge the chasm left by missing official documents.
When Chen learned of Yao’s predicament, he said, “Pack some cigarettes and good liquor; tonight, I’ll introduce you to Mr. Li, the village committee secretary from the next village, to see if he can assist us.”
Yao prepared a red envelope containing 1,000 yuan as lucky money for Mr. Li’s child. This gesture won Mr. Li over, who then agreed to issue a certificate stating that Yao had settled the required fine — a prerequisite for registering his children, as per the family planning regulations. These rules mandated a “social upbringing fee” for each child born in contravention of the one-child policy, calculated at three to six times the local annual per capita income. With Mr. Li’s certificate in hand, Yao was poised to obtain the essential family planning certificate from the bureau.
With the school term already in progress, Yao’s children remained at home. Lan, in a moment of quiet inquiry, asked her father, “Dad, school’s been in session for a week. When can we start attending?” Before Yao could respond, Lan, misinterpreting his silence for anger — a common fear among his children given his seldom presence at home and his known temper — panicked and fled.
The following morning, Yao made his way to the family planning bureau, only to be told that a certificate indicating he had paid the fine was insufficient; a payment receipt was also required — a document Yao didn’t have. Quick on his feet, he argued, “I must have paid, or the village secretary wouldn’t have given me this certificate. Unfortunately, I’ve lost the receipt.” The bureaucrat, unimpressed and stern, retorted, “No receipt, no family planning certificate.”
When Yao approached Mr. Li for further assistance, he hit a roadblock; Mr. Li stated he was unable to issue the needed certificate, suggesting instead that Yao seek help from government officials. Faced with no alternative, Yao turned to Chen, who introduced him to Mr. Wang, a manager at a local real estate development company deeply involved in village development and well-connected with high-ranking officials. With a payment of 1,000 yuan to Mr. Wang for his services, Yao finally secured a receipt for the payment of his fine.
Despite Yao’s efforts, by the time he obtained the family planning certificate, school had already been in session for ten days. Arriving at the school with all necessary documentation in hand, he was informed that he was missing a transfer certificate from his children’s previous school. Yao then had to travel to the previous school to obtain this document.
Upon his return to the school two days later, with all required documents, Yao was confronted with another issue. Because his children lacked local household registration or a permanent residence permit, he was obligated to pay an additional sponsorship fee of 500 yuan per child for each term. This sum totaled 2,000 yuan per term for his four children, amounting to 4,000 yuan annually — equivalent to the average salary of a town worker for eight months.
That evening, Ling suggested preparing a celebratory soy sauce chicken to mark the resolution of their children’s schooling situation. However, Yao, mindful of the financial challenges ahead, said, “Education is expensive, and the brick factory’s success is uncertain. Let’s save where possible.” Thus, their celebratory meal was modest: stir-fried bok choy, scrambled eggs, and stuffed tofu.
The following morning, Yao watched his kids, backpacks slung over their shoulders, leave for school with joy. He then prepared for a 5-hour bus journey back to the countryside, in search of a spot to set up a new brick factory. Yao was unsure of his next return, but pausing wasn’t an option. He could not stay frequently by his family’s side, and his family’s reliance weighed heavily upon him.
In fulfilling the role of a father, a responsibility he embraced fully, Yao aimed to ensure that his children had access to quality education and the resources for university. He adhered to the belief: “Even in poverty, education must not be neglected.” He trusted that, in time, his children would recognize the depth of his dedication.
Copyright © 2024 by Huina Zheng
