先写到这里，在专制里长大的人，哪怕只是一丝自由的火种，也会燃烧的得比谁都更猛烈，你们能控制我出生的方向，但是我会决定我发声的方向

A Free Thinker from the Bottom under a Tyranny

I didn’t know how to begin writing. But when I spoke for the first time on-chain, my heart was beating fast — because I realized: this is the first time I’ve ever spoken freely. No surveillance, no censorship, no one telling me what I could or couldn’t say. Just me, my thoughts, and the raw truth.

I’m going to tell you my story in five chapters. I was born into a rural family at the bottom of a totalitarian society in China. Looking back now, my childhood was filled with laughs that carried sorrow, and joys that hid pain. Sounds contradictory, but really — humans are full of contradictions.

Let me start with my childhood. When I was 8 years old, I completely lost my mother — at least, that’s when my world turned dark. My father worked far away in big cities, doing back-breaking construction jobs. Sometimes he only came back once a year, during the Spring Festival. I was raised by my grandmother — a deeply feudal and old-fashioned woman.

If I really think about it, my childhood memories are mostly filled with beatings and verbal abuse. But ironically, that built my independence. I’ve suffered so much humiliation, and yet — I never once hated society. On the contrary, I often feel sympathy for those going through hard times, because I’ve walked that road. I understand.

My childhood was spent in a boarding school that only let us go home three days a month. That kind of upbringing forced me to learn how to take care of myself from a young age. But here’s the weird thing about schools in China — they don’t allow independent thinking.

I remember this clearly. I was in the 5th grade when I had my first hint of rebellion. It started with an essay assignment: “My School.” All the kids were writing praises — how great the teachers were, how the school gave us knowledge. But I wanted to be honest.

So I wrote about how the school food was awful. In the summer, steamed buns were covered with flies. The communal meals were full of fatty pork. Sometimes there were lizards or chunks of wall plaster in the soup. I mentioned that some of the students were Muslim and couldn’t eat pork — couldn’t the school provide something else for them? There were only a few of them, after all.

I even said the school walls were so high, topped with barbed wire — it felt like a prison.

That essay nearly got me expelled. The principal and head teacher dragged me in and beat me. They threatened me. Made me call my grandma. She walked over ten kilometers on foot to come “discipline” me. When she saw me, she slapped me twice without saying a word. I kneeled and begged for forgiveness, crying: “I was wrong. I deserve to die.”

I was only ten years old.

In the end, they made me rewrite the essay until they were satisfied. I didn’t think I was wrong — but I had to bite my tongue.

⸻

The first time I began to understand how China’s system works was through my elementary English teacher — a young, handsome man. Around 2014, he told us a story in class. He said: “During Hu Jintao’s era, the society was relatively gentle. After Xi Jinping took over, there was a massive purge. Those who opposed him were executed.”

That was the first time I heard of Xi Jinping. I didn’t understand much, but I listened intently. Now that I think about it — he was a good teacher.

Back then, I was a Young Pioneer, singing “Without the Communist Party, there would be no New China.” We were taught to love the motherland, love the people. Red songs, revolutionary slogans — I sang them all with enthusiasm. Ironically, I was a top student too. My teacher once joked I had the potential to go to Tsinghua University.

I let him down.

⸻

In middle school, poverty dragged me down. My English teacher called me a “wild kid.” Winter came, and I had only one filthy coat covered in oil stains. I was 13.

This isn’t me whining — that’s not my style. I just want you to understand what kind of boy I was at 13. Long hair, always looking at the ground, full of shame. If someone poked at my self-esteem, my whole body burned with embarrassment. My grades plummeted.

Then I changed — became “outgoing,” but in the worst way. I joined school gangs, extorted money from younger students, skipped class, smoked in bathrooms, fought in internet cafes. Why? Because deep down I was insecure. I was protecting the only thing I had — my pride.

I remember smoking a cigarette I bought with extortion money, leaning against the bathroom wall, thinking I was cool. It’s so stupid in hindsight that it makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time.

My desk mate was a thin, gentle girl. I sang love songs to her in class, and she said I actually sang well. One day she told me:

“My brother has lots of clothes. You can wear them. If you do, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. When you’re 13, insecure, poor, and ashamed — a sentence like that warms your entire soul.

⸻

I dropped out in 8th grade, when I was just 14. I hated being looked down on for my torn clothes. That was around May 2017. I asked my dad for 250 yuan to go to the city and work. I had an address written on a piece of paper.

When I got off the long-distance bus, a friendly man offered me a ride. I asked how much. He said 20 yuan. I gave it to him, thinking — wow, the world still has good people.

Then halfway there, he asked for a 500 yuan “deposit.” I said I didn’t have it. He asked how much I had. I said 180. He took 150. Then dropped me off in the middle of nowhere and sped off. His license plate was hidden inside the open trunk.

That was my first lesson in the real world.

⸻

I ended up working in a car wash. From morning till night. My feet hurt so bad I couldn’t get out of bed. I remember washing a black SUV — the backseat had a boy around my age. I was vacuuming the floor when I tried to close the trunk by hand. My boss’s wife ran over and yelled, “It’s electric!” She pushed me aside.

The car belonged to a wealthy man. My boss whispered to me: “This is a Mercedes — over a million yuan.”

I felt so small. A nobody. I had nothing. He had everything.

That night wasn’t cold, but my heart was freezing.

⸻

That’s it for now.

In a dictatorship, a child who grows up with even a spark of freedom will burn brighter than anyone.

You can control where I was born.

But I will decide where I speak.