Declaring War for Love (Part 2)

June 6th, 2024:

Ms. Mei (Xiao Mei), first from the left, walking across the park beside the Regina Miracle Factory with her friend after the afternoon work session ended

Xiao Mei’s sister jumped from factories to factories in the cities of Dongguan and Shenzhen, often switching jobs for as little as a 200 yuan (~28 USD) boost in monthly wage. “She was like a grasshopper, and any little increase in wages is her prey.” Xiao Mei was also a grasshopper, leaping around, chasing the elusive promise of a higher pay. She started at a garment factory in Matian district, trimming threads on finished pieces of clothing, working from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. everyday, earning 1 yuan (~0.14 USD) per piece of finished work. She was inexperienced, often finishing only 30 pieces a day. Mistakes also cost, as the employer charged a high price for each mistake found. A thread untrimmed meant a fine of 2 yuan. Three threads untrimmed on a single item cost 10. “I found myself sometimes in debt, unable to pay my employer the penalty. I worked 12 hours a day – 11 excluding lunch and dinner – and somehow I owed my employer money.”

Paying the employer’s fines was expensive, but connections with fellow workers were wealth. Xiao Mei became close to colleagues who migrated from the Yangchun area. With their help, she quickly got the hang of her job. Three months into this new urban life, she was already earning 1,500 yuan (~214 USD) per month. Working 11 hours a day, her hands were blistered, but she made thrilled hearts out of burning pain: “1500 yuan, this equaled one fourth of my parents’ yearly income. I mailed 1,000 yuan to my parents, spent 300 on gifts for my sister, and kept 200 for myself. That was the year 2000, a very special year for me.” It’s the start of a new millennium. The beginning of Xiao Mei’s new life.

In the vibrant chaos of the 2000s, Xiao Mei learned sewing and cutting, becoming more skilled and higher waged. “I went from a young Grasshopper to a Jedi.” She got a life outside of work, hanging out with colleagues, eating at street stalls and chatting on new social media platforms. “That was back in the 2000s, when QQ [Chinese social media platform] was popular. Those who had phones and PCs downloaded QQ there, those who did not, like us, went to cybercafe at night just to chat on QQ. You made friends with strangers, and that wasn’t strange at all. You talked to all sorts of people.” All sorts of people – including Xiao Mei’s love.

It was her 20th birthday. Xiao Mei left work early with friends, and they celebrated her birthday at KFC. “KFC is more common today in China. But back then, we took it as a sign of affluence. Being able to afford KFC meant being able to afford the Western way of life. That was the most luxurious birthday we could imagine.” After this exotic meal, they went to a cybercafe upstairs. Xiao Mei logged onto her QQ account, and found a new subscriber named “Li Bai.” Li Bai worked at a hardware factory in Shenzhen. He was also from the Yangchun area, from a notoriously poor place named Shiwang. The two chatted nonstop for the next six months, and by the end of those six sweet, special months, Xiao Mei realized that she was in love with Li. “He was kind-hearted and sincere, gentle, always caring for me and my needs. It’s hard to say what’s so special about him. But he was special to me, and I decided back then that I’ll marry no one but him.”

“I’ll marry no one but him.” The next time Xiao Mei said these words, she said them to her parents. It was Chinese New Year, and Xiao Mei returned to her hometown during the two weeks of New Year break. Her parents opposed the marriage. “They told me that they allowed me to migrate to Shenzhen and seek a job, hoping that I’d have a better life. They told me there’s no chance they’ll agree to my marriage. No chance that they’ll allow me to marry into the remote, inaccessible, mountainous hometown of Li Bai. I questioned them: ‘aren’t we living in the mountains ourselves? If I were born in a poor village surrounded by the mountains and you treat me as a decent human being, why can’t you do the same for Li?’ But before I could finish, my father picked up a wooden broom in a corner of the room and started hitting me with it. I was pretty sure that he was merely threatening the use of force, but the pain on my back, at one point, told me that maybe it’s beyond a threat. At some point, my father got so mad that he used force on his daughter.”

As she tried to escape the broom, her father declared sternly: “Tomorrow, we’ll meet the matchmaker. The Cheng’s in town proposed a marriage twice, and Aunt Wang from the village nearby came with a proposal too.” Xiao Mei ran into her room, locked the door, and went on a hunger strike. Her parents conceded, though only partially. They postponed matchmaking but forbade any contact between Xiao Mei and Li Bai. “They wanted to break us apart. I spent six happy months chatting with Li Bai on QQ. And then I went home and was told I can’t chat with him anymore. It was the worst New Year I’ve ever had.” Shortly after New Year’s eve, she packed her luggage and returned to the factory. Her parents tried to stop her from going back to Shenzhen. “Me being at Shenzhen meant me staying closer to Li Bai than to my parents. And they didn’t like that. But I sneaked out of my house at midnight, walked three hours to the nearest bus station, and waited another two hours for the bus to Shenzhen. Li Bai arrived at Shenzhen on the same day – we made the deal almost three weeks in advance and he kept his promise. I told him what my father told me, and we cried in each other’s arms.”