A letter from Yang Xiao to readers
Dear readers and friends:
Hello everyone! My name is Yang Xiao.
You might be curious why so many people in town call me Yang Xiaoer. It's actually my nickname. Many children around Lu Town have names like this, but most aren't particularly appealing and are rather random. They might be names like "Cat," "Dog," "Frog," or just "Lew" or "Flower." Perhaps it's the deeply ingrained belief that cheap names are easier to keep, or perhaps it's just that people don't really care.
Because children in towns and villages are not as rare as buildings. Rich people and poor people can have children too.
So, after I was born, I learned I actually had a sister. I also had grandparents, but they preferred boys and paid even less attention to my sister. In the autumn, when the village pond was being pumped for fishing, my sister stepped on the mud and fell from the roadside into the pond, which hadn't yet completely dried up. When she was fished out, she was already dead.
Grandpa blames grandma for not watching over him, and grandma blames my mom for being incompetent.
My mother was about to give birth to me. My grandparents quickly got over the grief of losing my sister and began to look forward to my birth. They hoped I would be a boy, so that the Yang family's lineage wouldn't be cut off. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. When the midwife carried me out, crying loudly, their eyes dimmed.
My mother had to take care of me while still recovering from my sister's passing. She also had to stay in confinement and endure the humiliation of not being able to give birth to a son. Her life became more and more difficult, so I don't blame her for leaving.
She has the right to choose how to live her life.
Whether she gets married and has children, or goes to a big city to explore things on her own, as long as she lives a better life than she does now, that's enough.
So my father had a love for me, but also a desire for me to hold my head high and prove that he wasn't bad. This made sense, too, as he didn't allow me to write sloppily, sit on a backpack, or have grease spots on my textbooks. My father had instilled in me the idea that all other pursuits were inferior, except for study.
He believed that only if I became a scholar could he and I live a better life.
This was true. For someone like me, studying was a good way to live a decent life. But my father's expectations of studying changing my fate were too high. He would always tell me, while turning my soaked clothes over the firewood, "Look, if you don't study hard, you won't even have clothes to wear, just like me."
But in my eyes, he is already very good.
To ensure I could go to school properly, he moved me from the village to town, using his savings to buy a bungalow on the edge of Lu Town. He shielded me from the voices of those who told me that girls from poor families should get married early to support their families. He even mortgaged the land he had farmed for most of his life to pay for my education.
Sometimes, it's not perfect.
For example, when he and I were at the town store covering books, he once secretly stole a pen and put it in his pocket. When we got home, he happily pulled it out of his bag and handed it to me, saying, "Haven't you always wanted this?" That time, I clutched the pen and yelled at him, "You thief!" The book says, "Be honest and upright."
He didn't say anything, his expression changed from happy to dull, and then to guilty, and he said that he would return it tomorrow, saying that he really didn't have the money to buy it.
I refused. I clutched the pen, crying silently in bed at night. I couldn't bear to part with it, and I couldn't bear to see my father called a thief, even though I was the one who called him a thief first. At that time, I knew nothing else but the joy of having money. At least I wasn't tormented by the recurring torment of self-esteem and life.
The next day, I took the pen to school. My deskmate, a loud, nosy type, asked me where I bought the new pen. I lied and said my dad bought it for me, using the money he earned from sewing a dozen pairs of insoles. He laughed at me for not understanding prices, saying the pen wasn't worth a dozen pairs of insoles, and said it was only about three or four yuan.
At that time, we couldn't afford three or four dollars.
The three or four pieces of money I had at that time also planted a seed in me, which was called evil and had the underlying color of poverty.
I carried this seed in my heart, like this pen, slowly growing. Books taught me to distinguish right from wrong, Uncle Zhou taught me about life, and I, myself, taught me how to struggle upstream. As I swam, the seed soaked in water, gradually taking root and sprouting within me. So, when I discovered my boss was taking massive kickbacks, I instinctively felt fear, terrified that such an undeserved disaster would befall me.
Then this fear was like nitrogen fertilizer, sprinkled on the seedling.
So, besides wanting to keep the evidence, I was also wondering if I could use these invoices to get a promotion, a raise, and the life I wanted. Sure enough, that night, I dreamed about it: a nightmare of myself transformed into a toad swallowing gold. Even after waking, I was still terrified. After repeatedly debating and weighing the pros and cons, I decided, "This shouldn't be me."
As for the aftermath, on the day I resigned, I mustered up the courage to send scanned copies of the invoices to my department boss, but he didn't reply. Jing Yan said, "My boss continued to work at the office as usual. This was the first time I had such a direct experience of the grayness of the world." Just like Mao Qiu's misfortune at age 15, at 25, I'm still pondering what fairness truly is.
However, now I no longer dwell on outcomes that are labeled fair but are actually unfair. There are so many of them, they consume my energy and my expectations of the world around me. As Zhou Qi said, we're just ordinary people, using ordinary methods to maintain what we consider fair.
After all, defining fairness itself is unfair. Just like I clearly know that Uncle Zhou has passed away and the bad guys should have a more satisfying ending, but I am powerless to do anything about it.
I've already said so much heavy stuff. Let's change our mood and talk about something happy.
While Zhimiao Technology hasn't reached the stage of ringing the bell on Nasdaq yet, it currently has a complete capital chain and is operating well. Lu Weilu said that she had invested in many projects and said the same thing to many of the project leaders, but I was the only one who acted like a fool, speaking without any preparation. And that wasn't enough. I spoke as if I was about to reveal my heart to her.
Hahaha, there’s nothing I can do. It’s just that I, Yang Xiao, am such an honest person.
And, ahem, you might be more concerned about my relationship status with Zhou Qi. Actually, there's nothing wrong right now. Beijing is so big, and we work in different districts, so it's like a long-distance relationship. We only spend the whole day together on weekends, watching movies, camping, and so on. On weekdays, I occasionally stay overnight at his place.
As for living together, I haven't considered it yet. Firstly, I can't bear to leave Wuwu and Ruopeng, and secondly, I still think that sometimes maintaining a certain distance can be more refreshing. If we stay together for too long, the little details might wear away some of the love we have for each other.
After all, back in Lu Town, when he slept on the first floor and I slept on the second, my heart was as calm as water. Okay, sometimes there would be some turbulence.
Actually, when that lazy Miao He asked me to write this letter, I was completely bewildered. Wasn't she the author of our story? Why had she just dumped the pen into my hands? Never mind, I'll just write it. So, resigned to my fate, I opened my computer and began typing furiously. Wuwu jumped at my feet, rubbing against my calves from time to time, whining for me to hold her.
So if any garbled characters appear next, that’s what Wuwu wants to write to everyone.
Meow meow meow (Hi everyone, I’m Wuwu.)
Meow meow meow meow meow meow (Can you please let godmother feed me canned food tonight?)
Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow (Thank you, godmother and mother, for giving Wuwu a home.)
Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow (I wish all the readers happy every day.)
That's about it. I can't let Wuwu touch my keyboard anymore. Otherwise, Miaohe will scold me, asking why I gave her so many extra words. But you see, there are still many beautiful things in life worth continuing, just like letting kittens write letters to humans, right?
As I write this, I suddenly feel a bit reluctant to let go. When I initially agreed to let Miao He write this story, I simply wanted to record it, to allow my ordinary life to be captured in black and white, just like a famous biography. I wanted our stories to be heard. But now, this story is coming to an end.
This means, dear readers, that Yang Xiao can no longer accompany you as usual. But please don't be sad, we will reunite in different worlds. On the subway, at the airport, on the side of the road, there will always be "ordinary" people shining brightly on their journey towards the future.
Yang Xiao
October 6, 2025
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