Non-Fiction
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When my female colleagues and I found out that Min had a baby out of wedlock, we envied her, believing that only economically independent women could afford such a choice. In China, single women who gave birth violated the one-child policy, making it difficult to register the child. Until recently, some regions allowed single women to give birth outside of marriage due to the continuous decline in fertility rates.
When I shared an article interviewing single mothers with Min, she said she wanted me to write her story—to show the world the lice crawling on her gorgeous cheongsam.
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Min and I met in 2017 when we worked at a company in Shanghai. She had met her boyfriend, Zhang, during her postgraduate studies in the United States. Zhang’s family lived in Shanghai, so after graduation, she followed him there and they married.
Maybe because we were both from Guangzhou, we got along quite well and became friends. I liked her straightforward personality.
Before the marriage, Zhang’s parents had already bought him an apartment as a pre-marital property. I said, “You’re at a disadvantage.” She said she didn’t mind because her parents bought her two apartments in Guangzhou long ago.
Several months later, Min suddenly resigned and returned to Guangzhou, saying that she and Zhang planned to divorce and she was kicked out by Zhang and his parents. I didn’t know the specifics until lately, when she shared her story with me.
“My ex-husband didn’t care about my feelings, just like my dad. I thought I was used to indifference. But after marriage, I realized I couldn’t bear it, so I told him I wanted a divorce. He agreed. But two days later, he begged me to stay. I reluctantly agreed to try for one more month. I guess he told his parents about it, then consulted a lawyer to prepare for divorce. I had made no legal preparations,” Min said.
“I thought you divorced because of conflicts with your mother-in-law,” I said.
“Not quite. One Saturday morning, I had a meeting with clients. He asked me to go with him and his parents to see an exhibition the next weekend, but he only booked three tickets. I argued with him. An hour later, his mother called and told me to leave immediately. When I got home that afternoon, I found his parents there, too.”
I had heard what happened next. Min’s in-laws had moved all her belongings into the living room and told her to get out.
“On my way to a hotel, I called my best friend. She flew over that afternoon and accompanied me back to Zhang’s house that night. We were small; my ex-husband and his parents were big, so they threatened us. They locked all the bedrooms and wouldn’t let me retrieve my belongings. I called the police, and soon a policeman arrived. His parents said I was from out of town, and they were locals. The officer, also local, sided with them. My best friend whispered to me to cry. I didn’t, so she cried instead.”
“Why did your best friend want you to cry?”
“I didn’t understand, either. I was scared and angry, but I didn’t want to cry. I've never thought crying solves anything. But after years of reflection, I realized: crying is society’s expectation of women, and sometimes it’s a woman’s only weapon.”
I saw her point. We are both stubborn and don’t easily give in.
“The stronger I seemed, the more they wanted to bully me—as if it had to end in tears, as if I had to be a weak woman.” Min told me this the next day. She said it had taken her a night to understand why Zhang’s family had treated her that way.
The next day, Min’s best friend brought two strong male friends and contacted a moving company. Zhang and his parents were too scared to humiliate Min again. They didn’t allow them into the apartment, so Min packed her things in the hallway and shipped them to her parents.
“Zhang’s mother filmed us the entire time, as if we were stealing from her.”
It was ironic that, in the end, we had to rely on men to resolve our dilemmas.
Min paused for a while, then added, “Oh, yes—my ex-husband accused me of cheating. He probably wanted to get more money in the divorce.”
I agreed. He must have been trying to take advantage of the divorce compensation system that protects non-wrongful spouses.
“Weren’t your parents angry that his family bullied you?”
“Zhang’s parents supported their son. Mine hoped we’d reconcile. They didn’t even realize how humiliated I was. Without my best friend, I would have been completely helpless.”
It’s said that a girl has no home once grown. Her parents believe they’re raising someone else’s daughter-in-law, while her in-laws treat her as an outsider. Only when you’re forced into that cramped corner do you realize how desolate that is. Perhaps this is the dilemma girls face in a patriarchal society.
My sister ran a clothing store from morning till night, supporting three children, her husband, and her mother-in-law. Her husband did nothing. When she filed for divorce, my father was furious. He told her then-husband, “If she insists on divorce, break her leg.”
I told Min this. “My dad said it unconsciously. In a patriarchal society, he can tolerate domestic violence, infidelity, or abandonment—but not a woman’s resistance.”
“Yes,” said Min. “It’s unconscious. They just think that’s how the world should work.
Min and Zhang’s divorce dragged on for months, leaving her physically and mentally exhausted.
“You both wanted a divorce. Why the long battle?”
“Because of the property. My parents bought me a BMW ¥500,000 (about $73,000). I didn’t have Shanghai residency, but Zhang did. I registered the car in his name to get a local license. He wanted half of the car’s worth. I gave in.”
No wonder they say divorce shows a person’s true colors. Zhang's were was shameless, and I felt so sorry for Min.
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Min met Lin on a website called Douban during her ongoing divorce battle with Zhang. Lin was also divorced, so they had something in common. He offered Min suggestions for dealing with Zhang, though none of them were useful.
“How could you fall for someone you’ve never met?”
“Lin presented himself well,” she said. “He said he had worked in Shanghai, Beijing, and Chongqing. He claimed to have traveled extensively, graduated from the National University of Singapore, and earned a monthly salary was 16,000 yuan—which is considered very high in a low-cost city like Chongqing. He also claimed to own property and hold assets worth over 5 million yuan.”
But Min’s family was wealthy, and she wouldn’t fall for a man simply because he was rich. “Because of the divorce quagmire, I really needed a lifebuoy,” she explained. “And Lin just showed up.”
After a month of talking online, they decided to meet in Guilin, a beautiful tourist city midway between their locations. Like many online encounters, the in-person meeting was disappointing. Despite his claims of wealth, Lin's clothing betrayed a different reality. Though she had seen his photo, Min hadn’t realized he was short, under 5’6”, and weighed over 154 pounds.
“Why did you still love him?”
“During those three days in Guilin, he seemed like a good man. When I asked him hypothetical questions about raising a child, handling family conflicts, or making life choices, he always gave thoughtful answers.”
Later Min added, “My best friend’s husband is a teacher. He’s not very capable, but he takes good care of her and their baby. I thought, even if Lin didn’t have money, we could still be happy if he loved and cared for me.”
After Guilin, they returned to their cities but continued to meet monthly. Either Min flew to Chongqing or Lin flew to Guangzhou.
After Min finalized her divorced, Lin turned 30. They talked about having a child and getting married. Min was pregnant, but Lin didn’t propose. Min had done her research and found that being unmarried wouldn’t prevent her from raising a child. Moreover, Lin acted like a responsible partner, and to Min, the lack of a marriage certificate made little difference.
“I didn’t want to get married anyway,” she said, “especially since China had just introduced a divorce cooling-off period, which made separation more difficult.
Implemented on January 1, 2021, the law required a 30-day waiting period after filing for divorce. Among Chinese women, a saying grew popular: “Not getting married and not having children ensures safety.”
I had already discussed love and marriage with my daughter when she was in the first grade. I told her she could fall in love, live with a partner, and even have children out of wedlock—but she shouldn’t marry unless she was absolutely sure. The law doesn’t protect women, and divorce isn’t easy. I’ve seen too many women trapped in unhappy marriages. Many of my female friends feel the same way. No wonder marriage and birth rates are declining in China.
After Min became pregnant, Lin moved to Guangzhou to live with her. Eventually, he admitted that everything he had told her was a lie.
“I already loved him,” she said. “After checking everything, I still chose to stay.”
Four months into her pregnancy, Min suffered a miscarriage. Lin stayed by her side and took care of her. Later, she was pregnant again and gave birth to a son.
They lived a simple and happy life. Lin didn’t have regular routines—he idled most days—but occasionally stayed up on a whim and cleaned the house until four or five in the morning. He cooked and cared for their son while Min worked. He loved their son very much, played with him, and comforted him when he cried.
“You gave birth out of wedlock. Didn’t your parents object?” I asked, a question I had always been curious about.
“At first, my parents didn’t like Lin and opposed our relationship. But after I became pregnant, they wanted us to get married. Lin didn’t take any action. I was worried that if we married, divorce would be too difficult. Fortunately, we weren’t married—otherwise, I couldn’t have kicked him out,” she said.
I agreed. Thankfully, Min is independent and didn’t simply follow her parents’ wishes.
“When you lived together, did you split the expenses equally?”
“He was willing to pay, but his job was unstable. He was a salesperson. He couldn’t hold on to a job for more than two months at a time. Sometimes he went six months without work. When he got paid, he gave me all his money, but that only happened two or three months a year.”
So, when they were together, Min bore the financial burden.
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Their relationship collapsed when their son was eighteen months old.
Lin became ill and visited three hospitals without receiving a diagnosis. Min’s aunt took him to a private doctor, who diagnosed an aortic dissection and said he needed immediate surgery, otherwise, he might die at any time. The operation cost 300,000 yuan. Lin and his family had no money. Min’s mother paid for the operation.
His parents and sisters flew in to visit. The operation took 12 hours. Lin was discharged after three weeks in the hospital, and his sister stayed with Min for a month to take care of Lin. For the next six months, Lin recovered at home, earning a basic salary of 3,000 yuan from his boss. He spent his days watching short videos and playing games. He recovered but never thanked Min’s mother or aunt, nor did he repay the money. Despite Min asking him repeatedly, he took no action. This marked a turning point in their relationship.
On Lunar New Year’s Eve—January 21, 2023—Lin, Min, and their son went out. An argument about where to park led to Lin’s indifference as their son cried in the backseat. Min told him to leave. After that, he stopped speaking to her. Two weeks later, she told him to move out.
Min wrote a letter to her son explaining why his father had left them. She sent me this letter, too, and my heart ached for her.
“He said he would take you away. I knew he couldn’t look after you—not without an income, no job, and a heart condition. I told him I would let the court judge his custody rights, during which he could live here, but he had to pay a monthly rent if he wanted to stay in the meantime. He agreed. I drafted a loan receipt. He refused to sign and said he'd consult a lawyer. I knew he wouldn’t sign it. I changed the door password and said I’d give it to him in exchange for a signed IOU. The next day, after sleeping with you for the last night, he posted two suicide announcements on WeChat Moments. Two days later, before your second birthday, he moved out.
Min later learned from his aunt that Lin had returned to his hometown and hadn’t attempted suicide. He took Min’s old phone and never repaid the 300,000 yuan or paid any child support, his legal obligation.
Min cried often while driving. Her parents had hoped Lin would stay. Her best friend, however, urged her to let him go.
“My parents didn’t understand my pain,” Min said, “but my best friend did. She insisted I get rid of Lin.”
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If the story had ended there, readers would be relieved that Min’s life was back on track. But life rarely ends neatly.
After writing her son the letter explaining why his father had left, she shared an article on Douban about falling in love online with someone she hadn’t met. Lin read it—and lost control.
He didn’t contact her. Instead, he posted threats on WeChat Moments, describing in graphic detail how he would kill Min and their son. He said he’d cut off her limbs and splash sulfuric acid on her face to disfigure her, because it would be more enjoyable to let Min suffer than to kill her. Because she loved their son, he threatened to kill the boy too. Min’s father saw the post first. Her terrified parents told Min not to go home because Lin knew where they lived.
His family couldn’t stop him. Min called the police. The local officer confronted Lin, but Lin said he wasn’t afraid.
“What are you going to do?” I asked Min, worried.
“He has no job, no income, and lives with his parents in a small village. They buy him rice and meat, leaving him to fend for himself. A trip to Guangzhou costs thousands of yuan, money he doesn’t have.”
“But a hard seat on a train isn’t expensive. He can buy a single ticket for just a few hundred yuan.”
“He has a heart condition and can’t stand hard seats on trains,” Min said optimistically.
“Have you moved?”
“Yes. I’m renting a new apartment.”
“Did you block Lin on WeChat?”
“No. What if he wants to see our son?”
“If he misses your son, will you let him see him? Aren’t you afraid he’ll use that as an excuse to hurt you?”
“He won’t hurt our son. He loves him too much. I think he just wanted to threaten me. Just like he said he’d commit suicide before, but he didn’t. It’s possible that he would actually splash sulfuric acid on me, though. But that’s why I can’t block him. I need to monitor his Moments. I need to know if he’s making dangerous statements or plans.”
Min smiled as she said this. Life must goes on. She refuses to live in fear.
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For a long time, I couldn’t calm down. We all thought Min lived a chic, independent life, free from the shackles of marriage and in-laws. But as the saying goes, “One must personally experience something to know what it’s like.”
In China, it’s still hard for women to break out of traditional family roles: obedience, self-suppression, motherhood as validation. These pressures aren’t just external, they become internalized. We live like we’re walking a single-plank bridge, balancing under constant judgment.
After my daughter was born, I gave up a high-paying job and promotion opportunities to work from home. In peak seasons, I sleep only three or four hours a day. People think this is what mothers should do. Because my husband shares the housework, he’s praised as a “good man.”
Fortunately, my friends understand me. We support each other.
Like Min—despite so many difficulties, she broke free. She still believes in love. She remains optimistic. She stays strong.
Life is hard on women. So often, we feel trapped with fences in front of and behind us. But if we keep fighting and supporting each other, one day we may finally realize: if we just turn around and look, we will see the left and right are passable. There are no jailers to guard on either side.
Huina Zheng holds an M.A. with Distinction in English Studies and works as a college essay coach. Her stories have been published in Baltimore Review, Variant Literature, Midway Journal, and other reputed publications. Her work has been nominated thrice for both the Pushcart Prize and the Best of the Net. She resides in Guangzhou, China with her family.