Chapter 41 – The World Outside

Part Three: Merit Without Glory

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As the third academic year was coming to an end, the brothers in the dorm were either planning to study abroad or preparing for graduate school entrance exams, while Xiang Lei told us he wanted to find a job.

Xiang Lei occasionally returned to the dorm, and sometimes He Fei was there too. Whenever Xiang Lei discussed employment pressure or work experience with anyone, He Fei would always scoff. He Fei firmly believed that employment pressure stemmed from the unrealistic ambitions of job seekers—there were plenty of jobs waiting to be filled, but those who thought too highly of themselves wouldn’t even glance at them. As for so-called work experience during school, it was just about enduring hardship and toughening one’s skin. If one had to face this necessity now, why waste the last summer vacation of their life running around like a fool, torturing themselves?

No one refuted him, but it seemed no one thought he was right either. The mainstream mindset was already set, and everyone witnessed it every day—why bother with unconventional ideas that went against the grain?

In any case, under what most people considered an increasingly brutal job market, we needed to get ourselves in gear as soon as possible. We needed to present some decent social experience to those who would soon be selecting us.

So, as soon as summer vacation began, Xiang Lei threw himself wholeheartedly into job hunting.

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The process turned out to be far more complicated than Xiang Lei had imagined.

Countless online applications yielded no results. He squeezed into every job fair but still came up empty. He sifted through piles of recruitment ads in various talent newspapers, called each one, and actually landed quite a few interview opportunities. But Xiang Lei eventually confirmed that most of them were just fronts for shady job agencies with extremely low credibility.

Though Xiang Lei didn’t have much social experience, he had dealt with tutoring agencies during his second-year summer vacation. By now, the mere mention of an agency made him wary.

The shady agencies he had encountered all had shabby office environments, which led him to instinctively judge job opportunities based on their workspaces. At the time, Xiang Lei didn’t realize that swindlers in suits could also be sitting in impressive high-rise offices.

Over three days, Xiang Lei passed three rounds of interviews at a handicrafts trading company and even signed a temporary employment agreement. In his eagerness, he didn’t think to scrutinize the agreement line by line and signed it without much thought. He was then told there would be a week of sales training and product familiarization, followed by an assessment. Only after passing the assessment would he be officially hired.

The so-called product familiarization involved taking home a poorly crafted glass painting to admire on his own, while the “training” consisted of picking up a stack of photocopied materials about the painting technique from the front desk.

Then he was asked to pay a 500-yuan deposit for the company’s products and training materials. Xiang Lei figured that since it was called a deposit, it would naturally be refunded after training, so after some hesitation, he paid up—placing all his hopes on passing the assessment a week later.

Sensing something fishy, Xiang Lei never dared mention this to He Fei.

Xiang Lei spent an entire week memorizing the training materials with even more dedication than he had for his major exams. A week later, confident in his preparation, he returned to the company for the assessment. Unexpectedly, the test questions were endless extensions of the material, and Xiang Lei failed without a doubt. The polite interviewer smiled and told him to wait for further notice. Full of suspicion, Xiang Lei left the office building, ducked into an internet café along the way, and searched the company’s full name on Baidu—only then realizing he’d been scammed!

The company had changed its name five times in three years, but its address and contact number remained the same. Many victims had filed complaints to no avail and resorted to posting online exposes. Some netizens even suggested gathering evidence for a collective lawsuit.

Xiang Lei found the address of the Haidian District Labor Inspection Team and went straight there to file a complaint after leaving the internet café.

The middle-aged man who received him listened to Xiang Lei’s story while leisurely sipping tea. Then he shook his head and said, “Most of the people who get scammed are migrant workers from out of town. You’re the first college student I’ve seen fall for this!” He then made a call: “We’ve just had a college student file a complaint. He’s fresh out of school and struggling—tell your boss Xu to refund his money immediately!”

When Xiang Lei returned to collect his money, a man with a thick Northeastern accent led him into a conference room and, after a long spiel, offered to refund only 300 yuan, citing vague “operational costs.”

Xiang Lei flatly refused the negotiation. The man’s friendly facade immediately dropped as he made some veiled threats. Without wasting another word, Xiang Lei stood up, pushed open the conference room door, and headed straight for the elevator.

As he passed the front desk, someone called out to him. He turned to see the final interviewer, who, without saying much else, frowned and instructed the cashier to refund the full amount.

From then on, Xiang Lei learned to reject any job that required a deposit. But soon, he encountered another scam.

Again, in various high-end office buildings, Xiang Lei brought his resume for interviews but was told he had to submit a standardized resume. The standardized template was on their office computer—no handwritten versions allowed, only printed ones. Printing the resume wasn’t free—it cost 10 yuan.

At first, Xiang Lei thought 10 yuan wasn’t much and paid. But without exception, none of these expensive resumes ever got a response.

He Fei told him, “You got scammed! How many times do I have to say it? You won’t find a real job before graduation!”

Xiang Lei asked doubtfully, “But can they really make a profit off this?”

In the end, companies offering paid resume printing services also landed on Xiang Lei’s blacklist.

The whole ordeal felt like winning a small lottery prize—it wasn’t until two weeks later that things finally took a turn for the better. Xiang Lei found a job at a gift marketing and planning studio without paying any deposits or printing expensive resumes.

The studio had four employees: Xiang Lei and another boy handled market development across Beijing, a petite girl managed phone sales, and a manager hired by the boss oversaw all studio affairs. Once this small team was formed, the studio rented a roughly 10-square-meter shack in a village outside the West Fourth Ring Road as their office.

Xiang Lei got up at 6 a.m. every day and arrived at the studio by 8. In the mornings, he worked on marketing plans and organized client information. In the afternoons, he carried a bag of samples and visited pre-scheduled clients all over the city.

To clients, Xiang Lei claimed the studio was a branch of a marketing consultancy in Beijing. Then he’d pull out samples branded with logos of well-known companies and tell them, “We have extensive experience in corporate gift marketing, and our products are sourced through group purchasing across the Asia-Pacific region, ensuring the lowest costs.”

Xiang Lei told He Fei that the first few times he delivered this pitch, he blushed with shame—but after a while, he got used to it.

He Fei laughed helplessly and said Xiang Lei probably did need this kind of experience.

To maximize his commissions, Xiang Lei spent his afternoons hustling between over a dozen businesses, sometimes traveling to suburban counties where a single client visit took up the entire afternoon.

By the time he met He Fei at a small restaurant downstairs after work each day, Xiang Lei was often too exhausted to even greet him. He Fei would say, “You’re working this hard for peanuts—just quit already!”

But Xiang Lei insisted on sticking it out.

In the first half-month, Xiang Lei secured six clients with potential cooperation intent. But two months later, not a single deal had closed.

The clients Xiang Lei approached couldn’t accept the lowest discount within his authority. Some even contacted more professional, cost-effective gift marketing providers on their own.

Though money wasn’t the goal, the fruitless two months of hard work left Xiang Lei dejected.

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After work one day, Xiang Lei told He Fei, “I’m fucking quitting!”

He Fei immediately laughed. “So you finally can’t take it anymore? Should’ve listened to me sooner!”

“It’s not about not being able to take it,” Xiang Lei said.

“Then what’s the reason?” He Fei asked.

Xiang Lei pulled out a newspaper from his bag and flipped to a specific page for He Fei to see—a full-page photo feature.

The news story described the dilapidated state of a migrant workers’ children’s school near Bagou: a temporary courtyard, two hazardous classrooms, three grade levels, twenty-some students, one retired teacher, no desks or chairs, no blackboard, no standardized textbooks. Each student paid one yuan per day, earning the school the nickname “One-Yuan School.”

Even He Fei, who was rarely moved, was stunned by the report.

Usually, He Fei assumed such schools existed only deep in the mountains, where inaccessibility and remoteness allowed such conditions to persist. Now he realized places like this existed right under his nose.

Xiang Lei said he had tracked down the newspaper’s office number and, after some effort, obtained the phone number of the retired teacher, surnamed Zhang. When Xiang Lei called to ask if he could volunteer as a teacher, Teacher Zhang was so moved she repeatedly thanked him—before Xiang Lei had even done anything.

He Fei fully supported Xiang Lei’s decision—not because he was as emotionally stirred as Xiang Lei, but because he figured volunteer teaching couldn’t possibly be as exhausting as sales.

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The next day, Xiang Lei resigned from the studio.

Without commissions, he only received two months’ base salary—600 yuan. The manager, however, claimed Xiang Lei had been late twice and deducted 40 yuan. Xiang Lei found this unacceptable and immediately told the manager that the 600 yuan was hard-earned money—not a single cent should be docked. Otherwise, they could go somewhere and flip through the latest edition of the Labor Law together.

The manager, looking awkward, muttered a few polite phrases like “in principle” and “should be,” but ultimately handed over the full 600 yuan.

As Xiang Lei was leaving, the petite girl from Renmin University said she couldn’t take it anymore either and had to speak up about something that had been weighing on her. She revealed that half the clients Xiang Lei and the other boy had failed to close had actually signed deals—after the manager told them to give up on those clients, he would personally step in and negotiate, offering even steeper discounts.

What the hell? Was this supposed to be some kind of lesson? He had just been a disposable tool all along!

Xiang Lei wanted to confront the manager but ultimately let it go—partly because he didn’t want to put the girl in a difficult position, and partly because he lacked concrete evidence or the mental energy to fight for something that was never truly his.

Xiang Lei thought maybe He Fei was right—before getting his diploma, he wouldn’t find a real job. As for so-called social experience, running around handing out business cards that didn’t reflect reality was about as meaningful as sweeping the streets for free. In that case, volunteering at that migrant workers’ children’s school—a place he’d never even heard of before—was clearly a far more worthwhile way to spend his time!

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He Fei refused to wake up early, so Xiang Lei went to the school alone.

The place was incredibly remote, with no bus access. After getting off the bus, Xiang Lei called Teacher Zhang three times for directions and walked for over half an hour before finally finding it. Near a massive garbage dump stood rows of makeshift brick houses—the school was nestled within a migrant workers’ settlement made up of these shacks.

Standing there, Xiang Lei briefly wondered if he was even still within Beijing’s Fifth Ring Road.

Teacher Zhang, worried Xiang Lei wouldn’t find the exact location, had come out to meet him at the intersection. She was an elderly woman with silver hair and a kind face, her smile warm and gentle. Pointing in another direction, she said, “Actually, getting off the bus that way would’ve been closer, but you can’t come through there anymore—they built a tall wall last spring.”

Following her gesture, Xiang Lei spotted a modern overpass in the distance, bustling with nonstop traffic.

Teacher Zhang took Xiang Lei to her home, poured water for him to wash his face, and served him fruit before finally sitting down to chat.

“The children never all arrive at the same time, so the start of the school term keeps getting postponed. Classes won’t officially begin until tomorrow,” Teacher Zhang said.

“Why don’t they all come together?” Xiang Lei asked.

“Some of them went back to their hometowns for summer vacation, while others are still helping their parents with work.”

Xiang Lei looked surprised. “What kind of work can elementary school kids even help with?”

“This area is a migrant workers’ settlement, and most of them are garbage collectors. Even the kids who haven’t started school yet can help their parents earn money—and some can even do things adults can’t.”

Xiang Lei asked what kind of things she meant, and Teacher Zhang told him about a boy named Xiao Wu.

Xiao Wu was a handsome little boy who loved to smile but was a bit slow-witted and often bullied by other kids. His parents thought he had intellectual disabilities and didn’t want to waste money sending him to school. After multiple home visits and persistent persuasion, Teacher Zhang finally convinced them. But the good times didn’t last. Since enrolling, Xiao Wu had been taken out of school three times by his parents. If not for Teacher Zhang’s repeated efforts to bring him back, he still wouldn’t be in school today.

During the summer, Xiao Wu’s mother came to Teacher Zhang and begged her to write some words on a large sheet of white paper. Teacher Zhang readily agreed at first, but after hearing what Xiao Wu’s mother wanted her to write, she sternly refused.

“You’ve definitely seen this scam before—Xiao Wu would carry a schoolbag, kneel on the street with his head bowed, and lay that white paper in front of him. The words on it would be fabricated sob stories to gain sympathy!”

After being rejected, Xiao Wu’s mother tearfully explained how difficult their life was and that they would never resort to making their child beg on the streets unless absolutely desperate.

Teacher Zhang angrily retorted, “Let me ask you this—is Xiao Wu even your own child? You and your husband work so hard to earn money, but who is it all for?”

Xiao Wu’s mother was left speechless and left in disappointment.

A few days later, whether they found someone else to write it or not, Xiao Wu spent the entire summer begging on the streets.

“They have money! Plenty of it!” Teacher Zhang said heatedly. “This kind of livelihood might not be respectable, but it earns them a lot. They’ve become so obsessed with making money that they’ve forgotten why they’re earning it in the first place. They pinch every penny and think spending it on their child’s education is a waste. What do they use it for instead? Building a house back home and marrying off their son! From listening to their conversations, I know there’s a competition in rural areas to build the nicest new homes. A decent courtyard house for one child costs about 100,000 yuan. Once the kid gets married and moves into the new house, their life is considered settled. That’s what they call a perfect ending.”

“Looking at these children now, you can guess what their parents were like in their own youth. Sometimes I think it’s not that they don’t want to break free—it’s that they don’t even know they should. The path they’re laying for their children is the same one they walked themselves,” Teacher Zhang continued. “Actually, the parents around here all deeply respect educated people. They’re always eager to help out when needed. See this little house? The parents built it for me.”

Xiang Lei asked why Teacher Zhang lived in such a place. She explained that after retiring in 1994, her original home was demolished for redevelopment. While waiting for the new house to be ready, her family rented two shacks nearby. Seeing so many children with no access to education and having nothing else to do, she started a free tutoring class, teaching them to read and write and even feeding them lunch. At first, only four or five children came, but as more parents sent their kids for convenience, she began charging a nominal fee, rented another shack, and hired a helper to prepare lunches.

As the number of students kept growing, the makeshift school had to relocate several times for more space, eventually ending up here. But commuting became too difficult for Teacher Zhang, so the parents built this house for her. Her new home had been ready for years, but she and her husband never moved in. Before she knew it, ten years had passed.

Xiang Lei asked, “Why don’t these children attend local public schools?”

“Money, of course,” Teacher Zhang said. “The fees—textbooks, miscellaneous expenses, temporary enrollment charges—are like cutting flesh for these parents! Besides, getting into local schools requires passing entrance exams, and these kids can’t make it. Their foundations are too weak.”

“Last year, one child did pass the exam for fourth grade at a local school. I talked to his parents, and they finally agreed. But then I noticed a problem. After speaking with his homeroom teacher a few times, I learned the boy had become withdrawn and silent, with no friends. Academically, he kept up, but he lacked confidence—he wouldn’t even answer questions in class.”

“Only then did I realize why he still came back every day to do homework on the brick pile outside our classroom. He used to be such a lively child. Wearing the same tattered clothes and shoes, carrying pickled vegetables and steamed buns for lunch—but in a school full of migrant kids versus a local school, the difference was stark.”

Xiang Lei sat quietly, listening as Teacher Zhang shared many stories about the children. The more he heard, the more eager he became to meet them. He wasn’t sure what he could do for them, but one thing was certain—he could no longer remain indifferent just because he felt uncertain.

Later, Teacher Zhang took him to see the school. A cramped courtyard enclosed by walls, two shoddily built classrooms—where windows should have been, there were only rough openings.

On one wall of a classroom hung a small rubber blackboard. Facing it were three rows of “desks and chairs.” Bricks propped up long wooden planks as desks, while tattered straw mats on the hard brick floor served as seats. Teacher Zhang said the children sat on the ground, and in winter, each would bring a quilt to school.

The other classroom was slightly larger but arranged the same way. The smaller room was for third grade, with six students, while the bigger one held first and second graders—twenty in total. Teacher Zhang shuttled between the two rooms alone every day.

She said she had hired two young teachers before, but both left quickly. She understood—young people had dreams, and staying in a place like this would be irresponsible to their own futures.

Reporters had come to interview her, and TV stations had invited her and a few children to their studios. Teacher Zhang had hoped this would bring some help—at least desks, chairs, and textbooks—but nothing ever came of it. The photo feature they had seen in the newspaper was actually from an interview months ago.

After that, more journalists visited, but Teacher Zhang refused to see them, not even allowing photos.

“These people are strange. They pretend to be compassionate, but they’re just after their own paychecks! I told them: This isn’t a zoo! It’s not a place for you to gawk at!” Teacher Zhang trembled with anger as she spoke.

When Xiang Lei mentioned volunteering as a teacher, Teacher Zhang asked him to take over the third-grade class, preferably teaching English. She said she hadn’t taught English before retiring and didn’t dare start, afraid of misleading the children. But seeing kids the same age learning English elsewhere made her anxious. With only Chinese and math classes, subjects like history, geography, and science were barely touched upon. There was so much they were missing.

Xiang Lei agreed immediately before saying goodbye and heading home.

On the way back, he felt there was so much he needed to do—yet he wasn’t sure where to start.

The bus sped down clean, wide roads. Xiang Lei looked out the window to the right, where a long green belt ran alongside a neat wall covered in “Beijing 2008” slogans.

If he had passed by yesterday, he would never have known that the other side of that wall wasn’t even painted, its base piled with scattered trash. On one side, bustling prosperity; on the other, quiet decay.

Today, Xiang Lei finally understood one thing—a group of children, bright as flowers, were struggling through their childhoods in the bleakness beyond that wall.