Montanha Oriental

“Dongshan, Dongshan.”

I was drenched in sweat on the basketball court when I vaguely heard “Old Hei” calling me from outside.

With a swift flick, I sent the basketball flying toward the hoop, but distracted, the ball traced a parabolic arc and just grazed the rim before rolling out beyond the baseline.

I walked to the sidelines, breathing heavily, and asked, “What’s up? Why the rush to find me?”

“It’s not me looking for you. It’s Guo Daxia. He wants you to come to his office right away,” Old Hei said, bending over to catch his breath.

The “Guo Daxia” Old Hei mentioned was our class counselor, Guo Peidong, 38 years old. Because he was upright, kind to students, and fiercely protective of us, everyone affectionately called him “Guo Daxia”—a knightly title.

I had no time to change out of my jersey and sprinted toward the School of Economics and Management’s office building. Lining the path from the stadium to the building were rows of French plane trees, their leaves turning golden in the late autumn. Last night’s rain had left the ground and branches sparkling under the clear sky. The sight was breathtaking, but I had no mind to savor the beauty. My only thought was to find out what “Guo Daxia” wanted with me.

It was the second half of 1993, already the first semester of our senior year. Our courses were few; the main task was writing our thesis. After the famous “Southern Talk” by the elder leader last year, China accelerated its shift from a planned economy to a socialist market economy. The employment system for university gradu