Volume One: Emerging from the Wilderness Chapter 1: Career Aspirations

“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 graduates had changed drastically, no longer assigning jobs directly. Of course, in this initial stage, schools still held considerable influence over employment. Employers submitted their recruitment requests to the school, and the school’s recommendations mattered greatly.

Though it was still early in senior year, some of my classmates had already secured jobs. For example, “Old Hei,” the eldest in our dormitory of six, had his placement confirmed. Old Hei, whose real name was Liu Hongwei, hailed from a small county in Huajiang Province. Tall and dark-skinned, he earned his nickname easily. He planned to return to his hometown to work in the Environmental Protection Bureau.

Generally, most of us dreamed of working for government agencies, public institutions, schools, or large state-owned enterprises. But I, the class monitor and head of publicity for the student union, a consistent scholarship winner, had yet to find a placement. The school had one spot reserved for staying on after graduation, and “Guo Daxia” strongly backed me for it. Yet in the end, the spot went to Sun Shuhua, the league branch secretary.

Rumors had it that Sun had some ambiguous connection with the school’s party secretary, who was nicknamed “the Mediterranean” because of his receding hairline. I was reluctant to believe it. The party secretary was in his early fifties, always waddling about the office corridors with his protruding belly, while Sun was young, beautiful, and cultured. I simply couldn’t imagine them together.

People often said that the relationship between class monitors and league secretaries fell into two categories: either close, sometimes romantically involved, or bitter rivals. Sun and I started off well; some classmates even joked that she had a crush on me. But I sensed a certain pride deep within her, perhaps because I came from a rural background, carrying a sensitive and proud disposition. Once, she invited me to the library, but I gently declined, and I noticed her attitude grew colder afterward. By the time I had a girlfriend in my sophomore year, she largely ignored me. Someone so proud couldn’t possibly have tangled affairs with that “Mediterranean” party secretary.

Before I realized it, I had arrived at Guo Daxia’s office. He was alone. Upon seeing me, a warm smile appeared beneath his glasses. That smile always made me feel comforted. As his most favored protégé, he had always cared deeply for me.

“Dongshan, you’re here,” Guo greeted me, gesturing for me to sit. He glanced at my sweat-stained jersey and got straight to the point. “I called you in because there’s an urgent matter I want to discuss.”

“Do you know about the Eastern Chemical Plant? They’re coming to our school looking for someone. I want to recommend you, but it depends on your willingness. They need to finalize the candidate in the next couple of days.”

Of course, I knew Eastern Chemical Plant well. It was a renowned state-owned enterprise in Huajiang Province, known for its solid performance and hard-to-enter positions. I didn’t expect them to come to our school for recruitment. While most of my classmates believed government or public institution jobs were the best choice, for business management majors like me, working in an enterprise seemed a more practical way to apply what we’d learned.

“Thank you so much, Teacher Guo. I’m willing to take the chance in the corporate world,” I said. “Thank you” hardly expressed the depth of my gratitude. His kindness to me went beyond the usual teacher-student bond.

“Still, you have to wait for the final confirmation. The school has a process to follow. I’ll speak with the dean,” he said.

I understood Guo’s meaning. Since the incident with the on-campus position, I knew nothing was certain until it was officially decided.

“Well, you should head back now. Go take a shower and change. The weather’s turning chilly—don’t catch a cold.”

I found myself bowing slightly to Guo without realizing it. He waved me off.

On my way back to the dorm, I thought wryly how uncharacteristic it was for me to bow to a teacher. I’d always prided myself on my independence and disliked those who flattered school leaders and counselors. Yet, reflecting on it, the bow was a spontaneous gesture, born of my genuine respect and deep gratitude toward Guo Daxia.