Volume One: A Fresh Start Chapter 4: The Communal Dormitory

Not long after, my application for a shared dormitory was approved. At last, I no longer had to endure more than an hour-long bus ride to and from work each day. I happily went to the General Affairs Department’s Housing Management Section to collect the keys. Section Chief Xie saw me and greeted me warmly.

“The factory director holds you in high regard,” he said. “He specifically arranged a double room for you, whereas most of the others have four-person rooms. It’s the first time I’ve seen the director personally make such a special arrangement in all my years here.”

Gratefully, I replied, “Thank you, Chief Xie.”

He laughed heartily. “No need to thank me — thank the factory director. Young man, you have a brilliant future ahead.”

“Oh, you flatter me, Chief Xie,” I said politely.

That Saturday, I prepared to move. Calling it a move was a stretch; it was basically just bringing along some change of clothes from school. I must thank the dormitory manager at my school, who allowed me to stay in the school dormitory so long after graduation, even when the other graduates had left and the incoming freshmen hadn’t arrived yet for the summer break.

Upon arriving at the collective dormitory, I first registered with the dorm manager, an enthusiastic elder named Mr. Zhang, who was in his fifties. He told me about the staff dormitory: the building had five floors, all staff quarters. Each floor was laid out with a central kitchen, washrooms, showers, toilets, and a shared phone room. Most rooms housed four people, with a few doubles. The collective dorm was mostly occupied by unmarried employees and some married staff who had not been assigned housing and lived far from home.

I entered room 315, my assigned staff dormitory. The room wasn’t large, roughly a dozen square meters, about the same size as my school dormitory, though the school rooms housed eight people—so this was already a significant upgrade. Though not new, the room was reasonably clean, with some dust but no trash or clutter. Furnishings were simple: two single beds, two desks, and two wardrobes. The room was self-contained but had no bathroom or balcony, just one window. Looking out, I saw several factory chimneys nearby, puffing out clouds of pale gray smoke like a procession of spirits rising and dissolving into the sky. Beyond the factory lay fields of ripened rice, golden and vast—a sight that filled one with hope and longing for a fruitful life.

I cleaned the room, stored my clothes in one wardrobe, and then collected my bedding from Mr. Zhang. Thus began my communal living in the staff dormitory.

After dinner in the cafeteria, I returned to the dorm. I first went to the shared phone room to call my girlfriend, Xiang Xiulan. She was pleased to hear I had secured a place to live but also felt a bit downhearted, sensing that I was now somewhat farther from her.

Xiang Xiulan was a junior at my college, entering her senior year after the summer break. Delicate and gentle in character, she was utterly devoted to me during our nearly two years together—we rarely quarreled. She was clingy, always wanting to be close to me. Academically, she was not very diligent. In her words, only one person in a family needed to be ambitious; a woman’s greatest responsibility was to support her husband and raise children. She aspired to be a virtuous wife and good mother.

That night, sleeping alone in the dormitory, I found it peaceful. I lay reading for a while before dozing off, waking only to bright daylight the next morning.

After breakfast, I went to the small shop nearby to buy some essentials and returned to continue cleaning. Suddenly, someone knocked on the door. Puzzled, I opened it a crack and was surprised to see Diao Youhua. He greeted me with a broad smile.

“Good morning, Dongshan. Looks like you’ve taken the lead.”

He was carrying a bag, and behind him was a younger-looking boy with a large backpack and another bag in hand, sweating profusely. It dawned on me that Diao Youhua was assigned to share the same dorm room.

I quickly opened the door wider. “Not really, I only got here yesterday.”

Diao Youhua invited the younger boy to sit, but the boy glanced around and said, “I won’t sit. If you have nothing else, senior, I’ll head back.”

“That’s fine. I haven’t finished settling in yet. Come visit again later,” Diao Youhua said, escorting the boy out.

Soon after, Diao Youhua returned. Instead of immediately unpacking, he said, “Dongshan, we’re about the same age, so I’ll just call you that, and you can call me Youhua. We graduated from university together, started work here at the same time, and now we’re roommates. Haha, let’s help each other and improve together, okay?”

I smiled. “Of course, but I’ll need to learn a lot from you.”

“You’re joking,” Diao Youhua replied, punching me lightly on the shoulder. “You graduated from a key university, topped the training exam, and made a big splash right away. Your future is boundless. Just don’t forget your roommate.”

I sensed that he saw me as a competitor, particularly regarding my advantage of graduating from a prestigious university.

“Your office is a central department, always close to the leadership. Your development opportunities are greater,” I replied diplomatically.

To be honest, I wasn’t very fond of Diao Youhua’s personality. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with it, but he seemed sharp and aggressive, a bit too slick—not the kind of person I could easily relate to. Perhaps it was because my father was a simple, honest farmer who taught me from childhood to be honest and diligent. He always emphasized keeping one’s head down and working hard, speaking little, and living honestly.

Honesty is indeed a fine tradition of our people, and I’ve always believed in it. Yet, in recent years, swept by the tide of market economy, people’s mindsets have shifted. Some social phenomena suggest that honesty no longer fits well in this world.

Many who became middlemen on the coast quickly got rich; their hallmark was boldness, hardly related to “honesty.” Young men and women became obsessed with idol worship; some stars could earn from a single song, film, or endorsement what ordinary people could not dream of in decades.

Meanwhile, honest farmers and office workers continued their quiet, unremarkable lives. It seemed Heaven did not grant special rewards for being “honest.” On the contrary, “honest” was increasingly a derogatory term, synonymous with incompetence and meekness.

Though mainstream media still promoted the spirit of the “honest person” and urged not to let honest people suffer losses, in reality, honest people often did. Resources are always limited; if honest people don’t lose out, then who else would?

Perhaps Diao Youhua was right, and I was wrong.

We are all ordinary people. Throughout history, how many have truly been indifferent to fame and fortune? Li Bai was so free-spirited, Tao Yuanming so transcendent—but they only reached such heights after hitting walls in the secular world, transforming their thoughts and living lives of greater meaning. Most of us are mundane beings, far from that realm.

My view of “clever people” shifted somewhat. Of course, pursuing success and fame is understandable, but one must hold onto fundamental principles. This belief was deeply instilled in me by my silent, farming father’s example and teachings, and I doubt it will ever change.