On the day my mom gave birth to me, my dad fell from the rafters and died.

My mom held me, just born, crying bitterly, accusing me of stealing my dad's longevity.

She wanted to give me away, but in the impoverished mountain valleys, no one wanted a girl who had just been born and already caused her father's death.

So, I was reluctantly raised at home.

My mom said, every meal I eat at home cannot be free.

For every steamed bun I eat, I have to cut grass for a day.

For every bowl of corn porridge, I have to carry a basket of manure to the fields for fertilizing.

Thus, from my earliest memories, all my life was filled with chores.

My brother could play games with other boys in the village, go to school in the county.

While I had endless farm work to do and endless beatings to endure.