Chapter 13: Sentence Reduction, Parole, and Release

For a full five years, no one came to visit me. At first, my father would come by now and then, but after he married his third wife, even he stopped showing up. In the endless monotony and helplessness of my so-called reformation, I earned two sentence reductions for good behavior. After serving five years and two months, I was finally paroled.

It was March 2010. The day I was released, the prison guard walked me to the gates. While inside, I’d written this very book, but for various reasons, it never saw the light of day—a regret that lingers with me still.

Waiting outside were my father, my aunt, and my uncle, who’d driven to pick me up. When my aunt, Lihui Liu, saw me, tears streamed down her face. Five years had passed since we last saw each other; I was twenty-one now, gaunt and changed, and the sight tugged at her heart. We embraced, and then she climbed into the car. I sat in the back seat as my father handed me a new phone, one of those touch-screen models. I fiddled with it for ages, unable to figure it out, and my aunt teased, “Fallen behind the times, haven’t you? You’re out of touch—don’t know how to use it, do you?”

I admitted, “I really don’t. How do you work this thing?”

She patiently explained how to turn it on and use it. My uncle interjected, “Let’s deal with it later. What’s the rush?”

My aunt turned serious, “Now that you’re out, you have to live right. Don’t make any more mistakes.”

“I know,” I replied.

My uncle asked, “Why didn’t you say something before? I could’ve pulled some strings, got a lawyer for you.”

“It wasn’t worth it,” I said. “What’s done is done.”

My aunt sighed, “If we’d gotten you a good lawyer back then, you might’ve gotten a lighter sentence.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I replied. “You eat the same food wherever you are. Maybe it was a good chance to change my ways.”

My uncle nodded approvingly. “That’s true. Everyone makes mistakes; what matters is learning from them. You’ve changed, and you’re still young—you have another chance.”

“I’d like to stay a few days, then go to Shijiazhuang,” I said.

My uncle asked, “What for?”

“I have some unfinished business.”

He eyed me suspiciously, “You’re not planning anything crazy, are you?”

“It’s a debt—an emotional one.”

He laughed, “So not money, then?”

I shook my head. “Don’t ask. It’s a matter of the heart.”

My aunt chuckled, and my uncle joked, “Just like your father—always the same temperament.”

My aunt scolded him, “Watch what you say! As if you were any better.”

He conceded, “Fine, fine, forget I said anything.”

My father handed me a bank card. “There’s five thousand yuan in here. Use it for now.”

My aunt added, “Your father’s remarried, and he doesn’t have much saved. Don’t mind if it’s not enough—if you need more, I’ll help. But you can’t break the law again.”

“I know,” I promised. “I’ll find my own way to make money.”

She said, “When we get to Jimo, you should take a bath, then we’ll go eat at a restaurant. Your uncle and aunt will be there; no one else knows about this. We kept it quiet—just the family.”

“Alright,” I said. “I’ll stay a couple of days, then I’ll leave.”

My uncle joked, “See? He’s got someone special on his mind—he can’t wait.”

My aunt shot back, “As if you were any better back then!”

He retorted, “Who, me? I didn’t have to try very hard to win you over.”

She snorted, “Men—none of you are any good…”

The drive was filled with banter and laughter, and the journey passed quickly. I gazed out the window at the world outside, marveling at how fast everything had changed. When I went in, it was so poor; now, skyscrapers soared, traffic bustled, greenery flourished—it was a scene of vitality and hope. But I wondered if she still remembered me, if she would accept me again. After more than five years apart, perhaps everything had changed beyond recognition.

The next night, I took a bus to Shijiazhuang and stood at the entrance of a residential complex in Luquan District. I wanted to go in but hesitated. I longed to see her, yet I was also afraid—afraid that seeing her would mean losing her all over again. Torn by indecision, I left and wandered to another district, where I spent the night crouching on the roadside. I had money, but all I wanted was a little peace and quiet.

I imagined what it would be like to see her—how she might react. If she hit me, I’d accept it. But if she truly cast me out of her life, I knew I’d be devastated. How could I possibly explain five years of absence? There was nothing I could say to make it right. All I could do was take things as they came and trust fate.

In the end, I had no choice but to find a job—life had to go on. After several interviews, I was hired by a real estate company, working in both new and second-hand property sales. Every day was a barrage of phone calls, endless conversations with potential clients, and regular trips to other cities to view properties. The work was dull, the pressure immense, and meals weren’t provided. I made three thousand yuan a month, rising early to catch the bus from the suburbs to the city—a two-hour journey each way. After work at six, I’d return to the dormitory and continue practicing sales pitches and scripts. There was hardly a moment to breathe—it was a hard life.

Eventually, I mustered the courage to visit Hao Xiaojun’s home, using her old address. I knocked on the door, and her parents answered.

“Who are you looking for?” they asked.

“Is Hao Xiaojun here?” I replied.

They wanted to know who I was. “A classmate,” I said.

They told me she’d gone to Beijing, changed her phone number, and gave me her new contact information. When I reached out to her, I found she hadn’t changed, except now she had a boyfriend. It seemed our fate had run its course; from then on, perhaps we could only be friends.