Chapter Eight: The Establishment of Authority at Jimo Detention Center

Two months later, one morning after breakfast, the iron door of our cell opened. We lined up and walked out, passing through the corridor to an open yard outside the cell blocks. The space could hold several hundred people. Each block, numbered 1 through 5, had its own yard for exercise, with different blocks allowed out on different days—usually blocks one and two on Monday, three and four on Tuesday, and so on, except for the strict discipline block, whose inmates were never let out.

This so-called “exercise” was nothing more than everyone coming out to sit cross-legged in the sun, hands on knees, without moving. It was during these precious moments that I secretly gathered as much foxtail grass as I could. The yard was full of it, and I managed to stuff a large handful, making sure it was dry before slipping it into my pocket—because I had a use for it. While I was at it, a shard of glass cut my hand, but I didn’t make a sound. I quietly slipped the shard into my pocket. It was contraband, but to me, it was hope.

This glass shard was priceless to me. If I could use it well, perhaps I could one day see the light of day again—perhaps even win back my freedom.

During exercise, Big Head glanced back at me, clearly puzzled. He was probably wondering, what on earth is this kid doing with all that grass?

The exercise period lasted about forty minutes. During this time, the guards would sometimes explain legal knowledge to the inmates. Some would ask questions about their sentences, whether there was any chance of release, when they could see their families or receive visits, when they might write letters, and other concerns about serving time.

The guards would also tell stories about life in prison—what happens once you’re transferred, how to earn points, how to get your sentence reduced. They’d talk about the food, the daily routines, how much time could be knocked off in a year, and who was ineligible or restricted from sentence reduction.

For us first-timers—except for a few repeat offenders who knew the ropes—this information was all new and fascinating.

Those forty minutes passed quickly, and after exercise, each guard would lead his group back to their respective cells, and life would resume its monotonous rhythm.

In our cell, only Big Head had special privileges. Every morning after waking up, he didn’t have to fold his bedding. He kept his quilt and mat spread out, sitting on them, while the rest of us folded ours and stacked them in the corner. Then, according to seniority, we’d sit in order of status. Around eight o’clock, the guard would come in for roll call. Big Head would shout out the numbers—1, 2, 3, up to 19—then report to the guard: “Guard, Cell 201, 19 people, one transferred, one new arrival, one out for medical, zero for interrogation. Report complete!”

After the guard checked and approved, he’d lock the door behind him. Then, everyone would loudly recite the cell rules and the twenty-four rights of detainees.

I don’t remember all the rules now. The first was something like: uphold the constitution, obey the law, follow the cell discipline. The second: obey leaders, follow instructions, strictly implement regulations. The third was about reporting and confessing—admitting your own crimes and those of others. Then came the rules against fighting, swearing, spreading rumors, and saying anything harmful to society.

The twenty-four rights covered things like the right to know, the right to appeal, the right to confess, and the right to expose wrongdoing.

And so, the days passed, mostly spent sitting, with only Big Head allowed to move around. I hadn’t used my dried grass yet, when the guard came in and called my name: “Liu Jian, pack your things!”

“Pack your things”—those were words everyone longed to hear. It might mean you were being released, transferred to prison, or that you’d been approved for medical parole or bail pending trial.

I was stunned for a moment, then quickly took off my vest, excited to leave my bunk. The guard asked, “Why are you taking off your vest? Put it back on!”

I hesitated. “Put it on?”

The guard replied, “What did you think? That you were being released?”

“Oh, right. I’ll put it on, right away…”

Everyone else burst out laughing, and even the guard didn’t mind—he probably found it funny too.

Outside the cell door, you had to squat down as the guard locked up, and then walk in front of him, never leaving his sight—these were the rules.

Soon, I wasn’t sent next door, but straight to Cell 209—the ward for the old and young. Inside were men over sixty and boys barely in their teens, the frail and sick. This cell was a bit more relaxed: we could watch TV, the food was a bit better, and by detention standards, this was decent treatment. The only better place was for those already sentenced and soon to be released—those inmates served food in the hallway, cleaned the floors, tidied the guard’s office, and helped check new arrivals for contraband, but only during the day. At night, everyone had to return to their cell, no exceptions.

Since I was also a minor—neither too old nor too young—but likely facing the longest sentence, I became the Big Head of this cell and enjoyed some leisurely days.

When I first entered, everyone glanced at me in unison, probably because it had been a long time since a newcomer arrived.

The guard said to them, “From now on, he’s in charge of Cell 209. Don’t make trouble, and don’t start anything. Understand?” Everyone replied in unison, “Understood!”

As soon as the guard left, two boys hurried over and took my belongings, putting away my basin and bowl, setting my slippers and toothbrush in place, and clearing a spot by the window for me. They even laid out my bedding, and I sat down without protest. It felt a bit like a young monkey being chosen as king.

As the saying goes, a new broom sweeps clean. I addressed them: “My surname is Liu. I’ve been here three months and will probably be here another six before sentencing. Since I’m here now, I hope everyone keeps out of trouble and stays safe.”

“Second, there are no special privileges here. I don’t care who you know or what connections you have. Everyone is equal—steamed buns, porridge, pickles, and foreign goods are distributed fairly. Everyone eats, no one goes hungry.”

“Third, I hope the young ones behave and the old ones don’t throw their weight around. No swearing, no fighting, and no trouble—if you cause problems, even if I get sent to strict discipline, I’ll make sure you go with me. Got it?”

They replied, “Got it!”

One boy next to me said, “Boss, let me introduce you to everyone.”

I thought for a moment—knowing the people around you is always wise. “Alright, introduce everyone, starting with yourself.”

He said, “My name is Hua Xin, but just call me Playboy. I’m in for theft, from Pingdu, Qingdao.”

He pointed to the boy ahead, “That’s Wang Zhen, from Jimo, in for intentional assault.”

“Up there is Cui Hao, attempted rape, from out of town.”

I interrupted, “Hold on, Cui Hao, right? Come here.”

Playboy called, “Cui Hao, get over here, the boss wants you.”

Cui Hao shuffled over, avoiding my gaze, not daring to look up.

“You’re Cui Hao?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m really curious—how did you fail?”

He explained, “I was passing by a factory worker’s dorm, she was drunk and forgot to lock the door. I took advantage of the situation…”

I asked, “So how did you get caught? Didn’t you run?”

He replied, “I didn’t run. She was pretty. I asked her to be my girlfriend, told her I wanted to be with her, get married, have kids, be good to her for life. She agreed. That’s all.”

“And then?” I prompted.

He continued, “The next day, we went out shopping together. Suddenly, she started screaming for help—said I was a thief and a robber. I got grabbed by bystanders and handed over to the police.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “Didn’t expect that—you’re quite a character.”

The others laughed too. He was only about fourteen or fifteen, but already in for a violent crime. He’d likely end up in juvenile detention with me.

I asked, “Who do you have at home?”

He said, “Two older sisters.”

“How old are they?”

“The oldest is twenty, the other is eighteen.”

“What do they look like?”

“They’re beautiful. I always sneak peeks at them bathing—so fair, so full, rosy cheeks, round, big…”

I thought, what a kid—he’s really something.

I noticed a scar on his forehead. “How did you get that scar? Was it from a fight?”

“No, no,” he replied. “Last year, I was in middle school. I skipped class and tried to peep into the girls’ bathroom to watch a female teacher. She spotted me and shouted. I got scared and fell into the cesspit. It was frozen solid, and I hit my head on the ice, left a scar.”

I nearly laughed myself to tears. These kids were really something—each with their own story. I decided to have them tell stories in the future; it would be a great way to pass the time. You’d never hear tales like these on the outside.

Suddenly, I wondered how I could be so carefree. But what could I do? Since I was here, I might as well make the best of it.

I said, “Cui Hao, from now on, you’re on night duty. You take the first half, and I’ll assign someone else for the second half. We’ll rotate every week.”

The others all agreed, and someone started chanting, “Long live the boss!”

Soon everyone joined in. I quickly hushed them, “Enough! If you keep shouting, the guards will come!”

Since I was here, I figured I’d let them have some fun. I took Playboy aside, and together we sneaked into a bathroom corner to smoke—crushed dried grass mixed with a little tobacco I’d collected by picking out the leftovers from dozens of cigarette butts while emptying the guard’s trash.

One would smoke while the other fanned the smoke away. The old men and other boys watched with envy—they were practically drooling.

One by one, they took turns sneaking into the bathroom for a puff. On my first day, I let everyone have a taste. It made them happier than if they’d been given a thousand yuan each.

In a desert, gold is worthless if there’s no water. When you’re starving, who cares about money? In this isolated world, a puff of smoke brought the joy of paradise.

Because of this, I earned my place in Jimo Detention Center. They called me the Stick, Little Axe-Stick, Brother Stick. Even after they went to prison, they’d boast about that time—it became a legend among us.