In my past life, I believed a sent-down youth’s sweet talk and gave up my chance to return to the city for him.
After he got into college, he married the factory director’s daughter and left me to spend my life in poverty in a mountain village.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back in 1977, and that same sent-down youth was kneeling before me, proposing.
This time, I tore up his love letter in front of everyone and turned to sign up for a college entrance exam prep class.
Years later, he knelt outside my company building, begging for a job.
With my soldier husband on my arm, I said softly, “Even our cleaning staff need bachelor’s degrees.”
