In 1989, the police station chief made my life difficult, and I lost my job.
My father pressed 50 yuan into my hand. “Go. Don't come back.”
I slept in Guangzhou Railway Station and beneath overpasses.
My first job was driving for a Taiwanese boss, working sixteen hours a day.
I got hemorrhoids, and the pain made it impossible to sit. I asked my boss for time off to see a doctor.
He said, “Take off your pants. Let me see if you're faking it.”
In front of more than ten people.
I punched him in the face.
That's when I understood: if you live like someone's dog, you'll never be able to hold your head high.
From then on, I drove only for myself.
