On the forefront of realist literature, Liang Xiaosheng's writing — steeped in the richness of our land — sculpts characters, portrays nationhood, and inspires hearts.
—People's Daily

As a voice for the common people, Liang directs his pen overwhelmingly toward society's vulnerable. These are not mere objects of pity but resilient beings confronting injustice through singular defiance.
—Chen Xiaoming, Peking University Professor

Despite vast changes since the 1990s, Liang Xiaosheng's impassioned voice remains uniquely powerful — his works continue to offer readers genuine intellectual fulfillment.
—Zhang Yiwu, Literary Critic

★A curated collection of essays by Liang Xiaosheng, winner of the 10th Mao Dun Literature Prize.
★Chronicler of bygone eras, clear-eyed commentator on human affairs — Liang Xiaoshing captures historical details and ordinary lives with unadorned prose.
★ Vivid snapshots of everyday life told through relatable stories of common people. Blending present-day reflections with nostalgic recollections, these pieces memorialize the past, document human experiences, and voice the author's personal meditations.
★ This anthology features nearly thirty contemporary essays that preserve the rhythms of daily life in plain yet poignant language.

This essay collection assembles Liang Xiaosheng's recent essays — thirty pieces of unpretentious storytelling drawn from lived experience. Spanning societal facets, the collection excavates memories of vanished eras, documents struggles of ordinary lives, as well as articulates reflections on personal and collective journeys.
With economical language, Liang etches historical particulars, traces China's transformations, and proposes forward-looking visions. His patriotic ethos permeates these pages, guiding readers through intellectual elders' recounted past.

Liang Xiaosheng

He was born in 1949 in Harbin with ancestral roots in Rongcheng, Shandong. He is a renowned contemporary Chinese writer and scholar. Currently, he serves as a senior professor at the School of Humanities of Beijing Language and Culture University, a member of the National Committee of the Chinese People's Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC), and a researcher at the Central Research Institute of Culture and History. To date, he has authored over ten million words of literary works, including essays, novels, commentaries, and documentary literature. His representative works include "Tonight There’s a Snowstorm", "The Rings of Time", and "Educated Youth". In 2019, he won the 10th Mao Dun Literature Prize for his novel "A Lifelong Journey".

Love and Its Vicissitudes
On Dating
On Marriage and Divorce

Material Worlds
On Pay Raises
On Model Worker Selections
On Housing Allocation
On Home Construction
On Clothing and Footwear (I)
On Clothing and Footwear (II)
On Grain Ration Coupons (Retrospective)
On Shopping Vouchers (Retrospective)

Cultural Coordinates
On Reading
On Cinema-Going
Songs and Musical Instruments
Educated Youth and Knowledge
Childhood Collections (Retrospective)

Rites and Reflections
Red Belts and Zodiac Years
Fragmentary Thoughts on "Chinese New Year"
My Nostalgia
Ran's Mourning
Hong's Tomorrow

Human Conditions
Son
Mother
Public Servant and Water
Child
Donkey and Water

Intellectual Legacies
On Reading (Reprise)
The Measure of Civilization
The Fallacy of "Ideals"
Life's Meaning Lies in Responsibility
On "Filial Piety"
Respect Your Own Mind
School Anniversary Address

I
In my memory, it seems that I only wore new clothes three times before I went to the countryside.
The first time was when I was five or six years old. On the evening of New Year's Eve, my father came home from Shenyang or Jilin and bought me a new cotton-padded jacket. At that time, the three northeastern provinces were a base for heavy industry. As a worker of the Northeast Construction Corporation, my father was involved in the construction of large factories in Shenyang and Jilin and received a subsidy in his wages. With the increased income, my father was in high spirits and bought a cotton-padded jacket for both my brother and me. After dinner, I went out to set off firecrackers. A "didi flower" set off by a neighbor's child burned a large hole in my new jacket. My father was very angry and slapped me. Since then, I have stuttered. I have written about my stuttering in one of my short articles, and it has also appeared as a plot in the TV drama "The Rings of Time."
The second time I wore new clothes was in the second grade of elementary school. I remember very clearly that it was already autumn and school was about to start in a few days. My mother bought me a purple shirt. After putting on the new shirt, my mother asked me to go and buy soy sauce. At that time, I had begun to pay attention to my appearance and felt that the new shirt must have made me look quite impressive. Almost every ordinary family in the north had a large glass bottle for storing soy sauce, which could hold 1.5 kilos of soy sauce. Even when empty, such a large bottle was not light, and when filled with 1.5 kilos of soy sauce, it was quite heavy for a second-grade elementary school student. I carried it home in my arms, and after putting it down, my new shirt was stained with soy sauce. Even with a funnel, it was impossible not to spill any soy sauce outside the bottle when pouring it in. My mother asked me to take off my new shirt immediately and soak it in a basin of clear water, fearing that the soy-sauce color would not be washed out if not done right away. My mother did not scold me, but only blamed herself for letting me buy 1.5 kilos of soy sauce at once. Despite the timely washing, the new shirt still left an unsightly mark after drying and shrank, no longer fitting me properly. For quite a long time, I harbored resentment towards the man at the small grocery store who had poured the soy sauce for me. In my opinion, he should have wiped the bottle clean for me with a piece of paper.
It was not common for children in ordinary families to wear new clothes in those days, which is why my memory is so vivid. The two new shirts I had quickly became worn and unsightly, which shows that I was quite a unlucky child when I was young.
My brother was six years older than me, and I often wore his old clothes that he had outgrown. In the past, it was normal for younger siblings to wear the old clothes of their elder brothers and sisters. Every family did this, and I never felt the slightest sense of grievance.
The third time I wore new clothes was when I was in the fifth grade of elementary school. My mother made me a set of team uniforms with white cloth and blue cloth. I was already a Young Pioneer, and having a set of team uniforms was a requirement from the school. If even white sneakers were included, a set of regular team uniforms sold in the store cost more than ten yuan. Both of my younger brothers had started school, and my father had become a construction worker on the "Big Third Line" project. The money he sent home every month was not much. With increased living expenses, my mother was reluctant to spend more than ten yuan on a set of team uniforms for me, which I could understand even at that time. In my class, more than ten students' team uniforms were made by their mothers, and I was one of them. I didn't feel that it was a matter of face.
However, the regular team uniforms sold in stores were of a uniform style, with collars and sleeves that were quite particular. No matter how skillful the mothers were, they could not make them look the same. Moreover, the white of the team uniform's jacket was a pure white, commonly referred to as "bleached cloth." However, "bleached cloth" was not often seen in cloth stores. What was usually available was ordinary white cloth. The texture of ordinary white cloth was coarse, with a yellowish tinge to the white, and it was thick. But it was cheaper than "bleached cloth" because it had fewer textile processes. Setting aside whether the white was pure or not, and not considering the style, there were two points that would inevitably embarrass us students who couldn't afford the regular team uniforms. First, none of us could have white rubber shoes at the same time. Fortunately, white shoe powder was available for purchase at that time, costing only two or three jiao per box, which could be used multiple times and could dye our worn-out cloth shoes and rubber shoes close to white. Looking back now, white shoe powder, which was specifically sold to Young Pioneers, and ink tablets sold at two fen each to middle school students, were both products specifically made for children from families with financial difficulties. They reflected a particularly humane production philosophy and could also be considered one of the advantages of socialism. Second, there was the issue of the belt. The proper way to wear the team uniform was to tuck the white jacket into the blue trousers, which required a belt. A belt was expensive for families with financial difficulties. Some fathers had never worn a belt in their entire lives, only using cloth belts to hold up their waists. How could they bear to spend money on a belt for their children? At that time, the production of "leather" was still rare. Even if it had become common, a family with many children would certainly not buy a "leather belt" for each child just so that every child could have a set of regular team uniforms. Therefore, many Young Pioneers, when required to wear team uniforms, could only continue to wear cloth belts around their waists and not tuck their white jackets into their blue trousers. Thus, the situation often unfolded in this manner—during a formation ceremony held at school, Young Pioneers wearing proper uniforms were positioned at the front, while those with substandard uniforms were relegated to the back. Naturally, this arrangement bruised the self-esteem of the students standing at the rear.
Yes, in my mind, it seems that I only have the above three memories of wearing new clothes before going to the countryside.
After I entered the first year of junior high school, my brother suffered from schizophrenia, and both of my younger brothers and my younger sister also went to school. The family life became even more difficult, and I had even fewer opportunities to wear new clothes. But my father would send home some of the old work clothes he picked up from the construction site every year, and we also had an old sewing machine at home (which my mother had determined to buy after she once had a job) — the old work clothes my father sent home were all cleaned by him and were made of sturdy linen; and my mother liked to treadle the sewing machine and was good at turning the old work clothes my father sent back into clothes that fit us children.
The winter before I went to the countryside, when I left home, the clothes I wore were the "most northern" — inside was a shirt, outside was a bare-skinned goat-leather coat without an outer cover, which was pieced together by my mother from the pieces of sheepskin my father sent back, and I wore a pair of large felt boots on my feet and an old dog-skin hat, almost hairless, which I had picked from the handcart of scrap-collecting Uncle Lu from the neighborhood. My appearance on the street at that time was like an Eskimo, and also like a hunter from the deep mountains in the northeast in movies or TV dramas.
When I went to the countryside in June of the following year, I was also wearing a set of old clothes.