A Gilded Cage of Love - Chapter 6

I met Jiang Qin eight years ago.

I was born in a small county town in Guang City, where people made a living by drying kelp. I was born into a family that favored sons over daughters.

My younger brother, born a year after me, is named Ruan Zongyao.

I overheard the villagers talking about the meaning behind his name.

At the time, I didn’t understand why my biological parents hated me so much.

It was only later that I realized:

Ignorance is the original sin.

Since childhood, I could feel my parents’ rejection and favoritism.

I never had new clothes; all my clothes were altered from my mother’s worn-out ones.

The patches on them were sewn and resewn.

But my brother got new clothes every season.

My parents worked in a factory, and together earned less than two thousand yuan a month.

They never hesitated to buy my brother shoes costing 300–400 yuan per pair.

But even in winter, I wore sandals, my hands and feet covered in chilblains.

My brother ate fried chicken, his mouth greasy with oil.

All I had was plain porridge and simple side dishes. If I ever craved something and secretly tore off a piece of chicken skin, I’d be scolded for being shameless.

They said girls who got fat would never find a husband, and raising a daughter was a losing investment.

There weren’t many girls in our township elementary school.

They seemed to gradually accept their fate, believing there was no need to study much.

After all, once they reached a certain age, they would get married, and their lives would be confined to that small patch of land, with no other possibilities.

But some refused to give up.

Since I was little, I had only one goal:

To rise up.

To get out.

Surely, in such a vast world, there must be more than just being treated like merchandise, being married off, and having children.

Later, I came across a sentence by chance:

What is the first step to becoming a novelist?

The first step is to come from an imperfect family.

In middle school, I read a few novels.

That’s when I had the idea of picking up a pen and writing a story.

I wrote about my family, my experiences, and my dreams in my diary.

I wanted to become a writer.

Later, my diary was discovered by my teacher.