I often complain about how life doesn’t go my way. I know there’s nothing inherently wrong with thinking this way — striving for better circumstances is natural. But what defines a “good life”? Who should we compare ourselves to? These questions have always felt unclear to me. Recently, however, I traveled far from home and seemed to find some insight through a young girl I met on the journey.
An unexpected encounter
One day, I boarded a train in Beijing, headed toward Yuanmou County in Yunnan Province, near the Sichuan-Yunnan border. As the train journeyed through endless barren hills and desolate landscapes, we arrived at a small station called Shawo. The stop lasted only two minutes, long enough for a group of boys and girls, around 12 or 13 years old, to scramble aboard. They were dressed in tattered clothes, carrying a large bamboo basket strapped to their backs. Their worn appearance and determined expressions immediately caught my attention.
A thin girl managed to squeeze into my carriage, her basket overflowing with walnuts. After much effort, she set it down and, with her tiny hands, wiped the sweat off her face. She brushed her disheveled hair back, revealing a delicate yet pallid face. Her short-sleeved cotton blouse and patched trousers betrayed her poverty — she was a poor child from the mountains.
The carriage was crowded, and the girl, trying not to inconvenience me, held onto the seat back and carefully kept her distance. I wanted to offer her a seat, but there was no room for a fourth person on the bench. Instead, I hurried over as much as possible, hoping she could comfortably stand. I also adjusted her basket to clear the narrow aisle. She smiled gratefully at me, opened her basket, and filled my pockets with a handful of walnuts. I tried hard to refuse, but she was insistent.
As she grew more comfortable, the girl started speaking to me. Her dialect was difficult to understand, but eventually, I pieced together her story.
A young girl’s resilience
The girl was 14 years old, and her home was several dozen miles from the Shawo station. Her family owned walnut trees, but since cars couldn’t reach their mountain village, they had to carry the walnuts long distances to sell them. Her mother was ill, and they needed money for her treatment, so her father sent her to sell the walnuts. She had left home in the middle of the night, walked through the day and into the evening, and spent the night in a cave. At dawn, she resumed her journey and finally caught this train. Once she sold the walnuts, she would have to walk another full day and night to return home.
Hearing her story, I asked: “Aren’t you scared of traveling so far alone?”
“I have companions,” she said confidently. “We got separated on the train, but we’ll find each other when we get off.”
“How much can you earn from selling a basket of walnuts?” I asked.
“After deducting the train fare, I’ll have about fifteen or sixteen yuan left,” she replied with a faint smile, clearly encouraged by the amount.
“That’s not even enough for a proper meal on the road!” another passenger remarked. The girl quickly responded: “We brought our own food.”
Curious, the passenger asked: “What did you bring?”
“I’ve already eaten once. There’s another bundle at the bottom of my basket. My father told me to save it after selling the walnuts.”
“What kind of food?” the passenger asked.
“Sweet potato flatbread,” the girl replied.
The carriage fell silent momentarily, a wave of sorrow washing over everyone.
At that moment, an announcement came over the loudspeaker: The train would be delayed by half an hour. Taking advantage of the pause, I turned to the passengers and said: “This girl’s walnuts are delicious. I hope everyone will buy some.”
“How much are they?” someone asked.
The girl replied: “My mother said ten walnuts for 25 cents — no less.”
“That’s a bargain!” I added. “Where I’m from, walnuts sell for eight yuan per pound!”
Passengers eagerly began buying her walnuts. I helped the girl count the walnuts as she collected the money. The walnuts were thin-skinned and easy to crack by hand, their flavor rich even when raw. In no time, more than half the basket was sold. The girl carefully organized the small change she had received, her face beaming with joy.
A touching farewell
When the train reached her stop, she prepared to get off. I helped her lift the basket onto her back and placed a set of red bean-colored clothes into it, saying, “This was meant for my niece, but I’d like to give it to you. Wear it when you get home.” She turned to look at the outfit, her smile conveying her gratitude.
At that moment, four disheveled migrant workers who had been playing cards nearby stood up. They reached over and handed her 50 yuan, apologizing that they couldn’t buy her walnuts but wanted to help her sick mother. The girl was overwhelmed. Tears streamed down her face as she struggled to express her thanks.
The young girl disembarked amid the crowd, but didn’t leave immediately. Instead, she turned back, stood by the high train window, and shouted to the workers: “Uncles! Uncles!” Tears glistened on her tiny face, and though her words were incoherent, her gratitude was evident.
Then, she came to my window. Her voice choked with emotion. She said: “Auntie, my name is Shanguo. I won’t wear the clothes you gave me right away. I’ll save them for my wedding day.” Her words brought tears to my eyes.
As the train pulled away, leaving the station behind, I couldn’t stop thinking about her name: Shanguo — Mountain Fruit. Her fragile yet beautiful face, the poor yet kind-hearted migrant workers, and the aching compassion they evoked in me seemed to fade into the vast, rolling mountains. Outside the window, clusters of wild lilies quietly emerged from the underbrush, their pure white silhouettes fleeting amid the wilderness, carrying the memory of the brief yet unforgettable encounter.
It was through this chance encounter, far from home, that I began to understand what truly defines a “good life” — not in the constant complaints about life’s difficulties, but in the resilience, kindness, and compassion we offer to one another, even in the face of hardship.
Translated by Katy Liu and edited by Tatiana Denning
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