I still remember what she looks like--her long, woolly hair was braided into two braids, hanging next to her cheeks, rough, reddish skin, slit eyes, and thick lips. She always wore a blue jacket and put her hands in the pockets. Her voice was sharp and energetic. Her name was Ms. Li, she taught literature in my elementary school.

I remember it was 1977, right after the Cultural Revolution. People were less crazy than they were in the past ten years, but still, China was in a vortex of turmoil, betrayal, hatred, and discrimination. Wealthy families and landlords were the targets of the Cultural Revolution. They were tortured, robbed, and severely humiliated by the Red Guards. Unfortunately, My grandmother was one of their victims. She was born in a wealthy family and owned a dozen acres of land. During the Cultural Revolution, all her land, ancient paintings, and ancient calligraphies were confiscated. Shaved, she was half-bald and then paraded on the street. All her relatives were implicated, my mother, my aunts, my two cousins, and I. It was politically “right” to discriminate against us during the Cultural Revolution.

The Cultural Revolution came to an end when I went to elementary school, but the discrimination stayed. The fact that we used to be landlords became a stigma, a “scarlet letter”. I was too small to sense the discrimination until one summer day in elementary school.

I can’t remember where and why; the only thing I remember is the boy calling me a “landlord whelp”. It brought ultimate humiliation to me and my family. He probably did not even understand what that means, but he said it with hatred. His face, which I can no longer remember, suddenly became scary and ugly. I have a vague idea about the term “landlord whelp”, and a clear idea that I was being attacked and humiliated. I was angry, angry, angry. Blood rushed to my cheeks and tears slid down my face. I ran away from him as I felt something scary and unfathomable. I have never been this mad before, even when my cousin stole all the candies I’d been collecting for weeks. I felt fire burning in my chest; the hot air rose inside me and clogged my little bosom.

“How do I return his insult?”

“...I can’t beat him, I’m too small, and I may get expelled from school. Perhaps Ms. Li can educate him. Yes, Ms. Li will help me.”

This idea came sharply into focus in my little mind. Students always expect their teacher to do the right thing. I just assumed teachers all embody justice and morality. And Ms. Li, my literature teacher, who always talks about the beauty in humanity, could educate the boy.

I went to Ms. Li, she was sitting behind a big wooden table, the table was covered by a red tablecloth. The tablecloth has a gigantic picture of farmers and workers on it. I suddenly recalled that Ms. Li is from a poor farmer's family. I walked over to Ms. Li, she was reading a book with red cover. She raised her head from the book and looked at me. I told her everything. I clenched my fists as I waited for her response. I waited for her to comfort me and tell me how wrong the boy was--but she didn’t.

She looked at me with a calm expression. She was so calm that she didn’t even move a single muscle on her face. She folded her hands neatly and firmly, and asked me: “What’s his mistake?”

I froze. I didn’t know what she meant. Does she not know the answer? Did she hear me clearly?

She continued: “He is quite right, you are a ‘landlord whelp’.” A smile appeared on her face, which to me it looked like a crack. Starting from that crack, my beautiful illusion of the world fell apart around me. I walked away without tears, without even a sound. The dark reality unfolded in front of me. Reality sneered at me, calling me a “landlord whelp” in silence.

I remember I hated Ms. Li for ages, just like my grandmother hated the Red Guards for a long time. But I have forgiven her now. I forgave them all; not because time erases the pain, but because I finally realized they are not the enemy, they are just history.