A Tale of Two Cities Supporting Xinjiang

Abudu opened the package, and inside was a thick, colorful book—"An Illustrated Handbook of Marine Life in English".

The book is filled with illustrations of all sorts of strange creatures: winged fish, transparent shrimp, and corals that unfold like flowers.

There was also a letter, written in neat handwriting:

"Abudu: Hello!"

I am Chen Hao from Dalian.

After listening to your description of Xinjiang cotton, I found it to be truly remarkable.

It turns out that the clothes we wear every day go through so many processes to be made.

This book is for you; it's full of marine life from Dalian. I hope it will help you learn more about our sea.

We can learn from each other!

Your new friend: Chen Hao.

Abudu opened the book, and the scent of ink wafted out. He saw that next to the marine creatures were not only Chinese names but also English annotations. He recognized some of the English words, while others were difficult to pronounce.

He carefully touched the smooth pages of the book, a feeling he couldn't quite describe welling up inside him.

Abudu opened the manual to the first page and saw a blue starfish with the word "starfish" written below. He read it softly: "star...fish..."

Chang Peng stood beside him, watching Abudu's focused expression, and smiled: "Well, do you believe it now? Knowledge really can open a door."

Abudu nodded, then shook his head.

He didn't actually fully understand what Teacher Chang meant.

But he knew one thing: his most basic knowledge about cotton had opened a door for him to see the ocean.

Just as that spark in Abudu's heart was beginning to ignite, the phone call from home came down like a bucket of ice water.

My father had an accident at the construction site. He fell off the scaffolding and broke his leg. The foreman paid the initial medical expenses but then stopped paying.

When Grandma received the call, she fainted on the spot. When she woke up, she was completely devastated. She lay in bed wiping away tears and muttering, "What am I going to do with this family?"

When Abudu returned home for the weekend, looking at the empty, cold house, his haggard grandmother in the hospital bed, and then thinking of his father in the hospital who needed money to treat his leg, his last bit of hesitation shattered.

He found Chang Peng and Jiang Hengli, his eyes red, but his tone was unusually calm: "Teacher, I really can't study anymore."

My dad broke his leg, we have no income, and my grandma is sick.

I'm the eldest man in the family, I have to shoulder the responsibility.

Chang Peng and Jiang Hengli exchanged a glance, knowing that this problem was much more serious than the last one.

This isn't just a child throwing a tantrum; the pillar of the family has collapsed.

"Abudu, don't be in a hurry."

Jiang Hengli pressed down on his shoulder, "The sky won't fall, we'll figure something out together."

The two immediately split up and acted separately.

Chang Peng went straight to the principal's office and the academic affairs office, explained Abudu's family situation in detail, and applied for the highest amount of scholarship and hardship allowance.

He patted his chest and vouched for the student's character and potential.

After learning about the situation, the school leaders made an exception and quickly approved a subsidy sufficient to cover all of Abudu's tuition and living expenses for the semester.

Jiang Hengli initiated a small mutual aid activity in the class, organizing several reliable students who lived nearby to take turns going to Abudu's house after school to help take care of his grandmother and do some housework within their capabilities.

At the same time, he used all his connections and, after many twists and turns, contacted a company that was providing aid to Xinjiang and had its headquarters in Dalian and a branch in Xinjiang.

He explained Abudu's father's situation and difficulties, and asked if the local branch could provide his injured father with a temporary job that he could manage, such as a light physical job like a security guard or warehouse inventory, so that he could have some income without affecting his recovery.

The company's management took it very seriously. After coordination, they arranged a temporary warehouse assistant position for Abudu's father at a project site in Shihezi, where he had recovered from his illness. The position included accommodation, a basic salary, and the work was not strenuous.

When Chang Peng and Jiang Hengli told Abudu about these developments, he was completely stunned.

He never expected that his teacher would go to such lengths for him.

"The money from the school's subsidy is a loan to you. When you are able to do so in the future, you can help other students who are in need."

Chang Peng said, "Your dad's job is temporary, but at least it can relieve the pressure right now."

Abudu, your most important task right now is not to work, but to study hard.

Only by studying hard can you truly support this family in the future and prevent your parents from suffering like this again.

Large tears rolled down Abudu's face. He wanted to say thank you, but his throat was so tight that he couldn't make a sound.

Looking at his grandmother on her sickbed and thinking of his father limping to work, Abudu felt as if he were committing a sin by sitting in the classroom.

Those English letters and mathematical formulas seem so light and powerless in the face of the heavy reality.

Chang Peng saw through his thoughts.

One Friday afternoon, instead of letting Abudu go home, he took him to a fairly large agricultural product processing plant on the outskirts of the county.

The factory manager was a capable middle-aged man. When he heard that Chang Peng was a teacher who had come to Xinjiang to provide assistance and that he had brought his students to visit, he warmly received them.

When we visited the sample showroom, we happened to see a group of foreign businessmen negotiating business.

The factory manager switched to fluent English and calmly introduced the various high-end textiles made from Xinjiang long-staple cotton to the foreign businessmen, talking about the characteristics of the raw materials, the advantages of the process, the quality standards, and the market prospects.

The foreign businessmen nodded frequently and asked professional questions, which the factory manager answered fluently.

Abudu stood aside, completely unable to understand their rapid conversation, but he could see the confident expression on the factory manager's face, the admiring look in the foreign businessmen's eyes, and the astonishing prices on the sample labels.

During a break in the negotiations, the factory manager walked over, pointed to the cotton fields that were faintly visible in the distance outside the window, and said to Chang Peng, "Teacher Chang, do you see? The same cotton is selling for seven or eight cents a pound in the field."

Once they enter our factory, they go through sorting, processing, weaving, and design to become branded products that can sell for tens or hundreds of yuan, or even be exported overseas to earn US dollars or euros.

He picked up a soft, finely woven towel: "This cotton was picked locally."

Without knowledge, without skills, and without someone who can do business with foreigners, it will forever remain just seven cents on the ground.

We study, learn English, and learn skills so that our Xinjiang products won't be sold cheaply and our labor will be more valuable.

This is a hundred times better than simply putting in the physical effort to pick cotton.