Unlikely Assets

father. So, rather than providing income, the rabbits provided several tasty stews for the family.

As a five-year-old, Yong ventured again into the culinary business, this time in the sweet potato trade. Given that sweet potatoes are a staple throughout rural China, Yong thought of them as a likely commodity for commercialization. At that time, sweet potatoes were a staple of villagers’ diets because they were well-suited to the climate, thrived in the loamy soil that lacked the water needed for rice cultivation, and lasted for weeks (sometimes months) if stored in a cool, dark root cellar. Not only are sweet potatoes full of beta-carotene, but they also contain vitamins B6 and C and are a good source of fiber, iron, and potassium. They boost the immune system, reduce inflammation, and help maintain healthy eyesight. In addition, their high caloric content makes them especially valuable at times when food is scarce.36

Having convinced his father to stake him to a few sweet potatoes, Yong hoisted a bamboo backpack containing the spuds and walked to the town market a few miles away. He quickly discovered he was ill-suited to sweet-potato marketing, though. As the morning progressed, he moved farther and farther from his potatoes. While his competitors lustily cried out to passing customers, vouching for the quality of their tubers, Yong was undone by his shyness. As a small child trying to compete with aggressive adults, he was understandably timid.

Though Yong’s quiet nature scuttled his sweet potato venture, it did nothing to dampen his insatiable curiosity. One constant source of fascination for Yong throughout childhood was the village loudspeaker, which was installed and controlled by the government. Three times each day for an hour, disembodied voices spoke in odd

accents about happenings in a wider world. The loudspeaker was a village’s only connection to events beyond their immediate horizon.37

Yong heard about Communist Party meetings taking place in Beijing, memorials for national leaders and war heroes, readings from Mao’s works, revolutionary songs and music, and stories of self-sacrificing workers or soldiers who had died for the Cultural Revolution and the Party. He also learned about the threat that capitalist nations such as the United States posed and the need for China to prepare for war. The voices spoke of places, people, and events completely foreign to him, and this ever-present invisible narrator spurred his imagination and curiosity as he tried to decipher what he heard. The constant stream of information hinted at a world much more eventful and exciting than his. From early in his life, Yong was eager to learn more about this mysterious world.

Not only did Yong enjoy the loudspeaker’s stories, but he also wondered how the thing worked. He wanted to know more about the technology. He imagined that it had to be a system of hollow bamboo through which the voices traveled. Examining a loudspeaker wire downed in a storm forced him to revise his theory. Not only did he learn that the wire wasn’t hollow, but he also discovered, painfully, the wire was electrified.

Another mystery Yong felt compelled to unlock came in the form of a rare childhood toy. Like rural children elsewhere, Yong and the other village children were accustomed to fashioning toys from whatever was at hand. They made playthings from sorghum straw, paper, and seeds from the tung tree. They played games with discarded cigarette packs and matchstick boxes.

Given the everyday objects Yong was used to playing with, he became mesmerized by the first manufactured toy he received from a relative. One year, Yong and his family walked the two and a half hours to visit one of his maternal uncles to celebrate Spring Festival. Spring Festival in China is the equivalent of Christmas, New Year,

and Thanksgiving all rolled into one holiday. Regardless of how long or arduous the journey, nearly all Chinese return to their home communities to spend time with family and friends, eat together, and exchange gifts. To Yong’s surprise, his uncle gave him a small ball, the first manufactured toy he had ever held. Once he returned home, Yong shared his ball with the other village children, who were impressed with the rare toy. They took turns all afternoon bouncing and catching it, passed it around among themselves, and invented their own games. Only when it became too dark to see did they stop playing. Yong took his ball home, pleased that he had earned new regard as proprietor of a novel plaything.

Although curiosity can lead to gratifying discoveries, it can also produce unintended consequences. Curious to know why the ball bounced, Yong considered various explanations as he lay in bed that night. Maybe, he thought, there was a small animal or something else inside that caused the ball to bounce. He kept thinking about it for several days. Unable to contain his curiosity, he finally decided on a course of action: he would cut the ball open. This proved to be more difficult than he imagined. He had no tools to speak of. The family did have a pair of scissors, but they weren’t up to the task. Finally, he used the family’s all-purpose cleaver. When he succeeded . . . he found nothing inside. Deeply disappointed, Yong tried in vain to stitch the ball back together. In this case, Yong paid a high price for his curiosity.

Another trait that sometimes got the better of him was his penchant for rule-breaking. Yong often watched other children playing in the village pond, resenting his father’s command to avoid the water. This made a deep impression on Yong because his father had no other rules. Because he regarded this rule as not entirely rational, Yong decided to disregard it; he was determined to learn to swim.

On a hot summer day, as he watched his peers enjoying themselves, he followed other boys into the pond. When he was over his