“Do you know how much your father and mother have sacrificed for you to study properly?
Do you know that your parents could have lived just like those child-free couples — looking after only themselves, enjoying life freely — instead of coming home every day to cook your meals, wash your clothes, help with your homework, and drive you to and from school?
Your mother could have spent the money she spends on you buying all the beautiful clothes she loves. Your father could have channeled all that energy into his career to earn real money.
You know, we parents aren’t even asking you to take care of us when you’re older. We’re not asking you to get perfect scores in math and English like Wang Jie in your class.
But at least you should study hard. Top five in your grade — is that really too much to ask? Surely our efforts deserve better than to go to waste?
Can you honestly say you’re worth what we’ve given you? Don’t you feel any shame at all?
Tongtong — stop hanging your head. Look up at your mother and father and tell us: from this moment on, you will study seriously and never again waste time on cartoons and mobile games. Look us in the eyes and say it.”
The scene above unfolded behind me yesterday, while I was chatting with a friend at a coffee shop.
Since I had my back to that family the entire time, every word of their conversation came through with complete clarity — and so did the crushing weight embedded in every sentence.
At some point I stepped away to use the restroom, and I took a deliberate look at this family’s demeanor on my way past.
Just as I’d expected: the parents were the ordinary white-collar type, both of them tight-browed and wearing that familiar expression of someone whose sacrifices feel like they’ve gone unappreciated. As for the child? A little girl with a round, adorable face — but her eyes held no light, no spark, nothing alive in them at all.
Turning those thoughts over in my mind, I settled the bill and came back to my table. My friend gave me a nudge: “Did that family behind us put you off your coffee?”
I smiled and said, “Another child being ruined by her own family. What a waste.”
My friend was genuinely curious — he knows that beyond reading destiny charts (格局) for adults, I regularly take on commissions from parents seeking professional guidance on their children’s future development. And since he and his wife were in the middle of trying for a child, he was eager to pick my brain about parenting.
Friends talk freely with each other — just like you and I do here, saying what’s on my mind — so I organized my thoughts and shared what I’ve come to believe.
Raising children is actually simple. It comes down to this: do whatever you can as a parent to give your child a healthy, free stage on which to grow. Don’t be clever enough to think you need to restrict and constrain them — just take them out to see the world, broaden their horizons, and that is more than enough.
Some foolish parents seem to believe the ideal child is one who obeys unconditionally, absorbs everything passively, and earns full marks for compliance. What they don’t realize is that society will discard this type of person first, the moment they’re old enough to enter it.
A child who only knows how to follow instructions has long since had their inner world twisted into something that lacks independent judgment and any basic instinct for self-protection. As adults, these people — desperate for others’ approval — tend to tolerate injustice without limit and retreat without boundaries. The outcome is entirely predictable. In relationships and in careers alike, they become the sort who silently absorb every blow and don’t even know how to stand up for themselves afterward.
You cannot take someone who has been quietly compliant and soft for twenty-odd years and expect them to suddenly grow a spine. Deep cold doesn’t come from a single night of frost.
Truly smart parents try to raise their children in the direction of the spirited, mischievous wolf cub — full of energy and vitality. Troublesome is fine. Mischievous is fine. But through all of it, the child must grow progressively stronger and braver.
Fell down? Get yourself back up. You’re not disabled. Brush off the dirt and go back to playing. Mom and Dad are watching — you’re fine.
Headstrong and opinionated? Also fine. If you don’t want to study, give me a reason. If you don’t want to do your homework, explain yourself.
How a child manages teachers and exams is the child’s own business. As a parent, all I track is whether they land in the top 30% of their class. I don’t care what shortcuts or clever tricks they use to get there. Fail to make it, though, and the games console and the phone disappear. Rewards and consequences, clearly defined, no exceptions.
And when there’s something truly important to pass on — real knowledge, real skills — the only method that actually works is personal example. Show them with your own actions what it means to do things wisely and well. Children naturally imitate what they see working. They absorb it and make it their own.
So look around and you’ll notice: every child who develops genuine independence early, with solid character and good instincts, comes from a family where the atmosphere is one of real warmth and mutual respect. Father and son relate like older and younger brothers. Mother and daughter like elder and younger sisters. The parents carry none of that arrogant, condescending, controlling energy that comes with “I’m the elder, so I know best.” Instead, they genuinely want their child to surpass them — to stand on their shoulders and go further. The love is real.
Another critical point I mentioned at the start: parents must do everything in their power to open their child’s eyes to the world — to help them naturally understand that studying is just one small part of life, not the whole of it.
There’s a peculiar kind of parent who repeats one sentence more than any other: “You’re a child. All you need to do is study. Study. Study.” The result is a child who spends their entire youth shuttling between home and school, never encountering anything else. They grow up to be, in the most literal sense, socially helpless.
That is the inevitable outcome of raising a child in a sterile, sealed-off environment.
I don’t claim to fully understand the educational philosophies of most parents out there. But I know one thing with certainty: every child who radiates that unmistakable brightness — who you look at and think, this one’s going somewhere — almost always has a pair of open-minded parents behind them.
These children, during their adolescent years, are regularly brought by their parents into adult settings: workplaces, dinner gatherings, social occasions. They’re exposed to how grown-ups think and move through the world. Don’t underestimate what children absorb in these situations.
I can still remember, at seven or eight years old, tagging along with my father to all kinds of meals and banquets — even the bathhouse, where he’d conduct business — and he would introduce me proudly to everyone there: “This is my kid. Let him wander, he’s fine.” Afterward, he would sit with me quietly and explain: why a certain uncle warranted extra warmth and politeness, why a certain older gentleman needed a more measured and firm tone.
Later, I asked friends from families that had gotten ahead a little earlier — and almost universally, the story was the same. They’d been brought into adult life early, at their parents’ side.
That one step ahead, taken early, can genuinely mean a lifetime ahead.
One more thing on the subject of children: do not over-engineer their upbringing.
Some parents insist on precision — exactly the right nutrients every day, layers of meticulous attention, full-scale alarm at the first sign of a chill or a gust of wind. This approach reliably produces the most helpless children of all.
These parents provide everything a child needs to survive — and overlook the one thing every human life requires: the pain of growing up.
Whenever I’m asked by parents to review a child’s destiny chart (命盘) and offer guidance on their studies and future path, I always hope the child has experienced some modest, appropriate hardship during their adolescent years.
In middle school, parents are busy — learn to manage your own schedule.
In high school, the coursework gets hard — learn to steady your own mind.
In university, love comes and goes — learn to restore your own composure.
Small aches, every one of them. But they do enormous good. This is how a person grows.