Laughing at poverty but not at prostitution

     There's a saying: "People laugh at poverty, not prostitution." For most, poverty is an outward manifestation of a person's ability; prostitution, for a segment of the population still living in poverty, might be a shortcut to wealth.

    Perhaps in today's world where everyone desires wealth, people often don't care how you make money, but whether you ultimately make it; they often don't think about how they made it, but care about the freedom and prestige of spending it. Although this standard for judging wealth may lack morality and confuse right and wrong, it is the most common and widely accepted underlying standard in reality. This is like a phenomenon we sometimes encounter in life: an open secret. Perhaps "The Emperor's New Clothes" perfectly illustrates my thoughts here. In the story, everyone knows which two tailors are swindlers, but the emperor believes them. Thus, everyone's blatant self-deception is a form of flattery, while the innocent child exposes the illusion constructed by the ingratiating adults. Adults lie to protect themselves, to flatter the emperor, and to satisfy the emperor's vanity through deception. In life, when faced with open secrets, we often let right and wrong blur in the face of falsehoods that don't concern us, seeking only temporary peace. Even though we know what is "right" and what is "wrong," we betray our conscience, allowing those who trample on public morality and our own conscience to be violated, yet we remain unwilling to confront them directly.

    Once, I was watching a group of people playing chess on the street and joined in for a game. As I was about to leave, one of the onlookers was suddenly attacked by several burly men, who punched, kicked, and hit him with a bench. Everyone instinctively rushed off the stage. Passersby either stopped to watch like I did or hurried on. No one stepped forward to stop or mediate the fight, not even one to call the police. Those men, having probably succeeded and felt satisfied, swaggered away. The man who had been beaten leaned limply against the wall, then slowly slid down to sit on the ground. His cloudy eyes conveyed a mixture of helplessness and sorrow, but no tears. It was this migrant worker I had recognized, this migrant worker who had been brutally beaten, this migrant worker with those unfathomable eyes—it was this man whose image I had etched into the depths of my memory forever. Not long after, he wiped the blood from his head and nostrils, and with heavy steps, walked further and further away from the sight of the observation group I had joined but who had remained indifferent.

    "Laughing at poverty but not at prostitution" is a social reality; it has grown in a distorted, bizarre, and realistic way, its origins and end unknown. Like wild grass, though a wildfire can reduce its exposed branches to ashes, the spring breeze will bring it back to green, because its roots or seeds have long been buried deep in fertile soil. Perhaps only a subterranean fire can prevent the wild grass from growing back to life in the spring breeze.

    In my view, the relationship between poverty and prostitution is actually a contrast between one kind of poverty—a linear extension—and another kind of poverty—a distorted and upward shift. It is essentially the intersection of two mindsets: poverty and wealth. We have neither the right to criticize the poor nor the right to criticize prostitutes. The poor are poor because they lack or have lost the ability to seize opportunities, while prostitutes are not poor because they possess distorted abilities in the face of opportunities.

    Once, a classmate and I went to visit another classmate in another city. When we arrived, we chatted about whether we knew anyone there. The classmate we were visiting mentioned someone, but only someone they both knew. He said that this acquaintance was a woman who ran a hair salon there. She used to work there herself, but now she hired people. Within a few years, she bought a house, paid off her husband's debts, and even bought him a car (for driving a taxi). She also brought her child to attend elementary school there. She and my classmate kept in touch, probably because they were from the same area and were distant relatives. My classmate, who came with me, was from the same village as her. Since this was a county town, the three of us were strolling around when we unexpectedly ran into her. She was an average-looking woman, but she spoke fluently. However, the thick foundation and overpowering makeup couldn't hide her weariness. She warmly invited us to sit at her place. Our polite refusal was succumbed to her enthusiasm.

    A little while later, we arrived at her shop. The glass door had symmetrical red signs that read "Massage, Hair Wash." The two women who had been sitting at the entrance soliciting customers, looking to be in their thirties or forties, nodded in greeting to the owner with several friends speaking in their local dialect, and then returned to their respective work areas. Beyond those two small private rooms was another one, the door ajar, presumably empty. Further in were the restroom and kitchen, and beyond those were the owner's family's living quarters.

    During our casual conversation, the owner told us this was the 80-90 square meter shop she had bought. She had renovated it to its current layout for business convenience. She spoke candidly about the hardships of starting her business alone years ago, and the process of buying a house, a car, paying off debts, and bringing her son to school here, but never touched on her work. Later, she and my two classmates talked mostly about people and things they knew. Sitting among them, I was merely a listener who couldn't get a word in edgewise. I casually glanced around their room—children's clothes, a computer, a sofa, a large bed—it certainly gave off a warm, homey feeling. However, what puzzled me was how the child, whom I had never met and who was still in elementary school, managed to go to school, grow up, and live in this environment, and what about the father who was now hosting us as the male head of the household? I fell into deep thought. I couldn't hear what they said after that, nor did I know how I left that place.

    Since returning, I've been pondering what has led to the diversification of people's means of making money, and what has caused such a radical shift in our survival philosophy. It's the reality of life. For people, the process of making money is no longer as important as the result and the means to achieve it. Because once a certain result is achieved, a means to accomplish it is necessary. Thus, faced with the same enormous result, people in different industries have adopted the methods most suitable for them, regardless of whether these methods are honorable or insidious, whether within or outside the bounds of law and morality. Because what they see is only the insatiable greed for wealth. In fact, when we see the shortcomings of others or the dark side of human nature, we forget self-reflection. If we were to fully reveal our inner selves, we might be far cleaner than those we criticize; only our stains differ, like Jiao Da's drunken rant against the Jia family in *Dream of the Red Chamber*, penetrating to the bone.

    Humans have animalistic instincts, and animals have humanistic instincts. Today, how many people in the world can truly achieve a state of perfect humanity? Thinking about the humility and depravity hidden in my own composure, and the calmness and rise of others in theirs, I don't know what to say, what can I say? Is life really like this? If not, what is it like? Poverty, for most people, is an outward manifestation of a person's ability; prostitution, for a segment of the population still living in poverty, may be a shortcut to wealth.