Editor’s Note

Lawyer Zheng Ling from Guoyao Qindao Law Firm responded to the Ministry of Justice’s "1+1" legal aid initiative by traveling to Wangmo County in Guizhou Province to provide nine months of legal services as a volunteer lawyer. The locations where "1+1" legal aid lawyers are stationed are mostly counties without lawyers, where conditions are tough, and there is an urgent need for legal services. As an outstanding lawyer from Guoyao Qindao, Zheng Ling has responded to the public welfare call for the second time, rooting herself in impoverished counties and providing legal aid services to local governments and the people. This site will continue to serialize stories of Lawyer Zheng Ling's legal aid work in Wangmo County.

If we were to select the “crossover king” between civil and criminal legal fields from a lawyer's perspective, I believe that family and marriage disputes would win the title. Whether it's couples peacefully separating at the Civil Affairs Bureau, plaintiffs and defendants in civil courtrooms, or defendants and victims in criminal cases, the manifestations of conflict may vary in intensity, but the root causes of conflict are remarkably similar: marital and family dilemmas.

Marriage and Family Dilemmas. These dilemmas do not only trap women, but when factors such as poverty, minority status, low education levels, and poor labor skills are added to the inherent physiological and gender differences, women clearly become the group that struggles most to escape these predicaments compared to their more socially advanced counterparts. Often appearing with timid, sorrowful, and helpless expressions, these women are the primary recipients of legal aid, and they draw my particular attention and empathy. Despite the different backgrounds and plots in their stories, the common experience that marks them is clear:  

Entering marriage at a young age is still prevalent.

Today, more and more women in cities no longer feel anxious about being unmarried beyond the typical marriage age. Some even reject being labeled with terms that carry gender discrimination, such as "leftover women." Terms like “no marriage” or “DINK (dual income, no kids)” have become new attitudes for women regarding marriage and childbirth. However, for women in remote mountainous areas of Guizhou, getting married at 16 or 17 is still considered a natural life arrangement. Completing the formalities for marriage registration may not be possible, but for these women, a marriage certificate holds less social significance compared to the witness of relatives and friends at the wedding banquet in their village. In their understanding, as long as there is a ceremony and witnesses, cohabitation is seen as legally legitimate.

Tan, a Bouyei ethnic minority woman, just turned 18 this year. She came to the center accompanied by her father, seeking advice on how to file for divorce from her "husband," who was sentenced to 12 years in prison for robbery and is currently incarcerated in a prison in Zhejiang. The "husband" is two years older than her. Two years ago, when he joined Tan's family as a live-in son-in-law, neither of them had reached the legal marriage age, they hadn’t registered for marriage, and the man hadn’t transferred his household registration. However, according to local marriage customs, they held a banquet in the village. To this day, they have no children or property disputes—just a simple cohabitation relationship.

Although I repeatedly explained to them that the cohabitation relationship was naturally dissolved when the man was imprisoned and that the simple termination of the relationship, without disputes over property or children, did not fall under the court's jurisdiction, Tan's father kept emphasizing that they had held a wedding banquet and wanted to legally and publicly dissolve the relationship, to give his daughter a clear status and an explanation to their relatives and friends. Throughout the conversation, the girl herself remained mostly silent, while her father repeatedly emphasized the desire to end the relationship legally. It was not hard to imagine that the wedding banquet two years ago was likely organized and managed by her father as well.

Extremely low levels of education, lacking basic reading and writing skills, and even further removed from the skills needed to integrate into societal production.

It didn’t surprise me when Ma, a criminal defendant born in 1969, charged with intentional injury alongside her son after resisting continuous domestic violence from her husband, could neither read nor write. After all, for women of that generation, whether living in Guizhou or Shandong, education was not easily accessible. However, when I encountered two other women, Xiaofen, born in 1987, and Xiaocai, born in 1999, who also could not write their names on the legal aid application forms, I was truly shocked by the current state of female education. After all, the Compulsory Education Law was implemented in April 1986. What prevented them from entering a classroom at the age when they should have been attending school? Was it simply poverty?

Xiaocai, born in 1999, entered the office with her "husband." At first glance, I mistakenly thought they were mother and son. Xiaocai’s dark complexion, premature wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, and her mature attire made her look ten years older, while her "husband," who was only one year older than her, still carried the youthful energy expected of someone his age. Fortunately, they had no children, no property disputes, and no grievances or complaints—they simply wanted to end their five-year cohabitation relationship through a mutual agreement. I recorded their statements and drafted an agreement for them. The touching moment came when it was time to sign the agreement. Since Xiaocai couldn't write, her boyfriend wrote her name on a piece of paper, and Xiaocai sat there, painstakingly tracing over the letters. When she made a mistake in copying one of the strokes, they both laughed. In that moment, I sensed a fresh, growing strength in Xiaocai’s smile—a strength not just about the end of that love and "marriage," but about the hope that her optimism and courage could lead her to a better future.

Nora’s Departure: Escape or Liberation?

Of course, Xiaocai’s case is an exception. Not all women, after going through the ups and downs of marriage, have the objective conditions and mindset for a carefree separation.

Entering marriage too early often means that these women missed the opportunity for skills education. Their already scarce employment opportunities are further squeezed out by the overwhelming responsibilities of childbearing at a young age. As a result, they become like birds trapped in the fortress of marriage, gradually losing the ability and courage to fly.

There are exceptions. A woman from Sichuan, who abandoned her husband and child, also represents a different attitude toward the marital predicament, much like Ibsen’s Nora who walks away. But after she left, the place where she once lived was still strewn with the broken pieces of marriage, leaving only sighs of regret.

I never met the Sichuan-born “Nora” who married into Wangmo. It was her husband, Xiaoyan, who came to apply for legal aid to file for divorce, along with his four-year-old son, who was paralyzed with cerebral palsy and could not even hold his head up, always carried on his father’s back.

Xiaoyan and “Nora” were both born in the 1980s. They met in 2008 while working in Dongguan. A few months later, they started dating and cohabited. They eventually returned to settle in Wangmo, and in 2012 and 2016, they had a daughter and a son. A month after their son was born, they officially registered their marriage. Though not wealthy, their lives were relatively stable.

The drastic change came three months after their son was born. When they realized the baby couldn’t hold his head up, they went to the hospital, where he was diagnosed with cerebral palsy. From then on, everything changed: Xiaoyan had to work even harder to earn money for their son's medical treatment, while “Nora” became emotionally exhausted from caring for the child. Their relationship grew increasingly strained, with frequent arguments. In October 2020, overwhelmed by the burden, “Nora” left, abandoning her son who was hospitalized at the time, as well as their daughter who was still in school.

Xiaoyan came to the legal aid center three times, from consultation to formal authorization of his case. Each time, seeing the lifeless, yet bright eyes of his child lying on his back pierced my heart. It was clear that Xiaoyan did not want a divorce. He repeatedly told me how hard his wife had worked to care for the child, and his greatest hope was for us to convince “Nora” to come back. So, I asked for “Nora’s” phone number. The first time I called, she answered, but after that, my calls were rejected.

After many unanswered calls, it became clear that “Nora” was not coming back. She had a kind of courage and decisiveness, even cruelty, that most women do not. However, I couldn’t feel any relief or happiness for her departure. Running away is merely a form of helpless escape—how could it be considered a true solution to the marital predicament?

Following Xiaoyan’s request, I still drafted the divorce petition for him. However, even with that divorce judgment in hand, how could it possibly resolve the burden of the son still strapped to his back, or the feelings still carried in his heart?

I helped him secure his son’s frail body in the sling, and as I watched him leave, a barely audible sigh escaped from my lips, rising from the depths of my heart.

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