When online influencer Nāng I revealed that she had become pregnant out of wedlock, planned to keep the child, and was delaying her graduate studies as a result, many of her followers on social media saw it as a betrayal. To them, she had disrupted the narrative of a promising young woman who had escaped her humble, rural beginnings to earn a place at a top university.

So, they attacked her for it — in their millions.

It began in September 2022, when Nāng I, a member of the Va ethnic group from China’s southwestern Yunnan province, posted about her decision to defer enrolling in a graduate program at the prestigious University of Chinese Academy of Social Sciences (UCASS), in Beijing, after getting pregnant with a hairstylist who had only a vocational school diploma.

Just days earlier, she’d shared a short video on Douyin, the Chinese version of TikTok, about treating her mother, little brother, and grandparents to a holiday in the Chinese capital, taking them on a tour of major landmarks like Tian’anmen Square. Netizens were touched. The post received more than 556,000 likes and 20,000 comments, and even generated mainstream media coverage in which Nāng I received praise for “spending her first pot of gold” on a family trip.

When she then shared news of her pregnancy, the outpouring of vitriol was equally intense. A hashtag on China’s social media platform Weibo relating to her situation quickly received over 1 billion views, with comments accusing Nāng I of potentially contributing to sex discrimination in academia, as it might discourage some graduate advisors from accepting female students, believing they could get pregnant at any time and drop out. Many also painted a bleak future, telling her, “You could have spread your wings, but now you’re tied down by a child,” and lamenting that she’d sacrificed the best years of her life for “the worst kind of love.”

Naturally, Nāng I was confused at the outrage, which also received coverage in the mainstream media, and attempted to respond by explaining her perspective. Yet, it took some time for the criticism to subside. More than two years on, she has reflected on her journey and feels she now understands how relationships — and being at the center of a media storm — have helped shape and reinforce her beliefs on love and family.

Finding her way

Nāng I was born in 1999 in Manghui Village, part of Yunnan’s Cangyuan Va Autonomous County. Back then, the county was extremely underdeveloped. It would be another 20 years before it was officially lifted out of poverty, and in 2023, its GDP was still just 1.7% that of Shanghai’s suburban Chongming District. Due to challenging agricultural conditions resulting from constant rainfall, hot and humid weather, and pests, many villagers — especially young people — choose to seek opportunities elsewhere.

Nāng I’s father, a short, tan-skinned man who loved singing and dancing, and doted on his wife, always encouraged Nāng I and her elder sister to study hard in school. She recalls the only time he ever struck her was when she skipped class in first grade. “If I hadn’t worked hard to get my middle school diploma, I wouldn’t have been able to get such a good job,” he would often say. For him, a “good job” was working at the coal plant, which had a long history in Manghui. Her grandfather had worked there, too. “Back then, coal workers were highly respected,” Nāng I says.

When Nāng I was in sixth grade, her father was killed in a mining accident, leaving her mother alone to raise her two daughters, as well as three children of a deceased relative. She did everything she could to make ends meet, from selling insurance, odor-proof socks, and blue light-blocking glasses to opening a rural karaoke bar, where travelers could rest, enjoy snacks and cold drinks, and sing in private rooms.

After a few years, Nāng I’s mother remarried. She chose a man who made a living transporting people and goods between the village and the county town, but she remained the head of the household, making the decisions and managing the family’s finances.

Nāng I had little interest in studying when she was in primary school. After class, she would cook meals, feed the pigs and ducks, help her mother harvest crops in the fields, or swim in the river with friends. “Skipping homework was pretty normal for me — there were so many distractions,” she says.

Her father’s death was a “wakeup call,” which motivated her to knuckle down. Throughout middle school, she ranked top of her grade in nearly every exam. Nāng I wasn’t particularly drawn to English or mathematics, but she had a passion for history, politics, and especially geography. “When I was young, I didn’t have many books to read outside of school, and our television at home was often broken or had a poor signal. Geography class felt like listening to stories. I really enjoyed it.”

After taking the zhongkao, China’s high school entrance exams, Nāng I managed to get into the same top-ranked school as her sister in Lincang, the nearest city, and later landed a place at the Minzu University of China, in Beijing, where she majored in Chinese ethnic languages and literature, specializing in Va language studies.

Nāng I says she found college life daunting at first. She worried that her academic background was weak, her skills inadequate, and her reading experience limited, while she also felt self-conscious about her acne and dark skin. She began following online fashion influencers, studying how to dress and apply makeup, and then began posting videos about her own outfits on Douyin. As her confidence grew, so too did her following. Today, she has more than 103,000 subscribers on the platform.

Shortly before graduating, Nāng I received an offer from UCASS, making her the first graduate student from Manghui Village. For her bachelor’s degree dissertation, she explored the relationship between the use of honorifics in Va personal pronouns and the matrilineal society of the Va people, whose language belongs to the Mon-Khmer branch of the Austroasiatic family. She planned to continue her studies in this field in graduate school. However, she soon discovered that this ambition was going to have to wait.

‘No perfect choice’

Nāng I’s husband, surnamed Xiao, who is two years older, also comes from the Va ethnic group. After graduating from middle school, he attended a vocational high school in Cangyuan, studying as a hairstylist, before receiving further training in Shanghai. He eventually returned home to open a barbershop, which developed into a healthy business.

The couple was introduced in May 2022 at a mutual friend’s barbecue party, and for Xiao, it was love at first sight. He’d already been following Nāng I on social media, and he became determined to win her heart. He began regularly visiting her family, bringing fruits and helping feed their livestock. “Maybe it was because of our similar backgrounds, but he enjoyed talking with me,” Nāng I says, adding that they became increasingly close.

Within weeks, Xiao had confessed his love, and Nāng I had accepted. The following July, she found out she was pregnant. She was torn over whether to keep the baby, but after undergoing an ultrasound — seeing the embryo inside her, and feeling like she could hear the heartbeat — Nāng I told Xiao, “I just can’t bring myself to end this life.” Even if he wouldn’t marry her, she was determined to bring this child into the world.

Xiao remained by her side throughout the pregnancy. The couple began living together, and were married in October 2022. Like her early days at university, Nāng I struggled to adjust: She wanted to watch classic films with Xiao, but he wasn’t interested; she tried discussing current affairs and social issues, but he rarely had much to say; and she enjoyed cooking, but Xiao preferred ordering takeout. They frequently argued over trivial matters. Nāng I says of those early difficulties, “There’s no perfect choice — everything comes with regret. Where there is loss, there is also gain.”

Nāng I’s previous relationships had been with highly educated men. At university, she first dated a graduate student, who she met during a social practice activity. However, when he was busy applying for his Ph.D, he would often forget to reply to her messages, leaving her feeling neglected, so they broke up after three months. In her senior year, she began seeing a fan who reached out over social media and had degrees from Zhejiang University and Shanghai Jiao Tong University. That ended after six months when he left Beijing for a job in Hangzhou, the capital of the eastern Zhejiang province.

When she reflected on these relationships, Nāng I says she realized she often felt disrespected and lacked a sense of control. “They were ambitious, confident, and career-driven, and I get that — but I just don’t think having your own dreams should stand in the way of being with me.” She felt that, in their eyes, dating her was like a casual pastime, and she wanted more. “Sometimes, they would act like know-it-alls, lecturing me about all kinds of things,” she says. “At first, I was willing to listen to their advice, but I eventually felt they were a bit condescending. Honestly, I didn’t feel like I was treated like an equal partner.”

Xiao was different, she explains. “He usually doesn’t cook, but during my pregnancy, he would cook for me. He would also buy me whatever I craved and made sure I ate well and on time. If I had a poor appetite, he’d feed me himself.” Nāng I says she would experience mood swings, and felt easily depressed or irritated, which she couldn’t help but take out on Xiao. But he remained patient, quietly listening and reassuring her. In her third trimester, when Nāng I had sore legs and swollen feet, Xiao would give her messages. Even while working, he frequently called to check in.

“I’ve hardly ever seen him lose his temper. He knows how to respect others, and gets along well with his friends,” Nāng I says, adding that Xiao is “just her type.” He doesn’t smoke, drink, or play video games, and he rarely upgrades his wardrobe. After several years of running his barbershop, he’d also saved up more than 200,000 yuan ($27,850).

Family and finances

Nāng I believed deeply that she was destined to become a mother, and she wasn’t afraid of childbirth. “I wanted to experience what it was like to give birth, just like my mom and sister. Besides, I have a high tolerance for pain,” she says.

Yet, as she hadn’t controlled her weight well early in the pregnancy, the baby had grown larger in the womb than expected, which made for a difficult delivery. The postpartum pain was also intense — she could barely sit, and she struggled with severe constipation. Nāng I had originally wanted a second child, but Xiao advised against it after witnessing her suffering.

In September 2023, Nāng I finally arrived on the UCASS campus to start her graduate studies, leaving her son back home in the care of her husband and mother. She constantly wished for the days to pass faster so she could see her child, and would finish her papers to make more time for her family. “Babies grow so quickly, so I video call my son every day. He’s still so small, and I feel sorry that I can’t be with him,” she says.

Her avatar on social media is a picture of her son, nicknamed “Little Coffee Bean,” and her photo album is filled with pictures of him at different stages. “When the three of us — my husband, son, and I — go out for a stroll or shopping, I feel like my life is complete. All the busy days and challenges feel worth it for moments like that,” Nāng I says, taking out her phone and playing a video from the May Day holiday. She and Xiao are holding their son, gazing at the setting sun from an overlook, as the fading light casts a warm glow over mountains and lush trees.

Despite the happiness she has discovered in her family, financial struggles still weigh on Nāng I. She began editing videos on Douyin in her freshman year of university, and as her following grew, several brands reached out to collaborate on sponsored content. Over four years of undergraduate studies, she managed to earn enough money to cover her living expenses. However, during this year’s Spring Festival holiday, she accidentally “crossed the line” by using prohibited advertising language in a livestream, which led to her account being suspended for nearly 10 days. “Seeing other people streaming every day made me really anxious,” she admits. She had originally thought that Xiao would be able to support the family while she focused on her studies, but he had transferred ownership of his barbershop to a friend and was investing in startup businesses. “Because of me and our son, he’s less willing to take risks, which has held him back from fully pursuing his business,” Nāng I says.

In April, Xiao also tried his hand at social media content creation. He began filming videos to document his life with Little Coffee Bean, and Nāng I taught him how to edit them. In the summer, she will take over childcare for a month, allowing Xiao to look for a new location to reopen his barbershop.

Lately, Nāng I has been watching recordings of lectures by Liang Yong’an, a professor of Chinese literature at Shanghai’s Fudan University. “According to Professor Liang, true love is about recognizing the struggles your partner is going through. Over time, as the romance fades, the reality of marriage brings conflicts to the forefront, and you begin to see that your partner isn’t as flawless or reliable as you once imagined. … So, you have to learn to accept the fact that everyone is imperfect, just like you and me.”

Reported by Tian Ermao.

A version of this article originally appeared in Jiemian News. It has been translated and edited for brevity and clarity, and is republished here with permission.

Translator: Chen Yue; editors: Wang Juyi and Hao Qibao.

(Header image: Nāng I with her husband and son. Courtesy of Nāng I)