steve li
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"If you have four or five million, your children wish you dead; if your monthly pension is eight or nine thousand, your children fear your death. Wheat fears drought in its womb, people fear poverty in old age. Sick people fear sudden bloating, rain fears dawn.
The richer the parents, the more filial the children; the poorer the parents, the more materialistic the children. As long as enough money is given, anyone can accept hardship. Life is a mess, but you must learn to turn it into a feather duster." There was a man in Hong Kong named Li Jiading. He was a veteran TVB actor, playing Yang Jian in *The Legend of the Gods* and Guo Xiaotian in the 1983 version of *The Legend of the Condor Heroes*. He broke his leg on set, requiring dozens of stitches, but never complained of pain in his life.
But at 81, staring at his phone screen, his eyes reddened. The screen displayed a bank balance notification: 37.62 yuan. That was all his savings. His retirement savings of several million yuan had been completely emptied by his eldest son's family.
It wasn't that he didn't want to keep it. He dared not leave. He was afraid. Afraid his son would accuse him of favoritism, afraid his son wouldn't support him in his old age, afraid his son would sever ties with him. He was afraid his whole life, and in the end, he only had 37.62 yuan left in his pocket.
He had been married before. His first wife was Shi Ming, with whom he had two sons, Li Yonghan and Li Yonghao. They divorced due to marital discord. He felt he owed his children, so he worked tirelessly, acting to earn money. When his son asked for money, he gave it to him.
When his son asked for a house, he bought it. When his son said he needed to raise his grandson, hire a nanny, and care for his ex-wife's illness, he covered it all. With 50,000 yuan a month for household expenses, over seven or eight years, his bank statements alone showed 1.83 million yuan. Adding monthly living expenses, the total came to no less than 5 million yuan.
He raised his children, but he also ruined them. He raised a "giant baby" who hadn't worked for 15 years and, at 45, was still asking his elderly father for 400,000 yuan.
Did he feel heartache? Yes. 5 million yuan, not 500 yuan. That was money he earned through hard work filming. But he had no choice. His son held his weakness: his grandson.
He was afraid his son wouldn't let him see his grandson, afraid the grandson would become estranged from him. So he gave it to him. After giving it to him, his son disappeared. The next time he came, it was always asking for money. It was a never-ending cycle, like a bottomless pit.
From then on, he never dared to say he had money again. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk about money, but that he dared not reveal his hand. He could give his son money to buy a villa, pay off gambling debts, and squander it.
But he dared not keep a single penny for himself. If he did, his son would come asking for it. If he left, he would have to borrow money from friends even to buy groceries. He couldn't afford to give, so he dared not keep anything.
During the years his ex-wife Shi Ming was seriously ill, Li Jiading couldn't even get into the hospital. His eldest son, with a guardianship order, sealed off the ward. Occasionally, he would send a message: "Mom needs to pay the surgery deposit, quickly transfer 100,000."
He transferred it. A few days later, the call came again: "The caregiver fee isn't enough, send another 50,000." He transferred the money again. Each time, as soon as the money arrived, the other person disappeared. The next time they reappeared, it was to ask for more money. He dared not refuse, afraid that this time it might be for real.
It wasn't until the media exposed his ex-wife's death that he learned Shi Ming had been gone for ten days. During those ten days, his son, under the pretense of "Mom needs medical expenses," had swindled him out of his last tens of thousands of yuan. He didn't see her one last time, didn't hear her last words, and didn't even have time to write a funeral scroll.
Was he heartbroken? Yes. Not for the money, but for feeling like a fool. He had been deceived by his own son for ten years, and he didn't dare to report it to the police. He was afraid. Afraid that if he reported it, his son would go to jail.
Afraid that if his son went to jail, his grandson would hate him. He carried this fear on his shoulders for twenty years. His hair turned white, his back became hunched, and only 37.62 yuan remained in his bank account.
At his ex-wife's funeral, Li Jiading and his youngest son jointly presented a wreath. The elegiac couplet was handwritten by him, each stroke meticulously written in black ink. His eldest son saw it, walked over, picked up the wreath, and threw it into a corner of the back stairwell. He also blocked his sister-in-law from entering the funeral hall. When asked why, he said, "I paid for the entire funeral myself."
Li Jiading stood outside the funeral hall, looking at his wreath lying next to the trash can. He didn't bend down to pick it up. Not because he didn't want to, but because he was afraid that if he bent down, he wouldn't be able to stand up again. He was afraid. Afraid that if he bent down, tears would fall.
Afraid that if he cried, the reporters would photograph it. Afraid that if the reporters photographed it, his son would accuse him of "playing the victim." He swallowed his fear, for twenty years. It caused him stomach aches, insomnia, and only 37.62 yuan left in his bank account.
The eldest and youngest sons had a huge fight over the inheritance. The eldest son released an edited recording. The recording contained only three words spoken by Li Jiading: "Under house arrest." He cut out these three words, posted them online, and accused his younger brother of plotting to seize the family property and imprisoning their elderly father. Public opinion overwhelmingly condemned the younger son.
Li Jiading didn't explain. Not because he didn't want to, but because he dared not. He dared not face the camera, dared not say that he hesitated for a long time even to buy a bag of biscuits for 17 yuan. He was afraid. Afraid that if he said too much, his son would hate him even more. Afraid that if he said too little, his son would disown him.
But in the end, he spoke. Not for himself, but for his younger son. The younger son who cooked for him every day, chatted with him, and pushed him to the hospital.
The younger son who silently slipped his salary card into his pocket when he was cheated out of his money by his older son and had only 37 yuan left. The younger son whom he had wronged his whole life, yet who had never complained.
He played the entire recording for the reporter. In the recording, his daughter-in-law meticulously recounted the expenses to him—"450,000 yuan was transferred in July, 200,000 yuan in August, and another 750,000 yuan in September. Dad, tell me yourself, where did all this money go?"
He couldn't answer. It wasn't that he didn't want to, but that he didn't know how. Should he say, "It went to my eldest son"? That would seem like favoritism. Should he say, "I spent it"? No one would believe him. He opened his mouth, but finally only managed to say, "I even have to borrow money from friends to buy groceries."
In May 2026, Li Jiading publicly announced that he would terminate all financial support for his eldest son and never have any further contact with him. His money came from acting. Every sword and bullet, every battle, every hardship. Broken legs, stitches, wire work.
Every penny was earned with his life. Why should he give it to others? He didn't want to. But he dared not refuse. He was afraid. Afraid his son would ignore him, afraid his grandson wouldn't recognize him, afraid that no one would care for him in his old age. Don't blame the child for being materialistic. It's not that they don't love you, it's that they don't love you when you're poor.
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