Fate, Agency, and Precarity: The Vagrant Stories in Xu Tong’s Documentary Trilogy
China’s post-socialist modernisation and economic growth in the 1980s and 1990s have led to great political and institutional changes and deepened structural inequalities, creating a large marginalised subaltern group whose lives have been shaped by shifting labour markets and migration policies (Hillenbrand 2023; Pun 2016). Today, the stories of China’s ‘subaltern’ are widely heard, from the plight of workers in factories such as those owned by Foxconn to the ‘eviction’ of rural migrants from city centres or, more recently, cast-out workers on the streets of Shanghai during the Covid-19 pandemic (Chan 2022; Yang 2017; Initium 2022). These individuals, whom public discourses often depict as migrant workers and peasants, are considered part of the ‘precariat’—a social group characterised by mobile, marginal, and vulnerable lives experiencing irregular working hours, unstable households and salaries, and insufficient social and economic support (Standing 2011; Han 2018: 332). On the other hand, ‘precariousness’ also describes a common ontological condition of interdependency and bodily exposure to socioeconomic and political forces that seems to be independent of forms of life (Butler 2009: 14), a situation that encompasses a variety of experiences of marginality and vulnerability across different lives and historical contexts.
Since the 1990s, a wave of documentary films has been depicting China’s marginalised groups in a new way, focusing on their real lives. These include Wu Wenguang’s Bumming in Beijing (流浪北京, 1990), Zhang Yuan’s The Square (广场, 1994), and Du Haibin’s Along the Railway (铁路沿线, 2001). This shift has marked the onset of the so-called New Documentary Movement (新纪录运动), which saw a group of avant-garde filmmakers seek independence from the Party-State’s rigid system of control of cultural production and its established political ideologies. These directors chose to move away from propaganda-driven documentaries, instead reflecting on the social realities and dilemmas faced by those left in the wake of China’s economic miracle (Berry and Rofel 2010: 137). While China’s mainstream media had begun to discuss and portray marginalised groups in the late 1980s, it often did this in a homogenised way. This shift in the cultural landscape was a turning point in that it allowed the exploration of more nuanced categories of marginalisation and the wide variety and complexities of subaltern lives (Sun 2014: 117).
This essay delves into the diverse and often hidden life experiences of marginalised groups through the lens of Xu Tong’s documentary series ‘Vagabonds Trilogy’ (游民三部曲). These movies—Wheat Harvest (麦收, 2008), Fortune Teller (算命, 2009), and Shattered (老唐头, 2011)—focus on individuals whom Chinese society considers ‘vagrants’ (游民youmin), from those involved in illegal occupations such as fortune-telling and sex work to beggars. The article seeks to explore how vagrants’ life conditions are presented through independent documentary films and to understand how their desires, morality, and hopes for achieving a better life are connected to the broader themes of precariousness in post-socialist China.
Vagrants and ‘Vagrant Intellectuals’
With its first documented appearance in the Book of Rites (禮記, a text that dates from the late Warring States period to the Han Dynasty), the term youmin has long been associated with the state’s regulation of social mobility in traditional Chinese society, particularly under a system that prioritised agriculture over commerce. In this context, those who left farming in search of alternative livelihoods were historically marginalised and deemed inferior (Cui 2021). In Xu Tong’s works, the term ‘vagrant’ is, however, used more broadly to describe a state of precariousness, referring to individuals who drift from place to place, constantly changing jobs, excluded from mainstream labour markets and social networks. These people are not only stuck in a cycle of vulnerability but also often perceived in Chinese society as a potential threat to social stability.
Born in Beijing in 1965, Xu was deeply influenced by both the revolutionary ideals of the previous generation and Western literature. After graduating from university in 1987, he did not follow the conventional career path within the ‘system’ like most of his peers; instead, he shifted between various jobs making commercials and television dramas, photography, and writing, even though he was not very successful in these endeavours (Liu 2023: 639). Facing economic hardship, he rented a place in the ‘rural–urban interface zones’ (城乡结合部) on the outskirts of Beijing, an area populated by marginalised social groups, including beggars, thieves, sex workers, and others. Xu spent time with these individuals, living alongside them and listening to their stories. It was at that time that he met Hongmiao, a sex worker who became the central figure in Wheat Harvest, the first documentary in his ‘Vagabond’ series. Given this experience, Xu sees himself as part of the ‘vagrant’ group or, as he puts it, as a ‘vagrant intellectual’ (游民知识分子)—someone who lives outside the formal ‘system’ while remaining deeply concerned with it (Liu 2023: 643).
Like many documentary filmmakers of his time who employ the ‘direct cinema’ style with a renewed focus on ‘realism’, Xu, in his trilogy, uses a quasi-ethnographic approach to capture the lived experiences of vagrants living on the city’s outskirts (Lu 2010: 15). For Xu, vagrants are not simply part of the ‘underclass’, but also rather ordinary individuals who form a jianghu (江湖)—a phrase that literally means ‘rivers and lakes’. This indicates a social underworld with its own set of rules and networks divergent from mainstream Chinese society, and whose inhabitants often have experiences and mindsets that are distinctly different from those who conform to societal order. In such a context, ‘precariousness’ manifests unpredictably in various, multifaceted ways throughout their lives.
Female Migrants, Fate, and Everyday Agency
The world shaped by vagrants inevitably revolves around ‘fate’ (命). With limited control over their lives, these individuals experience far more unpredictability and uncertainty than those who go through their lives within the system. They are frequently entangled in unforeseen circumstances such as unemployment, sexual violence, and imprisonment, which often lead them to seek solace in transcendental forces. In Fortune Teller, Li Baicheng, a disabled elderly man, earns a living through fortune-telling in Yanjiao Town, Hebei, alongside his partner, Pearl Shi, who is both mentally and physically disabled. For various reasons, Old Li has long been excluded from the mainstream labour market and, for years, the couple has survived on his modest earnings from fortune-telling. While Li is relatively well-known for his accuracy in predicting the future, many town locals consult him for insights into their ‘luck in romance or marriage’ (感情运) and ‘luck in wealth’ (财运). Following the couple’s everyday lives, the film introduces its audience to a broad spectrum of life conditions, opportunities, and dilemmas experienced by individuals involved with fortune-telling, many of whom are vagrants, particularly migrant workers who frequently travel between the town and Beijing.
One of Li’s clients is a woman named Tang Caifeng, who runs a brothel in the capital. As the ‘anti-pornography campaign’ (扫黄运动) is gaining momentum in Beijing, she faces constant uncertainty in her daily life. She not only faces police inspections of her premises but also must use her own money to secure the release from prison of her goddaughter, who worked at the brothel. One day, Tang asks Li to predict her ‘luck in marriage’ and Li informs her that it is her destiny to remain lonely, with little chance of marriage. Thereafter, she adopts a new name, Xiaoyan (小雁), one of the names that Li has suggested as a means to ‘change her fate’ (改命). You Xiaoyun, another client of Li’s, is a sex worker in a massage parlour in the capital. She seeks Li’s guidance to predict her ‘luck in wealth’ for the two months left before the Chinese New Year, as she is hoping to save enough money to get her husband out of prison, where he has been for four years. Driven by a strong desire to rebuild her family, You Xiaoyun has entered the sex industry, which, while illegal, has the potential of earning her quick money. Like Xiaoyan, she lives in fear of police interrogations and grapples with moral dilemmas, struggling to endure abuse from clients while feeling compelled to ensure their satisfaction.
These moral dilemmas are common among China’s sex workers, as they are often caught between urban and rural realities, conflicting social identities, and family responsibilities—all of which leads them to live dual lives. Hongmiao, the central character in Wheat Harvest, also works as a sex worker in a brothel in Beijing; yet, in her rural hometown in Hebei, she is a devout daughter often seen busy in the wheatfields and responsible for providing economic support for her family. Her father, suffering from a long-term cerebrovascular disease, has his medical bills paid entirely from the money she earns through sex work—a profession she keeps hidden from her family. Her earnings, however, are precarious and insufficient to fully support her family, at just RMB100 per client and RMB300 for overnight stays, from which the brothel owner takes a substantial commission. On returning to her rural hometown, Hongmiao must navigate multiple responsibilities. She frequently moves between the wheatfields and the hospital, anxiously confronting the bureaucracy of medical care, collecting test results, and purchasing medications, while also attending gynaecological clinics for examinations concerning possible pregnancies or infections.
Even though these three female characters lack institutional protection and face the threat of imprisonment, working in the sex industry in an urban area allows them to earn relatively more in a shorter time than other jobs they might be able to access. On the other hand, they must constantly navigate social stigmas and moral concerns to maintain ‘a better life’ while fulfilling the societal expectations of being ‘good daughters, mothers, or wives’ (Fengjiang 2021). This ongoing dilemma fundamentally shapes their agency, which is intricately produced and influenced by cultural and historical forces that frame their choices. By offering a relatively objective and sometimes ‘raw’ portrayal of their inner moral dilemmas, the film showcases the struggles, emotions, and desires of these women, while also bringing to light the intricate realities of their lives moving between rural and urban spaces.
Clip from Shattered (2011): After her goddaughter is arrested during the ‘anti-pornography’ campaign, Tang Xiaoyan secures her release from prison.
Navigating ‘Fate’, Hoping for a Better Future
During the anti-pornography campaign, Xiaoyan is reported to the police, which leads to her arrest and detention for 14 days. On her release, she finds that her store has been taken over by others, so she returns to her family in rural Heilongjiang. Following Xiaoyan’s journey back to her hometown, Xu Tong encounters Old Man Tang, her 80-year-old father, who later becomes the central character of Shattered. Born in the 1930s in Manchukuo, Old Man Tang’s life has been shaped by the sociopolitical upheavals of China in the twentieth century, from the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution in the 1950s and 1960s to the reform of the state sector and waves of layoffs of the 1990s. Over the decades, politics continually disrupted his life and that of his family. Once a worker at a Mudanjiang locomotive factory, in 1958, Old Man Tang was forced to leave his work unit after returning a few days late from approved leave he had taken to care for his oldest daughter who was ill. He became disillusioned with the Party-State and withdrew from it that same year, at the height of the steel campaign that was a landmark of the Great Leap Forward.
Like many in his generation, Old Man Tang harbours both resentment and affection for the country, expressing deep discontent with its decline following the economic reforms of the 1980s. In contrast to the younger generation, represented by Xiaoyan, You Xiaoyun, and Hongmiao—who embody the new spirit of post-reform China, with its emphasis on wealth and personal growth—the subjectivities of Li the fortune-teller and Old Man Tang were shaped by different political and institutional forces and disruptive life events, resulting in their distinct experience of precariousness. Estranged from the system, Old Man Tang retained an optimistic spirit, and the film captures some light-hearted moments with his family or him telling stories from his life. However, the director’s gaze also reveals how divisions within the family during Chinese New Year manifest as a split rooted in the generational gap between the father and his children.
For Li, fortune-telling is a precarious occupation, one to which he resorts as an alternative means of survival due to his circumstances. When the movie was shot, fortune-tellers, like sex workers, were considered nonconformant to the mainstream ideologies and values promoted by the Party-State and were strictly scrutinised and subject to state control, which often resulted in violent evictions. During the peak of the campaign against pornography in Hebei, during which fortune-telling was also targeted, the ‘Bagua’ (八卦, ‘eight trigrams’) signboard hanging in Li’s yard was confiscated and he was briefly detained, even though he was soon released, perhaps due to his disability. Later, Li and Pearl Shi return to their hometown in Qinglong County. While walking through a street where Li once lived and begged, they encounter some ‘street friends’ (街友) from Li’s old days. The two friends, Old Tian and Old Zheng, are still homeless on that street and tell Li that one of their old friends was killed in a traffic accident involving a government vehicle, making clear their sense of powerlessness about it.
The lack of institutional protection and exclusion from social networks embody the most fundamental part of the ‘vagabond existence’ in China. Despite the country’s rapid economic growth, the issues that people such as Li and his friends face are often obscured as these individuals lack political bargaining power, which renders them basically invisible. Even when Li approaches the local welfare office for disabled persons in Qinglong County to seek additional support, he is told that there are individuals with more severe disabilities than him and he is advised to improve his condition through personal effort. This substantially neoliberal perspective—both a root cause and a consequence of post-Mao China’s sharpening divide between the private and the public spheres and the growing division between those who can access wealth and social status and those who cannot—leaves individuals like Li alone in navigating their own pursuit of happiness while the state retreats from its role in providing adequate support.
As a fortune-teller, Li is often seen with his hands pressed together in prayer before the Buddha, chanting ‘Namo Amitabha’. Believing in fate, he also seeks spiritual solace for the sufferings he endures, hoping that the Buddha will relieve him of his hardships. When the spring comes, however, Li still believes that it is a good time to try his luck. Once again, he leaves his hometown for Yanjiao, dusts off his long-unused fortune-telling tools, and heads to the town’s ‘temple fair’ (庙会).
Clip from Fortune Teller (2009): Li Baicheng and Pearl Shi visit Xinji Temple Market where Li offers fortune-telling services to locals in the town.
Epilogue
The lives of the vagrants depicted in Xu Tong’s documentaries stand as a powerful testament to the resilience of individuals in the face of everyday adversity. The trilogy offers a critical lens on the structural inequalities embedded within post-socialist Chinese society. Instead of simplifying their experiences into a single narrative of victimhood, it reveals the complex interplay of institutional forces, responsibilities, and desires that are constantly shaping the agency of the individuals who are at the margins of society. In this ‘jianghu world’, as Xu describes it, vagrants converge and form intricate social networks of their own following separate sets of rules and moralities. Yet, this jianghu should not be viewed in a romantic light; it remains a harsh and unrelenting reality in which the powerless endure constant hardships and suffering. The cycles of ‘eviction’, often carried out under the guise of ‘justice’, such as in the case of the ‘anti-pornography’ campaigns, are a reminder that the vulnerable are caught in an alienating system that keeps pushing them into even more precarious positions.
Cover image: Still from Fortune Teller (2009) by Xu Tong.
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