China’s family planning policy has unintentionally spawned a new problem — runaway brides:
As in other parts of the country, village customs dictate the groom’s family pay the bride’s family a set amount — known as cai li — while the bride furnishes a dowry of mostly simple household items.In the 1980s, before the start of China’s economic reforms, cai li sums were small.
“When I married, my husband just bought me several sets of clothes,” recalls Zhang Shufen, Mr. Zhou’s mother.
In the 1990s, cai li prices rose to several thousand yuan (about $200 to $400 at today’s conversion rates), mirroring the country’s growing prosperity. But it was only starting in 2002-03 that villagers noticed a sharp spike in cai li prices, which shot up to between 6,000 to 10,000 yuan — several years’ worth of farming income.
Not coincidentally, this was also the period when the first generation of children since the family-planning policy was launched in 1979 started reaching marriageable age.
So the normally frugal Xin’an villagers began saving even more in anticipation of rising wedding costs. While the Zhous are fairly well-off by village standards, they had been scrimping for years, growing their own vegetables and eating mainly rice and noodles, with little meat. The family had curbed spending in anticipation of wedding costs for their son who was working in southern Chinese factories. The hope was that he would return with a prospective mate in tow.
But when the younger Mr. Zhou returned home a year ago, he was still single. “In our village, when a boy is older than 24, 25, it is a shame on him for not marrying,” says his mother.
Last December a family friend told his mother that her nephew recently married a girl from neighboring Sichuan province. The bride had three female friends visiting her, who might be interested in marrying local men, said this friend.
Encouraged, Mr. Zhou and his mother met the three girls the next day. After an hour’s chat with the trio, who claimed to be ages 23, 25 and 27, Mr. Zhou found himself drawn to the prettiest and youngest, Ms. Cai, who had angular features and an ivory complexion.
He proposed marriage. She agreed, with one proviso: cai li of 38,000 yuan, or roughly five years’ worth of farm income. The Zhous agreed, but took the precaution of running a quick background check. Tang Yunshou, Xin’an’s Communist Party secretary, said Ms. Cai’s identity and residential papers checked.
Three days later the couple registered their union at the local registrar’s office. They posed for studio shots, with the bride in a creamy satin gown, the groom in a tuxedo. In one shot, they wear traditional garb, the bride pretending to light a string of firecrackers. Mr. Zhou mugs a grimace, hands to his ears.
They held the wedding banquet a week later, on Jan. 4, where Mr Zhou’s mother formally handed over the dowry — half of it loans from family members — to a woman she believed to be Ms. Cai’s cousin.
The new bride took up residence with her in-laws, and quickly found favor with her diligent and respectful ways, said Mrs. Zhou. “I treated her better than my own daughter,” she said. A red electric scooter, with ribbons on the handles, sits in the living room, a wedding present for Ms. Cai.
Matrimony was catching. Two neighbors sought Ms. Cai out, and asked her to act as matchmaker for their sons. Ms. Cai recommended two girls within a few days. The neighbors each paid 40,000 yuan in cai li.
On Jan. 28, all these brides vanished, leaving the villagers reeling.