Five thousand years
He made toys up until recently, because they were cute and they were cheap and the margins were excellent. He made toys until they closed down the toy factories and he had to find something else to make. He grumbled about it a little, quietly, because he really thought the toys were cute and it would have been nice to continue making them. Toys were for the innocent, and they'd always gotten a good laugh over how much they were making off the Americans.
It had been a good few decades, but every dynasty had good years and this one was still young. There was still time for famine, for strife, for plague and death.
Good times never lasted. So he had to enjoy this for as long as he could, distracting himself with everything bright, shiny and new.
It wasn't with hope that he faced each day, but wilful ignorance. If he could just pretend that life would be beautiful, it could be, at least for a little while. If he just concentrated on feeding himself, on working for himself, on finding the simple pleasures, he could go on.
For all his life, he'd survived by keeping to himself, apart from those who would rule him, concentrating on his basic needs and nothing more, because rulers and dynasties rose and fell, while China could remain China. He'd seen the rise and fall of civilisations, strangled by ideology, by religion, by fanaticism, by nationalism, and, he'd never wanted to involve himself with those.
But things changed. After so many centuries, millennia of staying the same, things changed. Even though he tried so hard to keep himself the same, 1966 came along and there was no turning back.
It didn't stop him from trying, subsequently, to forget. To return to what he was, to focus only on food, shelter, money, all the selfish things. But it was getting harder and harder. Now, more than ever, his people were aware of him. They loved him, they hated him, but they knew him. It wasn't so simple anymore to keep out of ruling matters, to avoid the politics, and he wasn't so sure he wanted to anymore. Even if it could mean his death.
Ah, but that was still far away, and if he didn't think about it, perhaps it would never come.
So he builds roads and more infrastructures to keep his hands busy, to keep himself from joining the voices crying out weakly for change. He feeds himself and his children and pretends that there could never be poison in the food, in the milk. He covers his ears and closes his eyes and makes toys. Because toys are for the innocent and he wishes that he was.
Notes:
Toys: Many, many toys are made in China nowadays. Just go take a look. But ever since the economic downturn, toy factories have been closing, leaving thousands without jobs.
Somehow, China-as-a-civilisation has managed to survive for four thousand years, while many of the older 'great' civilisations died out a long time ago. It's quite interesting, really, that it was held together by superstition instead of things like ideologies and religion. Maybe that had some part to play in its long-livedness?
There was a long period of stagnation from the Ming to the Qing dynasty, possibly even longer than that. Maybe being free of outside influences helped with the preservation of their culture too?
1966: the Cultural Revolution.
The Chinese government's assistance plan involves a lot of building, which most economists think is a better idea than whatever the US is currently doing.
Poison in the food and milk: unsure about the first one, but considering the quality of water and the standards of safety… the second refers to the melamine-doped infant formula, of course.