Sometimes, the most beautiful gestures come from the least expected people. Not a biological parent. Not a trained educator. Not a movie hero. Sometimes, they come from a man with a battered past, no children of his own, but a heart big enough to welcome over 700 lost souls. Toombow Kids would like to share with you the touching story of Wang Wanlin, an 80-year-old man living in Hangzhou, in China’s Zhejiang province, who chose not to look away from the world’s suffering.
It all began in 1979, with a nighttime encounter. Wang, then 34 years old, came across a shivering, tearful teenager by the roadside. The boy was 15. He had fled a coal mine where he was being exploited after being tricked by recruiters in his home province. Without hesitation, Wang took him home. He sheltered him, fed him, and gave him back a bit of dignity. Then, using his own money, he bought him a train ticket to return home. What could have been a one-time act would become a lifelong mission. Because that night, Wang didn’t just save a child. He saved himself.
In his youth, Wang was destined for a brilliant artistic career. Accepted into a government-affiliated singing and dance troupe, he dreamed of performing on stage. But one day, a neighbor falsely accused him of stealing a watch. The baseless accusation cost him everything. Sentenced to 16 years of re-education through labor on a remote farm, he came out broken, rejected, and forgotten. It was a kind factory owner who helped him get back on his feet by offering him a job. And as a sort of poetic justice, that’s when Wang decided to reach out to those who, like him, had once fallen into darkness.
For over 45 years, Wang has wandered the streets looking for lost children — those abandoned by society, fleeing poverty, violence, or exploitation. He opens his door to them, feeds them, gives them shelter, a train ticket home, a kind word. His only condition? That they write him a letter once they’re home, to let him know they’re okay. Some could never return home — it was too far, too complicated, too dangerous. So Wang kept them. Up to twenty children at a time lived under his roof. He affectionately called them his “little drifters.” Even though they didn’t share his blood, he gave them love.
Among them was Yu Hui. In 1998, at age 12, Yu left his poor village in Anhui to earn money and help his family. He ended up caught in a gang of delinquent kids who forced him to steal. He managed to escape, hungry, dirty, lost. He was digging through a trash can in Hangzhou when Wang approached him. The old man pulled out a newspaper article about himself to reassure the boy. He wasn’t lying. He was there to help. Yu hesitantly accepted. Wang took him in, then sent him back to his parents. But when he learned that the boy had dropped out of school to work, Wang insisted he return. “Work isn’t the only way,” he told him.
Thanks to Wang’s persistence, Yu studied at a vocational school until he was 19. Later, Yu worked in Shanghai, earned money, and built the most beautiful house in his village for his family. But when he learned that Wang, now elderly, was living alone, he moved back in to take care of him. Today, Yu is a beauty salon director and cares for Wang like a father. He quietly replaces expired food that the old man refuses to throw away. He tends to him, protects him, silently thanks him. And Wang treasures every letter, every photo from his “children.” Hundreds of them. Proof that love doesn’t need blood ties to be pure.
Last year, Yu posted a video trying to reconnect with Wang’s former protégés. It touched many online users, but he soon took it down. His “father” didn’t want his children judged for their silence. He didn’t blame them. He hadn’t given for recognition — only out of love.
In a world where so many orphans remain invisible, Wang Wanlin stood up. Alone. Without extraordinary means. Just with his heart. He has been, for hundreds of children, the helping hand, the reassuring shoulder, the kind face saying, “You matter. You deserve better.” He is a silent legend. The father of the forgotten. And in the quiet of his apartment, filled with yellowed letters and faces on paper, his legacy will never fade.
