Dongdong’s father died before he was born — in fact, he’d barely been conceived. His parents had been undergoing in vitro fertilization (IVF) treatment and had just frozen nine embryos when tragedy struck.

Today, Dongdong is a happy, carefree 4-year-old. Yet, for his mother, Guo Qing, bringing her son into the world and attempting to claim financial support for the family’s loss has been one battle after another.

Their unique situation has sparked two lawsuits and highlighted gaps in national and local regulations on IVF, the posthumous use of frozen embryos, survivor benefits, and the legal provisions for single-parent families.

Birth plan

Guo was 25 years old and working odd jobs in Suzhou, in the eastern Jiangsu province, when she met and fell in love with Chen Hailiang. They were soon married and began trying for a baby.

After four years with no success, the couple decided to return to their native Huai’an — a city about three hours north by car — to start the IVF process. As they owned a house there, they felt it would lower their living costs.

However, things turned out to be more expensive than they expected. As neither had been paying their contributions to China’s social insurance system, the couple had to pay out of pocket for all of Guo’s medical checks and treatments, costing them nearly 100,000 yuan ($14,050).

In December 2019, they had just successfully fertilized nine embryos when Guo’s husband was fatally injured by a machine at his printing factory.

Guo’s sister-in-law, Chen Haiqin, says that her brother called to ask to borrow money to cover the costs of the IVF shortly before the accident. “I told him then that he couldn’t afford to have a baby, and that they should wait to have children later. He just went silent and didn’t respond,” she recalls.

She cries whenever she thinks about that conversation, believing that if the couple had had enough money, her brother wouldn’t have been working in that factory or even in Huai’an. At his funeral, Chen knelt at the grave and kowtowed until her forehead bled, feeling immense guilt.

From then on, Chen was determined not to let down the family she still had left.

Three days after losing her husband, Guo — her eyes swollen from crying and lack of sleep — arrived as scheduled at the Huai’an Maternity and Child Healthcare Hospital for the procedure to implant the embryos, which had been stored in liquid nitrogen at minus 196 degrees Celsius. However, when the doctor learned of her situation, they decided to pause the IVF plan.

At the time, sperm banks and medical institutions in China were banned from providing unmarried women — which Guo technically now was — with services involving assisted reproductive technologies under technical and ethical guidelines introduced in 2003 by the Ministry of Health.

After reviewing similar cases nationwide, the hospital’s ethics committee advised Guo to file a lawsuit to seek legal authorization for the embryo transfer. “We hope Guo Qing can have a child and fulfill her dream of becoming a mother, but we need legal support for this,” an associate chief physician at the hospital told state broadcaster China Central Television (CCTV) at the time.

After her husband’s death, Guo’s family urged her to reconsider continuing with IVF, citing the challenges of raising a child as a single mother. Yet, she was resolute. “Our little one should come into this world,” she would tell any and all doubters.

Chen was behind her 100%, promising to support Guo whatever happens. As Guo was struggling to get to grips with the legal details, she handled all communications with the doctors as well as the judge who heard their case at Huai’an’s Qingjiangpu District People’s Court.

In response to Guo’s lawsuit in March 2020, the hospital acknowledged her “understandable” desire to undergo the embryo transfer, but argued that fulfilling the contract was problematic now that one party was deceased. As the procedure involved various rights and ethical considerations, the medical institution said it was unsure whether to proceed and needed a court ruling.

They got one two months later, when the judge ruled in favor of Guo.

The verdict on May 5 states that Guo’s husband was actively preparing for the embryo transfer before his death, so continuing with the plan aligned with his wishes, as well as the traditional values and conventions of Chinese society. It concluded that the procedure would bring comfort to his family and did not violate any legal provisions.

That same day, the hospital implanted one embryo into Guo’s uterus, and soon after, she became pregnant.

Early days

Dongdong was born in January 2021 in Suzhou. Guo had returned to the city three months into her pregnancy to be closer to her sister-in-law. Things had gone relatively smoothly in the run-up to the birth, with no issues other than an elevated transaminase level, indicating a liver function deficiency, which doctors attributed to chronic sleep deprivation. Guo has struggled with insomnia since her husband’s death.

Life as a single mother unfolded in a blur of daily routines, with the baby consuming almost all her time and energy. Work was out of the question — her only source of income was the compensation she’d received for her husband’s workplace accident.

When Dongdong was 18 months old, Guo enrolled him in a community-run nursery so that she could go back to work. “She was exhausted from looking after him,” Chen says. “I told her that even if she spends only a few hours doing odd jobs, maybe not even earning enough to cover the daycare costs, she still needed to go out and work.”

Before her husband’s accident, Guo and her sister-in-law had been virtual strangers. Now, they are raising a child together. “She’s gone above and beyond what any sister would do — even what any parent would do,” Guo says of Chen Haiqin, who visits her home every day to help with cooking and cleaning.

During Guo’s pregnancy, her father-in-law was diagnosed with late-stage esophageal cancer. Chen had to drive him to and from the hospital for radiation therapy and cover his medical bills. “If I had to choose between my family and money, I’d always choose my family,” says Chen, a mother of two. “As long as I have them, I don’t need anything else.”

As the family slowly got back on its feet, Chen recalls starting to feel a sense of relief. Little did she know they were about to face another grueling court battle.

“Posthumous child”

Shortly after giving birth to Dongdong, Guo applied to the Huai’an Social Insurance Fund Management Center to claim her son’s survivor benefit, a government payment made to spouses and dependents under age 18 after a worker’s disability or death. Based on Chen’s calculations, her nephew was owed nearly 1,030 yuan a month, about 30% of his father’s salary at the time of his death.

Chen says a series of events in the family at the time meant no one paid attention when they received a notice from the center effectively declining the request.

It wasn’t until June 2024 that Guo submitted a fresh application. Again, the center rejected it, stating that Dongdong did not meet the criteria for a “posthumous child” — a child born after the death of a biological parent. “We genuinely wanted to help, and I had exhausted every available option to support this application, but I just couldn’t find the necessary legal support,” Zhu Yong, the center’s director, told CCTV in August this year.

The Huai’an center eventually passed the matter to the provincial authority, which also concluded that the claim could not be honored.

Despite the massive workload involved, Chen persuaded Guo to file a second lawsuit — the first ever heard by the district court regarding a dispute over survivor benefits for a child who had been a frozen embryo at the time of their father’s death. The legal staff was even unable to find any precedent set by another court.

The presiding judge, Liu Feiran, visited the Huai’an Maternity and Child Healthcare Hospital to gain a detailed understanding of assisted reproductive technology and sought the opinions of legal experts across the province. In a legal system still catching up with modern medical advancements, exercising judicial discretion can require courage and responsibility.

During a hearing, the legal representative for the Huai’an Social Insurance Fund Management Center clarified that Dongdong did not meet the definition of a posthumous child as outlined in state regulations, and that no existing law addressed whether an IVF baby born after a parent’s death was entitled to survivor benefits.

However, Guo’s attorney argued that as the regulations do not clearly define eligibility, the intent of the compensation system should prevail — namely, to provide relief for those facing hardship due to the “interruption of the continuous support relationship.” They also referenced the Supreme People’s Court’s emphasis that the judicial system must strengthen the protection of the rights of the vulnerable.

This March, the court ruled in favor of Dongdong’s family, ordering the center to pay his family a monthly survivor benefit until he reaches 18. The judge reasoned that after Dongdong’s birth, the boy depended on his late father’s savings for support and faced the same difficulties as a posthumous child, so deserved the same protections.

The judgment also highlighted Guo’s determination to complete the embryo transfer after her husband’s death, viewing it as a steadfast commitment to the couple’s shared desire for children and to her fundamental familial duties. She should not be made to bear the risks of such a decision alone, it said.

Gone, but not forgotten

Guo now works full time in Suzhou, while Chen and her family have adjusted their schedules to help out with child care. Her father-in-law, whose condition has stabilized, has also found a landscaping job in the city so he can pick up Dongdong from kindergarten every day.

“People often ask me whether I get worn out looking after my child every day, but time with him brings me joy,” Guo says.

As Dongdong gets older, he’s been asking about his father more frequently. “He knows that Dad is ‘sleeping’ in Huai’an,” Chen says, adding that the family returns to their hometown to visit Chen Hailiang’s grave every Tomb-sweeping Day and on the anniversary of his death.

During this year’s Tomb-sweeping Day in April, the stone paths of the cemetery gleamed with rainwater as the family made their way to pay their respects. Dongdong led the way, his small figure weaving deftly between the gravestones.

Chen Haiqin and Guo wept as they cleaned the grave. Dongdong silently swept away the fallen leaves.

(Due to privacy concerns, Dongdong is a pseudonym.)

Reported by Ma Yuping.

A version of this article originally appeared in China Youth Daily. It has been translated and edited for brevity and clarity, and is republished here with permission.

Translator: Carrie Davies; editors: Wang Juyi and Hao Qibao.

(Header image: Moment and E+/VCG, reedited by Sixth Tone)