What will become of my autistic child?

Liu Mei practices taichi religiously for one and a half hours every morning.

At the age of 59, she aims to keep fit into her old age as her 27-year-old autistic son has no one else to care for him.

Her son, Xiao Wei likes listening to old songs. He makes some sounds and beats time to the music with his hands when he gets excited. But he can't speak - not a word - and he has received no formal schooling.

Like millions of autistic people in China, Xiao Wei suffered a neuro-developmental disorder, depriving him of communication and social skills.

With their social difficulties and repetitive behavior, autistic people are often alienated. Liu has had a difficult life since her son was diagnosed at the age of three in 1993.

She searched in vain for a treatment in the early years, trying anything suggested by friends or in newspapers. She prayed to Buddha, consulted a Qigong master and sent her son to various therapy camps.

"Later I realized there's no cure for this disability, but no parent would pass up a chance to improve the life of a child," says Liu.

Autism was only recognized as a mental disability in China in 2006. In the 1990s, research and resources were limited. Pioneering researchers at the Peking University Sixth Hospital (PKUSH) concluded that the earlier the intervention and therapy, the better the result.

Liu sent Xiao Wei to sensory integration training at PKUSH, usually a treatment for children with attention deficit and hyperactivity disorder, to build concentration and strength.

A two-hour session involving patting balls thousands of times made Xiao Wei cry for 10 days. Liu enticed him back to the therapy with his favorite lollipop.

"You need wisdom and patience with an autistic child," says Liu.

Her efforts paid off. A year later, Xiao Wei touched her mother's face with his hands: "He finally figured out I was his mom...."

Other autistic children go to school and research has shown that inclusion in education can help them.

Many parents sacrifice money and time to find their child a place in school. Tianjin mother Luo Yanhua has a 17-year-old autistic son, Li Yifan. She sent him to school and witnessed the misery he endured.

"You have to repeat a simple mathematical formula a thousand times to help him remember it. When it comes to using this formula for a maths problem, he can't figure it out anyway," says Luo.

Eventually, these children end up staying home with nowhere to go.

After many years of struggling with their fate, many parents give up their jobs, and their lives descend into a confusion that is difficult to escape.

Liu had a packed schedule without weekends in her job. To look after Xiao Wei, she stopped work for eight months and became a volunteer in a grassroots organization where the schedule was more relaxed.

In 1998, a doctor told her: "Only by taking good care of yourself can you better attend your child." She examined her life and decided to become an accountant to provide for the family.

Now she has retired, she has more time with her son, yet a fear is growing in her mind: "When I die, what will happen to Xiao Wei?"

She is not alone. Liu joined in a chat group for parents of autistic adults and many shared that fear.

But now they see a glimpse of hope in the Beijing Jing Yuzhe Autistic People Service Center (BJAPSC).

Dou Yixin launched the center in 2013 with the aim of providing vocational training and employment to autistic adults, and he provides care for them.

Many experts suggest autistic people are better living in a community, but a lot of Chinese are still apprehensive of their strange behavior.

A care center is more practical. Seventeen autistic people in 2013 started to work and live for 18 months in an experimental vocational camp. "My son tells me he likes the camp," says Luo.

This year, Dou introduced a program to teach the autistic people about nature. "Unlike their peers in Europe and the U.S., autistic people in China are less accepted and praised in childhood. Their self-confidence is low."

In the nature program, Dou tries to rebuild their confidence. In March, Li Yifan and six others boarded a train to a tea estate in the southern Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region to start a week-long tea-picking experience.

They lived together and learned about labor and the tea industry. "They don't integrate well with ordinary people, but they like to make friends within their own circle. I've seen some of them pair up to do laundry and other work together," he says.

The government has given BJAPSC two hectares of land in Beijing's southern suburbs and Dou plans to build 30 homes there. "With a study room, a coffee shop, a supermarket, an infirmary and even a factory, it is a community in miniature, but its functions are the same," says Dou.

This model of training, work and care has proved successful in Japan for more than 30 years, but why has it taken so long in China?

"Lack of money," says Dou. "In Japan, the government funds 80 percent of the construction and maintenance, but here we have to find investment from charities and businesses ourselves."

With sponsorship and charity grants, construction of BJAPSC will be two thirds complete in a few years, but the parents must sponsor the rest.

Hundreds of families want to send their children to BJAPSC.

"It costs a lot to care for an autistic person," says Luo Yanhua. "We're looking forward to the day the center is completed. I'm willing to contribute to its construction."

The plan envisages the more capable autistic people participating in product design and production processes in the factory, while those less capable can work in a store, coffee shop, canteen or laundry.

"Those who have dexterous hands and good manners are likely to be introduced to work with ordinary people," says Dou.