by Yan Lianke
After I shut the door, the Gao household fell silent.
The town of Chenggang that I left behind also fell silent.
As I was leaving, the jeep belonging to the town government drove over, and inside I saw the middle-aged mayor, Mayor Wang Zhenhai, who always kept his hair closely cropped. The jeep followed the road that looped around Chenggang, heading in the direction of the town government complex. I hoped the mayor would stop and exchange a few words with me, but instead the jeep disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Actually, I had known he wouldn’t stop and speak with me. This is because he didn’t even know me—he didn’t know Chenggang’s secret weapon, its so-called crouching tiger and hidden dragon. He didn’t know that Chenggang contained a hidden revolutionary genius, nor that that revolutionary would be his grave digger. After watching the jeep drive away, I picked up a rock and hurled it at the vehicle. I saw the rock hit a paulownia tree, knocking off the bark and causing sap to ooze out, and only then did I head back to Thirteen Li River.
Hongmei had already arrived at the riverbank. She had also brought her daughter, Tao’er, who was sitting barefoot by the riverbank with her feet dangling in the water. When Hongmei saw me, she looked as though she had let me down. Glancing at Tao’er, she said, “When I told her she couldn’t come, she started hollering and crying, so in the end I had no choice.”
I looked at Tao’er and said to Hongmei, “Come here. It’s OK. We’ll have a chance later.”
We both knew what we would have a chance for later. We sat facing one another in the shade of a row of willow trees. Hongmei was wearing the sort of shorter dress that at that time people in town rarely dared to wear (such dresses were already very popular in the city, but the damned countryside was much more backward), revealing her jade-like legs, which were so entrancing they seemed almost fake. I could see on her legs the tiny hairs, which glimmered in the dappled golden sunlight that shone through the trees’ canopy. She knew I was watching her. It had been a long time since we had had a chance to be alone together, and what we wanted more than anything else was to be alone together again. As if she knew what I was thinking, she turned and scooted closer to me. Then she removed her square-toed velveteen shoes, revealing her bright red toenails. She pulled up her dress, revealing her tender thighs.
My mouth went dry, and I swallowed my saliva.
Apart from the sound of flowing water, the riverbank was very peaceful. A flock of white waterbirds had gathered below the dam, where they were bobbing up and down. Tao’er started to shout, “Ma … Ma … Are those fish?” (In Chenggang, children generally called their mothers “Mom,” and only Tao’er called hers “Ma.”) Hongmei turned and shouted, “Tao’er, go play. Your mother and uncle want to talk.” Tao’er rolled up her pant legs and waded out into the water to catch some fish. Hongmei gazed at me, then looked over my shoulder at the road leading back to the village.
I asked, “Is anyone coming?”
She said, “No.” Then she asked, “What if … we go to that grove of trees over there?”
No one knew better than Hongmei what I needed at that moment. I loved her. After asking me that question, she appeared ready to go. I knew that all I needed to do was to give my encouragement, and she would immediately strip for me. But I shook my head, and said, “No, now is not the time. Let’s focus on the overall situation.”
She nodded, then placed her feet on my thighs, such that her bright red toenails sparkled in the sunlight. At that point, Cheng Qinglin arrived, and Hongmei stood up as though nothing was amiss and handed him a pen and a notebook.
As more people arrived, Hongmei handed each a pen and a notebook. As she was doing so, she said something to them, bringing them into a mysterious revolutionary state. I sat on a basket-like stone on an elevated section of the riverbank and watched as everyone took the pen and notebook and then looked back at me. I asked, “Who hasn’t arrived yet?” Hongmei and Cheng Qinglin replied, “Everyone is here.” Accordingly, the meeting could now begin, and I could say what I had prepared.
However, instead I announced, “First, I want to tell everyone that within three days after we distributed those flyers, deputy branch secretary Cheng Tianshui, which is to say, Qingxian’s uncle”—I glanced over at Qingxian, who was sitting on one of his shoes—“came to see me last night and told me that Chairman Mao’s Quotations once slipped out of his pocket and he accidentally sat down on it. He said he knew he had committed a serious transgression, and that he was not worthy of serving as deputy branch secretary. He said he was willing to hand over his position to one of us, and added that he was willing to be educated as one of the masses and become an ordinary citizen under someone else’s authority.”
At this point, I paused to take a breath. I glanced around and saw that everyone’s eyes were flickering like flames. I continued, “There is also a village electrician who came to see me and told me that he once wanted to see whether or not the cover of Chairman Mao’s Quotations was insulated. To his surprise, however, the electrical wire short-circuited and scorched the book’s cover, including Mao’s portrait. He said he wasn’t worthy of being an electrician and was willing to hand over his authority as an electrician to someone else. A production team accountant reported that he once dropped a Chairman Mao badge into a cesspool; a female director reported that once she mistook a sentence in her child’s homework for a phrase by Chairman Mao … and so on. What does it all mean?” I raised my voice and waved my pen.
“It means we have won our first battle, and those people who committed serious mistakes are now cowering before me and before the great tide of the revolution. And what does this mean? It means that all comrades will be examined and, if necessary, cast aside by the movement. Everyone will be assessed and judged. We’re not concerned that they’ll commit mistakes. A comrade who makes a mistake and corrects it is a good comrade. But what should we do about those comrades who make mistakes and are unwilling to confess or correct them, and attempt to escape unpunished? There is only one option, which is to mobilize the masses, mobilize them again, and then mobilize them yet again. Once the masses have been truly mobilized, the truth will be revealed about those who have committed mistakes and attempted to slip away unscathed. Their real intentions will be revealed for all to see.
“Right now, you could say that the residents of Chenggang are mostly awakened and will soon be completely mobilized. Every Communist Party member, every Communist Youth League member, and every revolutionary youth must shoulder the responsibility of leading a fighting force. They must all lead the charge, be positioned in the vanguard, and stand atop the revolutionary tide—braving wind and rain, battling the stormy seas, and struggling with heaven, earth, and Chenggang’s class enemies. They must overcome selfishness and foster public spirit, and above everything else, they must dare. They must fully reveal the mistakes committed by Party branch members, starting with Cheng Tianqing—putting these mistakes on full display for the masses, like rats crossing a road. They must make the masses realize that the person who can lead them to grasp the revolution and increase production is not Cheng Tianqing but the new agencies, teams, and branches that we have collectively established.
“At the moment, Cheng Tianqing has fallen ill, which means that the residents of Chenggang will be terrified. This is a sign that the success of the revolution is at hand. In order to avoid internal conflicts and the inappropriate pursuit of status and profit before the revolution succeeds, I want to make clear to everyone that although the objective of the revolution is to seize political power, this does not simply involve reallocation of old power. Instead, after seizing power, everyone will be assigned new positions. Whose position will be the highest, and whose will be the lowest? Who will have the most power, and who will have the least? This will all be based on everyone’s effort and performance, on the level of their revolutionary consciousness, and on their ability to organize and mobilize the masses. We don’t discuss rewards and punishments, but we have no choice but to consider people’s perf
ormance. This is a point that I have to make clear to everyone—good things will not be given to those people who simply sit by and watch the movement or to those who fail to take an interest in the revolution and the mass struggle.”
I added, “Now that each of you has a pen and notebook, I want you to spend several minutes quietly reflecting on party branch secretary Cheng Tianqing, as well as the deputy branch secretary, the village chief, the deputy village chief, and all the production team’s cadres and their immediate relatives. Then I want you to write your reflections down in your notebooks and affix your handprint.”
I had finished speaking but had no way of knowing what effect my words might have had on those who were the backbone of Chenggang’s revolution. However, there was one thing I could see clearly, which was that no one dared to stand up to Cheng Tianqing and record anything in their notebooks. Instead, everyone stared at me, and I stared back. We inspected one another, and it seemed as though as soon as one person took the initiative to record something in his or her notebook, everyone else would immediately follow.
I said, “There is one point on which I would like to reassure everyone, which is that we won’t publicly announce the name of the first person to reveal something unless it is absolutely necessary.”
The situation at this point was not ideal. One person placed his pen on the ground, then sighed and said, “I really want to expose someone, but I’ll be damned if I have anything to expose!” This was the deputy branch secretary’s nephew, Cheng Qingxian. His remark seemed to be infectious, and soon several others also placed their pens on the ground and said something similar. From experience, I knew that at this point it was necessary to stop this countervailing wind that was dampening the enthusiasm of the newly awakened revolutionaries. I looked at them, then turned back to Hongmei.
Hongmei immediately understood what I was thinking. She walked to the front of the crowd and said, “I want to report on Cheng Tianqing and my father-in-law, Cheng Tianmin. The two of them often sit in the temple’s middle courtyard and discuss national matters, sighing over the revolutionary situation. Once, the county’s revolutionary youths sent an old Red Army soldier to parade through the streets, and Cheng Tianqing said that if he encountered the youths who sent this soldier to parade through the streets, he would chop off their heads.”
(I truly loved Hongmei!) I said, “Write this down, and it will serve as evidence of guilt.”
In front of everyone, Hongmei proceeded to write in the notebook.
Everything was resolved very simply. Either the East Wind prevails over the West, or the West Wind prevails over the East … Thankfully, it is usually still the East Wind that prevails over the West. Seeing Hongmei say and write these things, Cheng Qinglin said, “I want to report three crimes committed by Cheng Tianqing. I will write everything in this notebook, and if one day the revolution needs me to openly report these crimes, then even if I were threatened with decapitation, I, Cheng Qinglin, would still be willing to stand up and serve witness.” Upon saying this, Cheng Qinglin stepped forward and squatted down next to Hongmei, then placed a notebook on his knee and began to write.
(The morning sun rises in the east, and grain sprouts grow straight and strong; Sweet dew falls to the ground, and fresh flowers strive to bloom; The great river surges forward, and carp leap o’er the waves; Class conflicts do arise, but the wind and waves stand firm.)
Following Hongmei’s and Qinglin’s public denunciations, everyone else started writing in their notebooks as well. Some of them placed the notebooks on their knees, others positioned them on flat stones, while still others simply placed them at their feet and then sat on the ground to write. It was an incredibly moving scene. In the distance, the autumn crops had already ripened, and the dark red scent of maize drifted everywhere. Closer by, on the bright water of Thirteen Li River, there was the sound of Tao’er playing and the shadows of ospreys flying through the clouds. In the willow grove next to the river, there was a cool and gentle breeze. In the irrigation canal that ran behind Chenggang, there was the incessant sound of frogs croaking and jumping into the water. The sun was already high in the sky, and the sunlight was beating down on everyone as they wrote. I saw that the people who could write quickly had already completed a page, and some had even divided their narrative into sections labeled ①, ②, and ③. Even those who wrote slowly had completed more than half a page, piling the page with uneven script like piles of shit. I walked back and forth through this crowd of people writing denunciations and decided that after they handed in their notebooks, I would spend the entire night writing big-character posters, so that when the villagers woke up the next morning it would be as if a blizzard had passed through our town—with the walls of every street and alley covered with the filth, crimes, and excrement of Cheng Tianqing and Cheng Tianmin. I decided that after the revolution succeeded, if the people who had filled their notebooks with excrement couldn’t be appointed to serve as cadres or production team leaders, then I’d make them forest rangers, production team clerks, or mill workers in the production team’s electric-powered mill. In short, the question of who is friend and who is foe was a crucial concern both before and after the revolution. The revolution cannot be concerned with questions of rewards, but it definitely cannot permit those martyrs who shed blood for the revolution to endure hardship beforehand and eat bitter herbs afterward. This is not merely a question of what benefits the revolution—it is a particular issue of consideration when mobilizing the rural masses. When I began planning to write big-character posters during the mass denunciations, I not only had to consider where I would obtain the requisite pens, paper, and glue, I also had to consider what would happen once the revolution descended on Chenggang like a storm landing on a pool of stagnant water: How could a tiny ripple become a mighty wave flowing east, and how could a bowl of cold water manage to overturn rivers and oceans? I knew that this meeting on the riverbank would go down in Chenggang’s revolutionary history books, because the denunciations that came forth from it would help Chenggang’s revolution enter a crucial turning point. I knew that some of the methods we were using to mobilize the masses here in Chenggang weren’t as refined those used by revolutionaries in the county seat, in Jiudu, or in the provincial capital. Others might mock our approach as rustic and childish, the same way that some people at the beginning of the Communist Revolution disparaged the peasant revolution that Mao Zedong initiated in Shaoshan as merely a rural insurgence. This kind of reaction was a result of people’s inadequate understanding of the peasantry and their lack of familiarity with the countryside. It resulted from their inability to appreciate the unique feudal culture of Chenggang and the Cheng Brothers Historic Site. Engels once said, “The liberation of the proletariat will also be reflected in the military, where the proletariat will create its own new and unique fighting technique.” The Chinese people’s revolutionary struggle as organized by the Chinese Communist Party’s leadership has now realized Engels’s great prediction and established Mao Zedong’s great military concept. When there are significant disparities between us and a stronger enemy, we mustn’t confront the enemy directly—because if we do we will surely suffer severe losses, resulting in a significant setback for the revolution. Instead, it is only by pursuing guerilla warfare techniques that we’ll be able to succeed in protecting ourselves and eliminating the enemy. If the enemy advances, we’ll retreat; if the enemy halts, we’ll approach; if the enemy tires, we’ll attack; and if the enemy retreats, we’ll pursue. This is the secret strategy of guerilla warfare. Mobile warfare, sparrow warfare, landmine warfare, sabotage warfare, maritime warfare, individual-based warfare, and village-based warfare—these are the techniques of our war. It was precisely these techniques, which initially weren’t recognized as true military stratagems, that changed the fate of the Chinese people. Is there anyone today who would still look down on the techniques of mobile warfare or sparrow warfare? Tomorrow, after my revolution in Chenggang and the Chenggang productio
n team succeeds, and later—after my revolution in the county seat, the district, and the provincial capital succeeds—who could possibly fail to make note of this secret riverside meeting in the historical records? When future generations write my biography, who could possibly fail to emphasize this unusual denunciation practice? When future generations study my personal history and the history of revolutionary struggle, who could possibly fail to acknowledge that this marked a crucial turning point in my revolutionary career?
As everyone was writing their denunciations, I strolled back and forth. I knew that these seventeen homemade pens and cheap notebooks would become historical souvenirs, but I didn’t realize that an even more astounding development was about to unfold. I didn’t realize that an even more immediate significance of this meeting that I had convened on the riverbank—in a mobile-warfare- and sparrow-warfare-like fashion—had already been revealed. That is to say, it turns out that one unforeseen result of this meeting was that it demonstrated the profound significance of this meeting, together with the depth and complexity of this turning point in Chenggang’s revolutionary development.
Once Cheng Qinglin had inked his handprint to the three pages he had written, and as he was handing them to me, we suddenly heard blood-red cries and black-white shouts coming from the other end of the irrigation canal:
“Gao Aijun … Is Gao Aijun here on the riverbank? … Gao Aijun, where have you run off to?”
I turned in the direction from which the voice was coming and saw that the person calling out to me had his mouth open like an empty well.
“Hey … Are you all just a pile of corpses? … Is Gao Aijun there or not? Quick, tell him to run home! His wife, Guizhi, has hanged herself …”
I froze in shock.
Everyone froze in shock.
“Gao Aijun … Your wife has hanged herself. She’s dead! Where have you disappeared to?”
