Hard Like Water

by Yan Lianke

  Given that war can rely only on itself to be extinguished, just as revolution can rely only itself for success, why don’t we use our experience and theory of revolutionary war to help direct today’s revolution? Why don’t we use a martial modality to promote revolution? We of course should use a revolutionary modality to launch war, and a martial modality to promote revolution. We naturally should rush into Cheng Temple and burn the Cheng Brothers’ books, portraits, and all copies of the Four Books and the Five Classics, all the temple’s manuscripts written on brittle yellow paper, the Cheng clan genealogies, Cheng Temple’s property registry, and all the Cheng clan’s other documents and canonical texts—all those leather-bound volumes, all those musty-smelling Buddhist scriptures stored in wooden boxes, those bearded ancestral portraits painted on enormous hanging scrolls, those ancestral spirits who were presented as scholars. Although it may be true that people only rarely look through this collection of documents, isn’t it also the case that the Cheng clansmen in the Chenggang production brigade (and particularly those who are middle-aged or older) still view them with awe? Aren’t all Cheng clansmen extremely proud of this collection of texts? Don’t they treat this collection as the soul of Cheng Temple? During the revolution, Cheng Temple received an unprecedented degree of protection from Mayor Wang, but what exactly is the relationship between Mayor Wang and Cheng Temple? Is Mayor Wang’s relationship with the previous mayor, Cheng Tianmin, merely that of two generations of leaders? What kind of secrets do they share, such that Mayor Wang was willing to depart from the path of the Party and instead follow the direction of the feudal bourgeoisie, to the point that he now views promoting land irrigation as more important than crushing feudal superstition?

  When Hongmei and I headed back to Cheng Temple, the morning sun that had emerged from behind the eastern mountains was bright gold—just like the expensive paint we had used when writing slogans on the walls. All the village’s families had initially been shocked by the discovery that someone had been commemorating their ancestors by burning incense in Cheng Temple, but now they had come to their senses. Each family stood in the entranceway to the temple and watched for a while, then proceeded toward the temple while asking each other what was going on. At this point, Cheng Qinglin and several policemen holding red and white poles stopped me and Hongmei and announced, in a panting voice, as though taking credit for someone else’s achievements, “Branch Secretary Gao, when the water recedes the riverbed will be revealed. The truth is now clear, and we have arrested several people who had been burning incense in the entranceway.”

  Hongmei and I abruptly came to a halt in front of a millstone in the middle of Rear Cheng Street. “Who did you arrest?”

  “They are all Cheng clansmen from other regions,” the militia commander replied. “This is probably because the revolution here in Chenggang has reached such a feverish pitch that there is no one who’d dare do this themselves. However, we searched several houses, and sure enough, we found several Cheng clansmen who had come here from far away. The locals had left, and the outsiders were living in the village. I arrested all of them and left them in the production brigade.”

  I asked, “Do the villagers know about this?”

  Qinglin replied, “Most of them don’t because they haven’t woken up yet.”

  Hongmei added, “In order to sound the alarm, and to punish one person to serve as a warning to everyone else, we should parade these outsiders through the streets. That way, they will come to realize the greatness of our Chenggang production brigade’s situation, and no one will dare spit or urinate in the face of Chenggang’s revolution.”

  Qinglin said, “I agree. I’ll go prepare the ropes and dunce hats.”

  With this, Cheng Qinglin prepared to lead the militia back to the brigade office on Center Cheng Street, but I stopped him.

  “I hereby convene a branch secretary meeting right here and now.” As I said, this, I placed one foot on the millstone and watched as everyone crowded around.

  Qinglin, Hongmei, and several militia members looked at me.

  “If we parade these people through the streets, we’ll be wronging their relatives,” I said. “The accused are all Cheng clansmen, and everyone who carries the Cheng surname will assume that we could round them up and subject them to struggle sessions. We should simply leave the Cheng clansmen from outside Chenggang for now and then apprehend them later. That way, we can perhaps receive the sympathy and support of the Cheng clansmen who were previously close to the old group. Moreover, after receiving their support, we’ll be able to unite seventy or eighty percent of the masses. By that point, we won’t even need to burn the texts in the manuscript depository, because if we destroy Cheng Temple, the Cheng clansmen won’t try to stop us the way they did when we tried to destroy the memorial arch.”

  I said, “During the War of Resistance against Japanese Aggression and the War of Liberation, the People’s Liberation Army used psychological warfare, and now we want to do the same. Our objective is to unite the masses and burn the manuscripts in the manuscript depository (which is the soul of Cheng Temple) in order to lay the groundwork for our next step, which will be to claim the political power of the town Party committee. However, if we lose the support of the masses, we’ll also lose the possibility of claiming the political power of the town Party committee, and we will therefore become like a tree without roots, a boat without water, or a general without an army. This is the rule of revolution and the experience of people’s warfare, and we definitely cannot go against these rules and experiences.”

  The militia battalion commander asked, “In that case, should we simply let the other Cheng clansmen go?”

  I replied, “Yes, let them go. Let them all go.”

  Hongmei added, “I agree. Aijun stands above us and therefore is able to see further and think more deeply than we can. It’s no wonder he is the leader of our group.”

  (Hongmei, you are indeed my heart and my flesh, my love and my soul!) Hongmei was always the first person to understand me, and our revolutionary love was now so strong that we were even more able than usual to read each other’s thoughts.

  2. The Battle of Cheng Temple

  After releasing the Cheng clansmen who had been burning incense in front of Cheng Temple, we obtained the expected positive benefit with respect to the Chenggang production brigade.

  When the sun was three pole lengths high in the sky, we released the suspects in front of Cheng Temple. Ray upon ray of sunlight shone down upon our ancestral nation’s land, on our mountains and villages. The stones, walls, and empty fields in front of the temple were all full of people—commune members who had just woken up and hadn’t even washed their faces yet. Everyone had just gotten out of bed when they heard that some people had been burning incense in front of Cheng Temple, whereupon they immediately turned pale, like dirty rags covered in frost. Needless to say, everyone knew something extraordinary was about to unfold.

  At this point I noticed that my father-in-law, Cheng Tianqing, was still wearing that same jacket with cotton padding sticking out. He had straw in his hair and was standing hesitantly in the doorway. I was reminded of that time when he stumbled upon me and Hongmei behind the haystacks. So I glared at him, and he quickly retreated into the crowd. Cheng Temple’s main gate was still tightly closed, but an ancient scent was emanating from the temple’s front courtyard, as though a breeze were blowing through the crack in the door and into the crowd. I walked over to the main gate, the crowd immediately opening a path for me. The commune members all stared at me, waiting for me to announce the verdict in the incense-burning case. However, in the faces of the Cheng clansmen whose relatives had come to burn incense in front of the temple, there was a look of fiery desperation. They gazed at me, hoping I would save their relatives, as though waiting for my personal pardon.

  I stood with one foot on the edge of the sitting area at the base of the stone lion and the other resting on the lion’s rear leg, and with one hand on
my waist and the other resting on the lion’s head.

  I suddenly remembered a documentary depicting Chairman Mao standing atop the Tiananmen gate tower on October 1, 1949, waving down to the people gathered below. I instinctively let my gaze sweep over the heads of the crowd assembled before me (it would have been better if the crowd had been somewhat larger). I was silent for a long time (having a long pause before speaking is a way we political leaders find dignity and enjoyment). I saw that the gazes directed at us were weak but steady, as though there were a slack string connecting us to the eyes of the members of the Chenggang production brigade. I knew I couldn’t simply open my mouth and begin speaking. In the army, division commanders, regiment commanders, and county leaders all had to keep a moment of silence before speaking at any formal occasion—in order to gather their energy and generate a solemn atmosphere. So I stood on the seat at the base of the stone lion with a gaze that was simultaneously hot and cold—with coldness permeating the warmth, and warmth embedded in the coldness—and looked out at the crowd of townspeople that had gathered in front of the temple. I looked over those people under my authority, those commoners under my direction, and noticed how, during my silence, I could hear the commune members’ hearts beating like rain pounding on the ground. I saw that the faces of the core revolutionaries in the front row had a greenish tint, and noticed the meter-long red and white poles the core militiamen were holding (these poles were specially made, and the militiamen always carried them around like rifles, as though they were their second lives), their layer of fresh paint glittering in the dawn sunlight. Meanwhile, the commune members standing behind the core revolutionaries and the militia all had a deathly pallor. They knew someone had committed a grievous crime in Cheng Temple, and although this didn’t merit the death sentence, it certainly wouldn’t be inappropriate to break the offenders’ legs or cut off their fingers. In fact, the revolution might even require that. If I had been able to see which Cheng clansmen and their relatives had come last night to light incense, then irrespective of whether or not they were apprehended, and irrespective of whether after burning the incense they simply departed or returned to the Chenggang production brigade, any Chenggang residents who either burned incense or were direct relatives of those who had, would now be standing in the back of the crowd or a place where the collection of commune members was particularly dense. It was as if they were trying to hide, yet at the same time were sticking their heads out with a gaze that appeared far more traitorous and dozens of times brighter than in the past. Needless to say, those people who were half-hidden yet at the same time were watching me with bright eyes—their families and relatives had definitely come to burn incense. I didn’t know how cold my gaze was at that point nor how ambiguous it was. All I knew was that as soon as those people’s eyes met mine, their eyelids would curl up like dry leaves, their eyes would drop, and their heads would bow like wilted grass under the hot sun. At this point, at this moment, at this instant, I suddenly understood that in this rural revolution, this rural war, sometimes you don’t even need weapons or language, and instead you can subjugate the people with just your gaze. My father-in-law, Cheng Tianqing, served as Party branch secretary for half his life, but he always relied on his language, age, credentials, and gesticulations to direct the common people. I, however, didn’t need any of this, only my gaze. I looked over their heads, faces, clothing, legs, and feet, and then, in the resulting silence, I coughed softly. Like a cold breeze that precedes a torrential downpour, I sent my hoarse, daggerlike cough directly into everyone’s heart. Then I cleared my throat and announced to everyone in attendance:

  “Today, members of our Chenggang production brigade witnessed how, in this new red Yan’an, there was an atrocious incident of burning incense to worship ancestors. If we analyze this incident more carefully, what does it mean? This is a paradigmatic example of a reactionary event that is simultaneously anti-Party, anti-revolution, anti-socialism, anti–Proletarian Cultural Revolution, anti–Great Leader Chairman Mao. After we seize the culprits, they should be either sent to prison or have their feet chopped off.”

  I said, “But I, Gao Aijun, definitely will not ignore my own relatives. Although I myself don’t carry the Cheng surname, I’m still the village Party branch secretary of this village’s sixteen hundred Cheng residents. Not only am I the Party secretary of the Chenggang production team, I am also a steadfast revolutionary; and not only am I a revolutionary, I am also the leader of the Cheng clan. According to the principles of revolution, I should seize everyone who participated in the incense-burning incident—men and women, young and old—and send them to jail. Or, at the very least, I should make them wear dunce hats and parade them through the streets. However, I won’t do any of this—even though I know that if I don’t, others may one day use this to attack me. However, for the sake of those of us who are surnamed Cheng, I will take the risk of committing a political mistake. While I do not condone last night’s incense-burning and ancestor-worshiping incident, not only will I not parade the offenders through the streets, I am even opposed to handing them over to the police. Moreover, I will release everyone who has already been arrested, effective immediately.”

  (Everyone’s eyes widened with surprise. Hongmei’s face had a mysterious pink glow, and Qinglin had a discouraged expression, but the faces of the commune members and the masses—including all the local Cheng clansmen—were bright and warm. I knew I should go straight to the point.)

  I said, “Fellow commune members and fellow countrymen, the incense-burning and sacrificing to the ancestors was an anti-revolutionary action, but more specifically it was, at the very least, a feudal, superstitious action, marking a return of a decadent class spirit. It is true that the Cheng Brothers are the ancestors of the current residents of Chenggang, but every age has different values. Now is the time of the new society, the Cultural Revolution, the dawning of an unparalleled new era. How could you come to burn incense and kowtow to the ancestors? You are confused! You are all confused! … What can I say about this? All I can say is that I don’t blame you in the least. I don’t blame my fellow countrymen, I don’t blame my aunt and sister-in-law, I don’t blame my grandmother and grandfather, I don’t blame any commune members, and I don’t blame this temple that our ancestors handed down to us, or the manuscript depository full of volumes and scrolls reeking of feudal bourgeois decay. I, Gao Aijun, have thought over all this, and the Party branch committee has also looked into this question. How will we turn over to the authorities those who burned the incense and sacrificed to the ancestors? Of course, the best thing would be to simply release the suspects and destroy the temple. But if we destroy the temple it won’t be you who will be upset by it but rather I, Gao Aijun. This is a building that was built in the Ming dynasty, and it is not only the public face of our Cheng clan, it is also a symbol of the Chenggang production brigade. So, what should we do? I eventually decided that the only solution would be to burn the volumes, scrolls, and other artifacts stored in the manuscript depository. That way, not only could we protect both the temple and the people who burned incense and sacrificed to the ancestors, we could also show the higher-ups that we have burned the temple’s soul. We have pursued revolution from the heart, and what is left of Cheng Temple is merely its dead husk.”

  I glanced at the Cheng clansmen, and they silently stared back at me, Hongmei, and Qinglin.

  Hongmei announced loudly, “If you don’t burn these volumes, you should at least send the suspects to the county police office.”

  An animated chatter ran through the crowd.

  Cheng Qinglin took a step forward, then turned back to his fellow clansmen and said, “It’s Secretary Gao’s decision whether or not we burn the volumes. Secretary Gao’s request for your opinion was merely his way of expressing respect, but who offers a toast without being able to accept a possible penalty? In the end, Secretary Gao will have no choice but to send several dozen people to the police station, and neither the temple nor
the volumes it contains will be able to be preserved. By that point the chickens will have flown the coop, and the eggs will have been broken, but we won’t have any regrets.”

  I shouted, “Is it that you don’t actually want to burn those volumes?”

  Someone standing in the center of the crowd shouted back, in a voice that was like a grenade being detonated, “Yes! … Burn them! Why would you want to keep those useless things?”

  After this response, the crowd began chanting: “Burn them! Burn them now!”

  “Only the People should be protected, while those old things should be incinerated …”

  In this way, in response to my calls, people began to side with me. In the crowd, the shouts rose to a tempest, and the people lifted their fists to the sky. Following those shouts, the Cheng clansmen who had been hiding in the back of the crowd jostled their way to the front. They made their way toward me, like Red Guards trying to reach Chairman Mao’s side. Of course, I couldn’t let them idolize me the way Red Guards idolized Chairman Mao, because that would have made me a veritable anti-revolutionary. By the same token, how could I have them revere me the way they revered Cheng Tianmin? Was not the fervor with which they revered me comparable to that with which they had revered him?

  Indeed, the esteem in which the Cheng clansmen held me surely now far exceeded the support and respect they had had for Cheng Tianqing and or Cheng Tianmin. This constituted success. It was the necessary result and need of revolution and marked the greatness of our achievement. By this point light from the rising sun had already reached the front of the village, and Cheng Temple was bathed in sunlight. I watched everything that was developing in the temple’s entranceway. The temple itself didn’t realize that its heart was about to be ripped out and burned to ashes by the Cheng descendants of the Cheng clan in whose honor it had been built. I hopped down from the stone lion, and the crowds surged toward me, shouting, and droplets of saliva rained down on me. Cheng Qinglin took a militia group and moved toward the temple entrance. I heard one of the militiamen ask, “Does anyone have any gunpowder?” Another responded, “Yes, we have enough to destroy not only the temple’s volumes but also the entire temple.”