Teacher Liu and his troublemaker student

Teacher Liu Qun was my political teacher in high school. At that time, he was in his thirties, about 1.7 meters tall, with a sturdy body and dark skin. His hair was always loosely scattered, with a few disobedient strands falling down at inappropriate times, covering his forehead or even his eyes, forcing him to flick them away with his hand. He always wore a pair of slippers on his feet, and there was often a cigarette between his fingers. If it weren't for a pair of deep-rimmed glasses, it would be hard for people to associate him with an intellectual.

Teacher Liu loved to chat with people. Whether you were a teacher, a student, or a parent, he could chat with you for half a day. Generally, political teachers had good eloquence and liked to make grand speeches. He never made grand speeches; instead, he chatted casually with you.

Teacher Liu Qun served as the homeroom teacher for a class one year below us, and the students in the class all liked him. His story with student Peng Fengyun is particularly memorable.

Peng Fengyun's family lived outside Southern Gate on Pingan Road, which is actually the Guizhou - Hunan Highway. Back then, it was a gravel road, and dust would fly up whenever a car passed by. Peng Fengyun had two younger sisters, and his father was an honorably discharged soldier who had participated in the Korean War and injured his legs, leaving him confined to a wheelchair as a severely disabled person. The government provided a monthly pension of 41 yuan. His mother worked in a sewing factory, earning about 20 yuan a month. In those days, a family of five with a monthly income of 60 yuan was considered well-off.

However, the residents outside Southern Gate were mainly workers, farm laborers, vegetable farmers, or craftsmen. Their incomes were generally low, and their educational levels were low too. Coupled with the poor material conditions at the time, urban residents were only allocated one catty of planned meat, 200 grams of cooking oil, and twelve kilograms of rice per month. For older children, this was simply not enough to eat. Peng Fengyun was taller than the average child, but he was thin and skinny, with slender arms and legs. Children in the Southern Gate area played much more wildly than those in the city. Fights and disturbances often occurred.

Peng Fengyun also mingled among them, nicknamed "Flower Head." The meaning of this nickname was known only to people in their circle, and others didn't understand it. But this nickname also indicated that he had considerable influence among the children in the Southern Gate area.

In 1972, he entered Zhijiang Middle School, one grade below me. At that time, Deng Xiaoping resumed his post, demanding schools to improve teaching quality. Teachers began to teach cultural knowledge seriously, exams were reinstated, and scores became the most important measure of students. Most students began to study hard and stopped idling around. But Peng Fengyun, who was used to not studying, had a poor foundation and didn't perform well academically. He wasn't the type of student teachers often praised, and he didn't do as well in school as he did in Southern Gate, believing that the teachers didn't like him.

In 1974, he entered high school, and his homeroom teacher was Teacher Liu Qun. Like other classmates, he quickly noticed that this Teacher Liu was different from other teachers in his treatment of students. He felt Teacher Liu's affinity and respect for himself and began to have a good impression of Teacher Liu, willingly listening to Teacher Liu's words.

In May, the school was going to hold a track and field meet, and Teacher Liu Qun asked students to sign up. Many classmates signed up, but as usual, Peng Fengyun did not. He felt weak physically and didn't think he had any athletic ability. He used to feel that teachers didn't care much about him, so he had always been passively avoiding class activities; if he could avoid participating, he would.

Teacher Liu found Peng Fengyun and said to him, "Peng Fengyun, why don't you sign up for the sports meet?" He felt embarrassed to refuse Teacher Liu's request, so he agreed to participate. Feeling very weak with thin arms, he thought he wouldn't be able to do well in throwing events but thought he could manage running, so he signed up for three running events: the 400 meters, 800 meters, and 1500 meters. All of this was done to save face for Teacher Liu; he thought that as long as he ran, he would have fulfilled his duty.

As a result, Peng Fengyun, who had never participated in track and field competitions before, won all championships in the 400 meters, 800 meters, and 1500 meters in the first-year boys' division, surpassing all the long-distance runners in the school's track team. This shocked the teachers and students who were watching the competition.

Teacher Liu was both shocked and pleased, never expecting Peng Fengyun to have such ability. The school's physical education teachers were also at a loss; how did this unassuming Peng Fengyun, who had never been trained, manage to surpass the daily trained athletes by such a large margin? Most surprised of all was Peng Fengyun himself: How come I didn't know I was this good?

He naturally became a member of the school's track team and immediately represented Zhijiang Middle School in the June Zhijiang County High School Athletics Meet. Before everyone could come to terms with it, he won the 400 and 800 meters championships at the county high school athletics meet. Since a person could only register for two events, otherwise, he would have won more first places.

Peng Fengyun became famous throughout the county in an instant.

He subsequently participated in the school, county, and regional athletics meets several times, winning all the 400 and 800 meters championships.

In 1978, Peng Fengyun represented Huaihua District for the first time in the Hunan Provincial Games. While participating in the games, he also took the college entrance examination, applying to sports colleges. His first choice was Wuhan Institute of Physical Education, and his second choice was the Sports Department of Hunan Normal University.

Just as the college entrance examination results were being announced, the Hunan Provincial Games were in full swing. Sitting in the stands of the track and field stadium was a special spectator: Ms. Wen from the Beijing Institute of Physical Education, in charge of recruitment in the Hunan region.

In 1978, the Beijing Institute of Physical Education decided to open a new sports department, mainly admitting young people with good athletic performance and a certain cultural foundation, to train professional coaches for the future sports teams who also had cultural knowledge. This was a new major that had never existed before.

She arrived relatively late and was in a hurry, but she happened to catch the Hunan Provincial Games. She went directly to watch the competitions, scouting for talent on the field. She saw Peng Fengyun taking the lead and winning the 400 and 800 meters championships at the track and field stadium. Learning that he had taken the college entrance examination and applied to sports colleges, she immediately wrote out an admission notice and found the Provincial Admissions Office to get Peng Fengyun's file.

Thus, shortly after winning the provincial games championship, Peng Fengyun received an admission notice from the Beijing Institute of Physical Education, which he hadn't even applied to. It was said that Hunan Normal University's Sports Department also decided to admit him, but they were a bit slower, and the Beijing Institute of Physical Education had already taken the lead.

Peng Fengyun became the first candidate from Zhijiang County to be admitted to the Beijing Institute of Physical Education, bringing glory to Zhijiang. Besides thanking his parents, he was most grateful to Teacher Liu Qun, and Teacher Liu was also proud of him. Whenever Peng Fengyun talked about Teacher Liu, he would say, "Without Teacher Liu Qun, I wouldn't be where I am today."

After graduating from the Beijing Institute of Physical Education, Peng Fengyun worked successively in the Hunan Sports Commission for a few years, then transferred to the Education Bureau of Luohu District, Shenzhen. He is now the head of the Sports Market Section of the Shenzhen Municipal Bureau of Culture and Sports, with a happy family.

Teacher Liu's Midas touch changed Peng Fengyun's fate. 

Peng is just one of students who changed his fate because Teacher Liu, most students in his class more or less have had their destinies changed by Teacher Liu. Students love Teacher Liu, they treat him as their own father, brother, and best friend.

In 2016, after graduated 40 years from Zhijiang High School, Peng Fengyun's high school class held a class reunion and specifically invited Teacher Liu Qun and his wife, who had retired for many years, and moved to Xiangtan, a city near Changsha, 400 kilometers away, to attend the reunion in Zhijiang. Considered their age, a few students specifically drove from Zhijiang to Xiangtan to pick them up before reunion, arranged them staying in Zhijiang for couple days, then sent them back after reunion. No retired teacher from Zhijiang High School has ever had such treatment.

Written in 2017

American Spy Wu Yun

Wu Yun was born in the late Qing dynasty and became an orphan at a very young age. It is unclear whether his parents couldn't support him or abandoned him. Eventually, he was adopted by an orphanage run by an American church in Zhijiang.

Together with other adopted orphans, they attended a school affiliated with the church, which had both Chinese and American teachers. The school taught both Chinese and English. Despite being physically small and frail, Wu Yun was intelligent and excelled in his studies, especially in speaking fluent American English, making him stand out among his classmates.

In 1936, retired U.S. Air Force Major General Claire Lee Chennault was invited to serve as an advisor to the Chinese Nationalist Air Force. He went to the United States to raise funds and buy airplanes, recruiting a group of retired U.S. Air Force pilots to form the "American Volunteer Group" (AVG), also known as the "Flying Tigers." Due to the shark's head symbol painted on their planes, resembling a tiger with an open mouth, the Chinese people referred to them as the "Flying Tigers." Eventually, the name became popular, and people only knew them as the "Flying Tigers," not their formal name, the "American Volunteer Group."

飞虎队 -Flying Tigers - American Volunteer Group in Zhijiang during World War II

The Flying Tigers were mainly stationed in Kunming and Zhijiang. In addition to the Flying Tigers, there were also the Nationalist Air Force, Soviet Air Force, and a small number of air forces from other allied nations stationed in Zhijiang. With a gathering of foreigners, there was a high demand for translation services, especially English translation. Zhijiang, being a small county on the outskirts, lacked English speakers. Consequently, Wu Yun naturally became the interpreter for both the Chinese Nationalist Air Force and the Flying Tigers.

After the Pearl Harbor incident, the United States declared war on Japan and officially dispatched the U.S. Air Force to support China in its resistance against Japanese aggression. Wu Yun once again became an interpreter for the U.S. Air Force. With more U.S. Air Force personnel stationed at Zhijiang Airport, Wu Yun's translation duties became more demanding and crucial. His outstanding translation skills received widespread praise from both Chinese and American military personnel. He was recognized with awards, and photos of him wearing American military uniform with medals showcased him as a true hero of the resistance.

 

Aug. 21, 1945, Japan surrendered to China in Zhijiang. The middle one is General Xiao Yishu – 萧毅肃, represented China government accepting the Japan surrender leading by General 今井武夫

After the victory in 1945, the U.S. Air Force gradually withdrew from China, and Wu Yun's translation work diminished. He was then recruited by Zhijiang Normal School to become an English teacher.

Zhijiang Surrender Memorial Arch - Originally built in 1947, it was destroyed during the Cultural Revolution and rebuilt in the 1980s.

Post-1949, as China and the United States strained their relations, Wu Yun's previous role as an interpreter for the U.S. military was no longer seen as a heroic achievement in the war against Japan. Instead, it became evidence branding him as an American Spy and a historical counter-revolutionary. Wu Yun's history became a lifelong political burden.

Despite the historical issues, the school still allowed him to teach. However, during that period, Russian language was in demand, and English classes, although available, were not a primary focus. Wu Yun, with poor eyesight, slow movements, and impaired hearing, became a target for mischief by some playful students. On occasions, students would intentionally speak unclearly and loudly ask him, "Are you a special agent?", which sounds like “Mr. Wu” in Chinese. Thinking they were greeting him in English as "Mr. Wu," he would happily respond with a "Yes," unknowingly becoming a subject of laughter for a group of students nearby. Fortunately, he remained unaware of their intentions and suffered no harm, exemplifying the concept of being "ignorant bliss."

Nevertheless, many students still respected him and earnestly learned English from him. Since he held no official position and was considered a bookish individual, he did not face significant political impacts, apart from occasional gatherings with others to remind them of being labeled as "bad elements" and the need for reform.

I encountered him during the Cultural Revolution. In his 60s, he had the appearance of a scholar—thin and small, with a lean face, always wearing a pair of high-framed, white-bordered reading glasses. His head had sparse, slightly graying hair. His clothes were oversized, hanging loosely on his frame. He walked slowly, spoke slowly, and had no family accompanying him. It was unclear whether he had a family but lived separately or was single, as he was often seen wandering alone on the campus.

In 1965, Zhijiang Normal School in the city exchanged campuses with Zhijiang No. 2 Middle School in Wood Oil Hill. Wood Oil Hill was located at Seven Miles Bridge, the place where Japan surrendered to the Nationalist government. It was situated east of Zhijiang Airport, close to the airport, and a couple of miles east was the Seven Miles Bridge where Japan surrendered.

This was the place where Mr. Wu Yun worked as an interpreter back in the day, and he was very familiar with it. During those years, he was a hero fighting against Japan, a translator highly respected by everyone. Returning to his old stomping grounds, he found himself labeled a historical counter-revolutionary and a societal scoundrel due to his history as a translator. However, nobody mentioned the Flying Tigers, the U.S. Air Force's stay at Wood Oil Hill, or Japan's surrender at Seven Miles Bridge. The only instance was during a large assembly where a woman accused the U.S. military of harassing women during those years.

In summary, the United States was considered evil. Anything related to the Flying Tigers and their anti-Japanese efforts was no longer acknowledged.

Wood Oil Hill was the place where Mr. Wu Yun and the Flying Tigers had lived together. Here, he translated for the Sino-American air force, feeling right at home. Returning to this familiar place today, he had become a criminal, unable to comprehend why. It was akin to his lack of understanding as to why his parents had abandoned him since childhood.

When the Cultural Revolution arrived, he was labeled as an "American Spy" and a "historical counter-revolutionary" by the Red Guards, subjected to criticism, and paraded through the streets. Because he wasn't considered a capitalist roadster and was deemed too apathetic, the Red Guards found it uninteresting to target him, so after a few rounds of struggle, he was left alone. For a while, nobody paid attention to him, and he became idle. However, after a few Months, the Red Guards ordered him to cut grass and feed fish at the school pond every day.

At the top of the hill in Wood Oil Hill, adjacent to Zhijiang Airport, stood three teaching buildings and a bungalow where teachers lived. Going downhill, there were two student dormitory buildings— one for boys, one for girls— and at the base of the hill was a large flat area with a few rice paddies. On the west side of the rice paddies were the school's water facilities, bathhouse, and kitchen. On the south side, there were two parallel basketball courts. To the east of the basketball courts was a grassy area, and further beyond was the Flying Tigers' club, essentially a small auditorium. To the south of the basketball courts were three long bungalows that used to serve as the dormitories for the Flying Tigers. Two of them were converted into teacher residences, and one was turned into classrooms for an affiliated primary school. 

The school teachers' dormitories were the same buildings used by the Flying Tigers, constructed in the American style—long rectangular buildings with board walls stacked diagonally and felt tiles for the roof, similar to houses seen throughout the United States. However, instead of the common two-story buildings in the U.S., these were single-story structures. The long bungalows were divided into separate rooms, serving as living quarters without kitchens. Later, the school added additional rooms at the back, extending the roof diagonally downward, and enclosed the space underneath with wooden boards to create kitchens. These houses became the teachers' dormitories.

The former Flying Tigers and U.S. Air Force dormitory in World War II became Zhijiang Normal School teachers' dormitory in 1965 – 1969

The fish pond is located on the slope of Wood Oil Hill, situated between the hill's summit and the student dormitories. Three sides of the pond are surrounded by towering trees, with only the southeast side facing the slope being treeless, allowing sunlight to reach the pond. The pond is almost as large as two basketball courts combined. From morning to noon, sunlight shines down, casting tree shadows on the water's surface. In the afternoon, the sunlight is blocked by the large trees, creating a cool and quiet atmosphere.

The pond is stocked with three main types of fish: grass carp, carp, and catfish. Grass carp inhabit the upper water layers and prefer eating grass. Carp resides in the middle layers, displaying diverse eating habits, consuming grass as well as plankton, small snails, and insects. Catfish, on the other hand, dwell at the bottom and have a penchant for consuming animal feces, decomposed plants, and other organic matter. This mixed cultivation effectively utilizes the underwater space, serving as a good method to increase overall yield.

Every morning, the grass carp surface to breathe. The pond's water surface is filled with mouths opening and closing, creating small ripples in the water. By midday, the sun heats the water surface, causing the fish to seek cooler spots at the bottom, resulting in a calm water surface.

Grass carp grow well when provided with ample grass for feeding. In the early and late hours, cut grass is thrown into the pond. Soon, fish can be seen nibbling at the grass, sometimes with many fish grazing simultaneously. Before long, the thrown grass is consumed entirely.

Well-fed grass carp produce more waste, enriching the water with microorganisms and small insects, providing an abundant food source for carp. Simultaneously, the waste produced also serves as food for catfish. Therefore, successfully cultivating grass carp is crucial for the mixed cultivation of fish, and the key to raising healthy grass carp lies in providing them with sufficient grass.

Mr. Wu Yun, in his 60s, was frail and ailing. Having never engaged in physical labor, he was clueless about how to cut grass. Every day, he would carry a large basket, a sickle in one hand, and cut grass along the school's field edges, pond edges, and on the hillside. Grass cutting requires skill and strength. Farmers typically hold the sickle in one hand and gather the grass with the other. For instance, they would gather a bunch of grass with their left hand while simultaneously cutting and pulling at the roots with their right hand, severing dozens or even hundreds of strands at once. Afterward, the gathered grass is lifted and placed into the basket. When the basket is full, the grass is tied into bundles to be thrown further. However, Mr. Wu Yun didn't know how to cut grass in this manner; he cut each strand one by one. Due to his age and inability to squat or bend for too long, he would sit on a small stool and cut slowly. Even after a whole morning, he couldn't fill his basket, and he didn't bundle the grass properly; he just scattered it by the pond. In a matter of minutes, the fish would consume it all.

Wood Oil Hill witnessed him every day, wearing a straw hat, carrying a basket with a small stool inside, and a sickle in his hand. He moved either slowly or even slower. Fortunately, the Red Guards from the Cultural Revolution had dispersed, leaving only a few who were no longer aggressive or fierce. They mostly ignored him, allowing him to cut grass at his leisure.

Seeing that the elderly man cut grass too slowly and too little, some would occasionally help him. My father often assisted him, cutting for ten minutes, achieving more than what Mr. Wu Yun could do in a day. Given my father's rural background, he would return home during school breaks to help with various tasks, making him more adept at agricultural activities. At that time, my father, being aligned with the "Rightists," wasn't considered a bad person but wasn't seen as a good person either. However, excessive assistance wasn't feasible due to the potential political consequences.

This routine continued from 1967 to 1969.

At the end of 1969, Zhijiang Normal School, Zhijiang No. 1 School, and Zhijiang No. 2 School were merged to form Zhijiang School. The original walls between the two schools were removed, creating a large campus. The school resumed enrollment, and by the spring of 1971, my father was appointed as the principal.

This marked the first time since the Cultural Revolution began in 1966 that school enrollment was reinstated. At the same time, universities began admitting students, although the students admitted that years were a small number of workers, peasants, and soldiers. Admission to university was mostly based on political evaluations, with or without very easy exams being a formality.

After more than four years of the Cultural Revolution, most teachers had been criticized, sent back to their hometowns, or faced severe health issues. Moreover, universities were closed, resulting in a lack of graduates. As the principal, my father confronted the severe shortage of teaching staff.

After the Battle of Zhenbao Island in the Ussuri River on the border between China and Soviet Union in 1969, Sino-Soviet relations plummeted to freezing levels. In 1972, with the visit of President Richard Nixon to China, Sino-American relations began to thaw. Consequently, the school started emphasizing English instruction. Before the Cultural Revolution, Russian was the main foreign language taught, with English being an elective. Now, there was a sudden shift to prioritize English, and there were not enough teachers proficient in the language.

Faced with the dilemma of "a clever housewife unable to cook without rice," my father began considering the idea of utilizing Mr. Wu Yun. However, at that time, Mr. Wu Yun still carried the labels of "American Spy" and "historical counter-revolutionary." Could such a person be allowed to teach? No one dared to entertain such thoughts.

Undeterred by these concerns, my father decided to bring Mr. Wu Yun out to conduct training classes for English teachers. In those years, even though my father was the principal, Mr. Wu Yun hesitated, considering the potential violation of the government policies. However, my father managed to organize the training classes, bringing in young teachers, including those from rural schools, to attend Mr. Wu Yun's classes. It seemed that there was some private communication with the county education bureau, as external teachers wouldn't have been allowed otherwise. The situation likely went as follows: the education bureau pretended not to know, and in case of any issues, my father, as the school principal, would take responsibility. The education bureau, facing a severe shortage of teaching staff countywide, turned a blind eye.

Despite the tacit approval from the education bureau, my father took precautions. The training classes were held in the relatively secluded library building on the second floor. The library, located amidst a group of old wooden buildings at the center of the school, housed the school library on the first floor, which was not accessible to students. The surrounding buildings were mostly teacher dormitories, with the student bathhouse, toilets, and the auditorium nearby. The classroom building was farther away. The upper floor of the library had long been vacant, no one was allowed to go upstairs without permit, making it an ideal location for the training. Moreover, the classes were scheduled during summer vacation when the school was devoid of students, and most teachers were on holiday, ensuring a quiet environment.

Thus, Mr. Wu Yun's English training classes took place quietly, seemingly without any reports or inspections. The summer session was followed by a winter session, and the training continued the next summer. This effort contributed to cultivating a group of English teachers in Zhijiang County, alleviating the severe shortage of English teaching staff. My father expressed his gratitude to Mr. Wu Yun for his invaluable contribution to society. In turn, Mr. Wu Yun was thankful for the opportunity my father provided, allowing him to contribute despite his advanced age, earning him respect.

As Sino-American relations improved further, Zhijiang began the reconstruction of the "Surrender Memorial Arch," destroyed by the Red Guards. Since the early 1980s, annual commemorative events were held at the site where Japan surrendered during World War II. Additionally, a Flying Tigers Memorial Museum was established. The remnants of the Flying Tigers' site on Wood Oil Hill, except for a stone-built small auditorium, were dismantled in the late 1970s. The small auditorium was moved to the exhibition hall of Flying Tiger Memorial outside the Zhijiang Airport as a historical artifact.

The Chinese government spent a significant amount to invite living members of the Flying Tigers back to Zhijiang multiple times since late of 1980s to 1990s. These veterans were elderly, but they were warmly welcomed by the people of Zhijiang, just as they were during the war. Revisiting Zhijiang, they were surrounded by applause, flowers, and praise. They savored the delicious cuisine of Zhijiang and the beautiful scenery of western Hunan. Upon departure, they received numerous gifts.

Former Flying Tiger Members were welcomed back to Zhejiang in 1990s

Mr. Wu Yun, a former member of the Flying Tigers who had fought side by side with other members, passed away in the early 1980s, didn't live long enough to experience these events.

Written on October 23, 2017

 

Teacher Peng

Peng Dagui was a teacher at Zhijiang Normal School back in the day, and I don't remember what he taught. He graduated from college; two years older than my father (stepfather). He had a simple and honest appearance, quite sturdy. If he were a bit darker, you might mistake him for a farmer, not a teacher. He had two daughters and always wished for a son, a wish that wasn't fulfilled until around 1959 when his wife gave birth to a son. At around 40 years old, this was a late-arriving son, bringing him immense joy and making him visibly more spirited.

I don't remember what his son's name was, so let's use Xiaoming as a substitute.

Because we all lived on the school grounds, we always played together. Xiaoming was a year and a half younger than me, but we got along very well, and he was my best friend at the time. He was delicate, very intelligent, and mature. His intelligence and emotional intelligence far surpassed other children of his age, and I never thought of him as a little brother. He got along well with all the children, and everyone liked him. Adults also liked and praised him. This made Teacher Peng even more overjoyed, considering him a precious gem. Every day, he wore a smile, always happy to see us children, and greeted us proactively.

At that time, a group of us children always liked to play in the gym. Climbing poles, swinging on ladders, using parallel bars, riding vaulting horses, and so on. We always played until it was almost dark, and only then, after our parents called us for dinner, did we go home.

Around the end of 1964, Xiaoming suddenly contracted acute nephritis, and we never saw him again after that. With him gone, our playtime lost much of its excitement.

The doctor warned Xiaoming's family that acute nephritis required an absolute salt ban, and he couldn't eat anything with salt. His family stopped giving him any salty foods. Xiaoming hadn't tasted anything salty for a long time and really wanted to. However, the adults wouldn't allow it. It is said that one day, when his parents were not at home, he begged his older sister to give him something salty to eat. The older sister, only 8 or 9 years old, not realizing the danger, and feeling sorry for him, gave him a bit of the pickled vegetables at home. As a result, Xiaoming's condition worsened rapidly.

He was admitted to the hospital, and his life was in danger.

My father went to the hospital to see him, and I also wanted to go. But probably fearing that I couldn't handle it, my father didn't take me. When my father came back, he said that Xiaoming, upon seeing him, asked as his first question, 'Why didn't Le Wei come to see me?' I will never forget this sentence in my life, and whenever I think of Xiaoming, I feel guilty.

He soon passed away at the age of five.

It was the first time I experienced what it meant to be 'parted by life and death.' After losing Xiaoming, Teacher Peng suddenly became silent, no longer smiling, walking listlessly, and his back started to hunch.

Soon after, the Cultural Revolution began. He, along with Zhijiang Normal School, moved to Wood Oil Hill on the east side of Zhijiang Airport. Because he was not in power, he didn't face much upheaval. However, with no classes in the school, he had nothing to do. I often saw him walking alone on the embankment for a long time, swimming alone in the river. He was very good at swimming, walking alone on the small path by the river to the far upstream, floating down. Then walk up again, float down again. He rarely talked to people, and when he saw us children, he was no longer enthusiastic, rarely greeting us.

A year later, because there was no one managing the school, and all the teachers had left, he returned to his hometown in the Autonomous Prefecture. It wasn't until Deng Xiaoping returned, and the school resumed classes that he returned to Zhijiang to teach. At that time, we no longer lived on the school grounds, so we rarely met. When I was in high school, I encountered him once. I told him, 'Teacher Peng, I am Le Wei!' He looked at me, almost as tall as him, stared for a long time, and then murmured, 'You've grown so big. If my Xiaoming were still here, he should be as tall as you.'

Later, Teacher Peng retired and returned to his hometown in the Autonomous Prefecture. There was no more news about him. In recent years, I heard that he passed away many years ago in his hometown.

 

The Snake Catcher

One hot summer noon in the 1970s, I was walking home after visiting a classmate when I passed by the entrance of Zhijiang County People's Hospital. As I approached the hospital’s front gate, I saw a crowd of about ten people gathered in the shade near the stone steps by the wall. Curious, I walked over to see what was happening.  

At the center of the crowd sat a man in his thirties on a makeshift stretcher made from a bamboo recliner. His tanned face and upper body were bare except for a pair of shorts, and his lower leg was wrapped in gauze. He was talking to those around him.  

“Why don’t you give it a try? The doctors might be able to help,” someone asked.  

“The doctors don’t know as much about this as I do. They won’t have a solution,” the man replied. 

“You can’t just go back like this,” another person said.  

“If they can’t cure me, staying here will only leave my family with a debt they’ll never be able to repay,” the man responded.  

After listening for a while, I began to understand the situation.  

The man was a farmer who caught snakes in the mountains to supplement his family’s income. His father had been a snake catcher and had taught him the skill from a young age. The two often ventured into the mountains together to catch and sell snakes. 

Zhijiang, located at the edge of the Yunnan-Guizhou Plateau, is rich in subtropical forests with dense trees and lush vegetation—ideal conditions for snakes. Even in the city, it wasn’t uncommon to encounter snakes, and in the countryside, snake bites and deaths occurred regularly. Some killed snakes that entered their homes or gardens and cooked them, enjoying the meat. However, I had never heard of anyone catching snakes specifically to sell.  

At the time, life was hard. Farming alone couldn’t provide enough food, let alone money for necessities. The government purchased snakes for medicinal use or for making products like erhu strings from their skins. Snake catching became a good way to earn money, and while selling vegetables was prohibited, selling snakes was not. Few people had the skill, but the demand was high, making it a viable livelihood. 

However, snake catching was dangerous. The man’s father had died from a snake bite. Despite knowing the risks, the man continued the trade to support his family. Each year, he caught dozens of snakes, sometimes more, sometimes less, easing his family’s burden. 

Aware of the dangers, he carried antidotes his father had passed down and developed some of his own. Whenever bitten, he would immediately apply the medicine to neutralize the venom. He had been bitten before but had always survived thanks to these remedies.  

Yet, no matter how cautious, mistakes happen. A few days ago, while catching snakes, he was bitten but found he had forgotten his antidote at home after changing clothes. He tried to find herbs on the mountain, but by the time he returned home to apply the antidote, it was too late—the venom had already spread.  

Though he knew the hospital couldn’t help, his family insisted on bringing him. Understanding their concern, he agreed to come, but the doctors confirmed they had no antidote and could only perform basic tests.  

The crowd fell silent, the air heavy with the weight of his calm recounting. He spoke as if describing someone else’s story—his steady voice and composed demeanor hid the gravity of his condition.  

When asked if he had ever considered the risk, he said he had. From the moment he started catching snakes, he was mentally prepared for the possibility of being bitten and killed. He knew it was part of the job.  

Though calm, his family was distraught and desperate to save him. However, he didn’t want to pursue futile treatments that would leave them in debt.  

Some tried to console him, suggesting divine intervention or a hidden expert who might know the cure. The man smiled and said, “That’s impossible. No one knows more about snake venom than I do. Look—my body is already swollen, and my limbs are starting to shine. This means the venom has reached my bloodstream and bones. It’s too late.”  

I stood there silently, unable to say anything. The man sat quietly without bitterness or fear, his composure leaving a lasting impression on everyone present.  

He said he was waiting for his family to complete the hospital procedures before returning home. Before his family arrived, I left.  

I never saw or heard about him again, but I have never forgotten him.  

 

Written in 2017.

 

Mrs. Deng and her old sow

In the 1970s, our family had been neighbors with Master Deng’s family for several years. Master Deng was about 50 years old, of medium height, with a dark face, and worked as a master chef in the school cafeteria. Mrs. Deng is also about 50 years old and a housewife. They have five children in total. The eldest brother, the second sister have gone to work elsewhere. The third child was a girl, went to the countryside and became an educated youth (school graduate without job in city). They rarely come home. Deng Xiangyuan, the fourth child, whose nickname is Xiaomao (small hair), is two years younger than me. The fifth child, Deng Xianglian, a girl, nickname is Wu Mei (the fifth sister), who is four or five years younger than me.

In the early years, there were five children in the family, and only Master Deng worked. He had a long working experience, but because he was a worker, he was only paid more than 30 yuan per month. Things were cheap in those days, but it was still difficult to feed a family of seven with this little money. Therefore, Mrs. Deng raised pigs at home very early and made money by selling piglets to supplement the family income.

We live in a school house, and the school does not allow faculty and staff to keep any animals. But because this place is far away from the campus and Master Deng’s family is really in trouble, so the school leaders turned a blind eye to Master Deng’s pig raising.

The house we live in used to belong to Yang Yongqing, a famous person in Zhijiang. Yang Yongqing served as a soldier in his early years, and later became a division commander, leading the troops to participate in the Northern Expedition. He was ostracized because he was not a direct member of Chiang Kai-shek's army, so he returned to his hometown in anger. During the Republic of China, he served as a county councilor. He did not go to Taiwan with Chiang Kai-shek in 1949, but the new government shot him as a bandit.

Because his house is close to the school, it becomes an asset of the school. This is a big courtyard. It was originally supposed to have a very high wall, but it was later demolished. The courtyard is backed by the city wall. There is a tree at the back of the city wall that is said hundreds of years old and needs several people to embrace it. There are five widely separated branches on it, like a hand with five fingers open to hold the sky. Some people call this tree the five-finger tree. An old man said that this tree can ward off evil spirits and ward off demons. It is a magical tree. To the east of the yard is the high wall of the county jail, and to the south is a large slope. At the bottom of the slope is the school cafeteria, and further down is the school water room, and the teaching building is still further south. To the west is a large pond. The house is a quiet place well isolated from the outside world.

Life was very poor at that time, but public security was very good. The surrounding neighbors are honest and reliable, and our house has never had a door lock, and never carried key. When I got to university, I felt it strange to have to lock the door when going out for quite some time. There was a key in my pocket first time in my life. I liked jumping around and joined the school track and field team, so the key popped out at some point, I lost my key. Not only did I have to replace my key all the time, but I also lost the key I borrowed temporarily from my roommates several times. I was severely criticized by my roommates many times. It wasn't until later that I thought hard and came up with a trick: string a lot of cheap keys together with key rings. If they fall on the ground, they will make a big sound and be easy to hear and find. From then on, I never lost any keys again.

There is a building in the middle of the compound, with four bungalows on the left and right and behind. We lived with Master Deng’s family in the bungalow at the east end. We had two rooms in the east wing, and they had two rooms in the west wing. The back room was occupied by Teacher Yi and Sister Tang, who had just married at that time. There was a lobby room in the middle. It is a place where the three families chatted together.

In front of the main room is a small open space, and beyond that is a vegetable patch the size of half a basketball court. The terrain here is higher than the surrounding areas. Looking south from the steps in front of the main hall, you can see the stacked houses and trees in Zhijiang City below. In spring, when the flowers are in bloom, you can have a panoramic view of the city.

Mrs. Deng is a bit hunchbacked because she has been doing housework all year round. She always smiles when she meets people, but doesn't talk much. She had a large sow for several years when we moved there. She specifically gives birth to piglets and raises them until the full month (60 days). Mrs. Deng sells the piglets to those who want to raise meat pigs.

Mrs. Deng’s pig raising is unique. Not only does she take great care of her sow, but she also has some tricks up her sleeve. For example, under her training, the sow never pooped or peed in the pig pen. If she wanted to poop or pee, she would press the door of the pigsty with her mouth. When Mrs. Deng heard this, she took the urine bucket and ladle, opened the door of the pigsty, and let the sow walk out slowly. After the sow came out, she squatted down on her hind legs. Mrs. Deng reached down to catch the urine scoop, and then poured the urine into the urine bucket. Sow also eats outside, not in the pig pen. Therefore, the inside of the pigsty is very dry and very clean. Mrs. Deng cleans the outside of the pig pen at all times, and there is no pig feces. Although her pig pen is right next to the wall in front of our kitchen, we don't feel any peculiar smell.

In the summer, it was very hot in the pigsty, so she let the sow out, poured water on the concrete floor on the doorstep, let the sow lie down, watered the sow from time to time, and used a brush to clean the pig's body. Use a fan to cool the sow. To avoid mosquito bites, she would light two mosquito incense sticks next to the sows to drive them away. When she saw red and swollen spots on the skin of pigs with mosquito bites, she would apply red liquid (mercurochrome) on them. The sow was motionless at this time, enjoying Mrs. Deng's service to her heart's content.

She often spoke to the sow in the bimodal dialect: Come out, go over, lie down, go back! The sow seemed to understand her words and always followed her instructions obediently. Sometimes, when the sow makes a mistake, she will also scold: "You beast, why are you in such a hurry? I didn't even get it right, and you pulled it, and you pulled it on the ground!"

Although Mrs. Deng has never read a book, she knows that sows need calcium supplements when they are pregnant, otherwise the piglets will not grow well. Her method of calcium supplementation is very original. Just buy some bones, boil them in pig food, and let the sow chew them.

A poor family produces filial sons. Because of the difficulties at home, the children of the Deng family are very considerate of their parents' hard work and always appreciate Mrs. Deng's work. Mrs. Deng basically doesn’t buy feed when raising pigs. The pigweed is she and Xiaomao, and Fifth Sister goes to hunt (pick) it. There is a small private plot behind the house. In addition to growing vegetables, they also grow some pig feed such as millet. But most pig feed is pig grass collected from vegetable fields, ponds, and roadsides. After beating the pigweed, put a cutting board in a large bathtub, chop the pigweed, mix it with the purchased rice bran, sometimes add some leftover rice, cook it in a big pot and feed it to the pigs. Xiao Mao and Wu Mei often help with these things. When a sow is pregnant, she will add more grain, rice bran, wheat bran and other concentrated feed to increase nutrition.

In addition to raising pigs, Mrs. Deng will make several vinegar radish jars, put long beans, knife beans, wild rice, radish slices, and ginger slices grown on her own land, soak them for a period of time, and eat them out. They are crispy and sour, which is very good taste. Sometimes when I go to her house, she will take some from the jar and put it in a small bowl to satisfy my craving.

She also makes Twin Peaks hot sauce every summer. Buy red chili peppers and chop them into pieces, add cooked wheat and soy beans, mix them and expose them to the hot sun. She stirs them several times a day and take them back at night. She drys the hot sauce every day, I can smell the aroma of the hot sauce from afar. Leave it in the sun for more than a month, then put it in a jar to marinate, and scoop out a few spoonfuls when it's time to eat. The tangy hot sauce is the best appetizer. They often give us a bottle to try. There are also many other dishes that are processed by oneself, such as chopped peppers, dried beans, pickled eggplant, ancai (dried plum vegetables), etc.

Food was extremely scarce in those days, and meat was rarely available. These homemade side dishes have become our children’s favorite food and are my most memorable memories.

This sow is very impressive. She gives birth to two litters of piglets to Mrs. Deng every year, with each litter ranging from 10 - 12 piglets. A sow has twelve nipples and usually gives birth to up to twelve piglets. The piglets are just born, not much bigger than mice, and cannot open their eyes, but they all use their mouths to dig into the sow's belly, find the nipples, and suck greedily. Seeing a row of eleven or twelve smooth-skinned, meaty piglets clinging to the sow sucking milk, Mrs. Deng always had a kind smile on her face.

On two occasions, the sow gave birth to thirteen piglets. If left alone, the weakest piglet will eventually starve to death because it cannot compete for the nipple. Mrs. Deng personally went to battle every day, pulling a piglet that was happily sucking milk from the sow's teat, and put the weakest piglet on it to suck milk. Next time she forced the other piglets to eat less. Sometimes, she lets the piglets out to play. When feeding, put the weakest piglet back into the pen to suck milk first. When it is full, let the other piglets feed. So all of her piglets look good, with little difference in size.

Whenever the weather was nice, Mrs. Deng would let the piglets out to bask in the sun and play on the small terrace at the entrance of the main room. The piglets are clean and have beautiful pink skin. They hump everywhere and fight with each other, which is very cute. At this time, the courtyard becomes even more vibrant.

When they are one full month (60 days) old, she will ask a pigmaker to cut off the testicles of the boars and remove the ovaries of the piglets, because these pigs are sold as meat pigs. After two Months of feeding, when each piglet grows to about 18-25 pounds, people who preordered piglets come to buy piglets.

Advertising was not popular in those days, but Mrs. Deng’s piglets were well-known far and wide, so there was no need to advertise, and reservations were made early, so latecomers could not buy them. The price was one yuan per catty (the price of pork back then was seventy-four cents per catty). At that time, people who sold live pigs often overfed the pigs before selling them in order to make more money. But I have never seen Mrs. Deng do this.

20 piglets can be sold for about 400 yuan a year. Because the cost is not high, the net profit will not be less than 300 yuan. It is equivalent to one year's salary of a skilled worker back then. It is quite remarkable that an uneducated housewife can earn so much by raising pigs.

Mrs. Deng didn't talk much, except to yell at the sow. What I hear most is calling my son in rich Shuangfeng dialect: "Mao Yazi! (Little Boy) Come home for dinner." She usually just smiles when she sees me, rarely talks, and never seems to pay attention to me. When I was sixteen years old, I had grown tall. One day, I heard her say to my mother: "Your Lewei is getting better and handsome as he grows older. He is now a young man!".

Master Deng cares very much about his children and is afraid that something will happen to them. They were never allowed to swim in the river in summer. I took my brothers swimming every day, and sometimes there were other children following me, and I was like the king of children. After dinner every day, we shouted to go to the river. Xiao Mao also wanted to go, but Master Deng firmly refused. Master Deng couldn't swim and never went there himself, so Xiao Mao had no chance to swim in the river. As Xiao Mao got older, the conflict with Master Deng in this regard became more and more serious. Seeing the father and son arguing more and more, Mrs. Deng said: "I think Lewei is very reliable. Follow him, it should be fine." Master Deng thought about it for a few days and finally asked Xiao Mao to go swimming with me. The next year, Fifth Sister can also go swimming with us.

Year after year, day after day. Mrs. Deng made money by raising pigs and raised all five children. Her back is also hunched, and the sow is getting older. When I went to the countryside, she asked someone to kill the old sow, and then raised less laborious pigs for two years. After Xiao Mao and Wu Mei were admitted to technical secondary school, she stopped raising pigs.

I was admitted to college and left Zhijiang in 1978. Xiaomao was admitted to the medical school that year, and fifth sister was admitted to the kindergarten normal school the next year. Our family also moved away.

When I returned to China in 2006, I learned that Xiao Mao was no longer working in Zhijiang, that Master Deng had passed away long ago, and that Mrs. Deng was in poor health. I invited many teacher friends to dinner, and I also invited fifth sister, who was already the principal of Zhijiang Kindergarten at that time. Because there were so many people, there was no chance to talk to fifth sister.

When I returned to China in 2009, I made a special trip to the kindergarten and met fifth sister and Mrs. Deng who lived with her. Mrs. Deng is nearly ninety years old. Her face is glowing and she is in good spirits. She can walk on her own. I called her, "Hello, Mrs. Deng!" She smiled and said something to herself, as if she wasn't talking to me and didn't look at me.

Fifth sister said to her: "Lewei is here to see you. Do you remember him?". Mrs. Deng just smiled and did not answer. She raised her head and squinted at the clear sky.

The fifth sister told me that her mother has suffered from Alzheimer's disease in recent years. It is not very serious, but she can't remember the people and things in the past. Mrs. Deng doesn't look like she has dementia at all. It's obvious that Fifth Sister took good care of her mother.

Mrs. Deng, who has worked hard all her life, deserves such a blessing.

Written in 2013

P.S. Mrs. Deng passed away about a year later. 

 

School Dog Baizi (白子）

Along the banks of the Wushui River in Zhijiang County, to the west, lies a winding plain several miles wide. After about ten miles, you'll arrive at Zhu Ping Pu. From the road, amidst the flat land, a towering mountain rises, covering an area of several square miles. This is the Wild Chicken Hermitage.

In the 1970s, Zhijiang School established an agricultural farm at the Wild Chicken Hermitage as part of the education initiative aimed at engaging with factories, rural areas, military, and society. The agricultural farm was managed by two agricultural teachers. One was Mr. Wu Xianguo, around fifty years old, and the other was Ms. Li Mingru, around forty years old. They cultivated medicinal herbs, corn, buckwheat, sweet potatoes, soybeans, green beans, wheat, and more on the mountain. Students took turns going up the mountain to learn agriculture, with each class spending a week at a time. They brought their own clothes and bedding, stayed at the agricultural base, and participated in various farming activities.

Living in the city for a long time, breathing fresh air far from the hustle and bustle, and stretching their muscles and bones was a refreshing experience for the students. Parents were also pleased to see their children undergo physical labor, connect with nature, and learn agricultural skills.

After walking along the road from the county to the Wild Chicken Hermitage for about ten miles, you can see the Hermitage. Leaving the road and entering the mountainous area, the ascent begins. It takes about an hour from the foot of the mountain to the top, with the slope gradually becoming steeper. The mountain is covered with lush greenery, and when the mountain wind blows, the green waves roll, creating a magnificent sight. The mountaintop is surrounded by clouds and mist year-round, with white clouds drifting slowly from the mountainside below. Wild chickens often fly overhead, making cackling sounds, hence the name Wild Chicken Hermitage. In the summer, the air is fresh, the temperature a few degrees cooler than at the foot of the mountain, making it pleasantly cool.

As you climb the steepest slope of the Wild Chicken Hermitage and enter a gently sloping path covered by half-concealed thatched grass, you can see, from a distance of about a mile, on a slope more than two hundred meters from the mountaintop, a large area of cultivated land covered with lush crops. Below the slope are several wooden houses, with smoke curling up, marking the location of the agricultural base.

Every time students approached within two hundred meters of the agricultural base, a white dog would dash out of the house like lightning and run towards them, barking intermittently. As it approached the students, it would vigorously wag its tail, its front legs leaving the ground as it jumped towards the students' chests, as if it had just reunited with a long-lost master or friend, affectionate and kissing. The girls had never seen such a scene and often recoiled in fear. But the boys immediately fell in love with this friendly dog. This was Bai Zi, the dog that served as the guardian of the Wild Chicken Hermitage agricultural base.

Bai Zi was a dog purchased from a nearby village two or three years ago and had grown up at the agricultural base. It was a common local breed of shepherd dog, of medium size. Its pointed ears were always erect, its coat pure white without any speck of color, hence the name Bai Zi. Although born in the countryside, never having been to the city, let alone to a school in the city, Bai Zi was keenly aware that it was a member of the agricultural base and not like the dogs in the surrounding farmers' houses. For those students or teachers who had never seen it before, on their first visit, it instinctively knew they were its family and would go to greet them from afar, affectionate and warm. As for the nearby farmers who passed by the agricultural base every day, it barked and chased them every day, never treating them as neighbors. It was truly loyal and discerning, a faithful guardian dog.

Because of its friendly nature and unconditional friendliness towards students and teachers, Bai Zi was deeply loved by everyone at the agricultural base. When students saw it, they would warmly pat its head and stroke its fur. It would wag its tail and be extremely affectionate, often jumping on students and showing its joy. After finishing work and eating dinner, students would often shout, "Bai Zi, come, play with us," and Bai Zi would immediately run to them. Often seen in the twilight, students and Bai Zi chased each other in the cornfields, bamboo groves, and grasslands on the mountain, their joyful shouts and barking echoing on the mountaintop of the Wild Chicken Hermitage.

Bai Zi would also often visit the student dormitories for a visit, its greedy cat-like eyes always watching, until you couldn't help but bring out the snacks you brought from the city to feed it. At that time, there was no television, and there were no movies on the mountaintop. Even condiments like soy sauce, vinegar, salt, and matches had to be bought from the small shop downhill, a two-hour round trip. Apart from reading the books brought with them, playing with Bai Zi was the best entertainment on the mountaintop of the Wild Chicken Hermitage, and Bai Zi also enjoyed playing with these city students. Bai Zi became the best playmate for the students.

The agricultural base was manned by Li Mingru and Wu Xianguo, who had been stationed there year-round. They raised Bai Zi from a young age, so it listened most to their commands. Whether it was chasing and biting the neighboring farmers or running around with the students, as long as they called out, "Bai Zi, come back!" it would obediently return, although sometimes it would grumble as if not having enough fun.

Because some people would hunt and kill stray dogs for food, and even dogs that ran away from home were often lured and captured. Fearing Bai Zi might meet with misfortune, the two teachers never took Bai Zi into the city. Sometimes when Bai Zi followed Li Mingru back to the city, with Wu Xianguo following behind, as soon as the teacher said, "Bai Zi, go back!" although reluctant, it would obediently stop and slowly turn back. So although Bai Zi had been at the agricultural base for two or three years, it had never been to the schools in the county town.

At some point, some students who liked Bai Zi, on their way back to the city, either intentionally called Bai Zi or watched Bai Zi follow, unable to bear calling it back. Thus, Bai Zi came to the schools in the city with the students. Except for new students, all the students had learned farming and knew Bai Zi, and they all liked Bai Zi. As soon as Bai Zi arrived at the school, there would be countless students surrounding it, patting it, and calling its name. Bai Zi was like a grandmother entering the Grand View Garden, looking around excitedly. Seeing so many students who liked it, its tail wagged incessantly, licking one student's hand, smelling another student's foot, or pouncing on another student's chest

. Wherever Bai Zi went, there would be a large group of students following. And the news of "Bai Zi is here" quickly spread throughout the school, and everyone rushed to see Bai Zi. Bai Zi, who had never seen such a scene in the countryside, became even more spirited, strutting around like a leader on inspection, quite proud.

Bai Zi was surrounded by people calling out to it, making a circuit around the campus, with everyone who needed to "inspect" it doing so. Someone remembered that Bai Zi must be hungry, so they took Bai Zi to the cafeteria. The school cafeteria was operated for single male teachers, teachers from out of town, boarding students, and occasional teachers who needed to eat at school. There were about two hundred people eating, with three or four master chefs. Although the master chefs had never seen Bai Zi, they had long heard of this beloved "star" of the entire school. Not daring to be negligent, they immediately filled a bowl with pork bones, leftover meat, and leftover rice and vegetables for Bai Zi. Bai Zi was hungry too, so it indulged in a hearty meal without hesitation. Compared to the Wild Chicken Hermitage, this was almost like a feast. From then on, Bai Zi knew the way to the cafeteria, and whenever it was hungry, it would go to the cafeteria by itself. The master chefs would always give it bones to eat, sometimes even meat. This was something Bai Zi rarely got to eat at the Wild Chicken Hermitage.

The two teachers found out that Bai Zi had unexpectedly come to the school and quickly took Bai Zi back to the agricultural base. Bai Zi stayed there obediently for a while. When the next wave of students came and left, Bai Zi followed the students back to the school for a glorious return before being taken back by the teachers.

The two teachers were also busy and sometimes couldn't make it back to the school in time to bring Bai Zi back to the agricultural base. Bai Zi had seen the world and knew that there were more students who liked it in the city and there were bones in the cafeteria. The old folks said, "Dogs in the city can gnaw on bones a few more times." So "people go up, dogs go to the city." The city was Bai Zi's paradise.

Once a dog has walked a route, it remembers it. Bai Zi knew how to walk from the Wild Chicken Hermitage to the school. When there were no students around, whether out of longing for the students or the desire for the bones in the cafeteria, if the teachers weren't there, it would often run to the school by itself. Accepting the students' welcome, enjoying the delicious food. After a few days of playing, it would return to the agricultural base by itself.

The teachers and students gradually became accustomed to Bai Zi's comings and goings. After a while, when the students saw Bai Zi arrive and play with everyone, and then after a few days, when it disappeared again, everyone knew: it must have gone back to the Wild Chicken Hermitage. Bai Zi came and went along the road from the Wild Chicken Hermitage to the city, coming and going, going and coming. Sometimes with the students, sometimes alone.

The students of the agricultural base came and went, went and came. Thus, two years passed peacefully.

That summer, the students at the school realized that they hadn't seen Bai Zi for a long time. They thought Bai Zi was guarding the agricultural base at the Wild Chicken Hermitage, while the two teachers at the agricultural base thought it was at the school. Until one day, the teachers from the agricultural base came to the school and didn't see Bai Zi. Upon asking, they found out that Bai Zi hadn't been seen for a long time. And the two teachers hadn't seen Bai Zi at the agricultural base for a long time either. Now everyone felt something was wrong and began searching for Bai Zi.

A week passed, and there was no news of Bai Zi. A month passed, and there was still no news of it. Half a year passed, and some students searched all over the county town, searched through the thickets of the Wild Chicken Hermitage, and searched through the villages and towns along the road from the county town to the Wild Chicken Hermitage for more than ten miles, but still they couldn't find any trace of it. An ominous feeling hung over everyone's hearts: Bai Zi might have met with foul play.

Bai Zi disappeared without a trace. The mountaintop of the Wild Chicken Hermitage was still shrouded in white clouds, students still came and went, went and came, only there was no Bai Zi running from afar to greet them.

My Child, What Would You Do Without Your Mother?

"My child, if Mama isn't here anymore, what will become of you?"

These were words my mother whispered to me many times, holding me tightly when I was just over two years old. I could feel her sorrow and her despair, though at the time, I had no idea what was happening.

I am not sure whether I was born first, or if my biological father was labeled a "Rightist" first. In any case, they happened in quick succession. After he was dismissed from his position, he was sent to a remote mountain farm for "Rightists" to perform manual labor. In 1960, his workplace informed my mother that he had died of illness on that mountain.

Years later, I visited that farm. I met a man—a fellow "Rightist"—who had lived with my father back then. He told me the truth: my father died from a combination of a broken heart and starvation.

Before he passed, my father would occasionally return. Every time he came home, he would lift me high above his head and take me racing around the regional compound on his bicycle. But that only happened three or four times in total. I was only two years old when he died; one can only imagine the immense pressure my mother was under.

I never asked her about those years. I didn't know how to bring it up, and I was afraid of awakening her grief. It wasn't until I was eighteen that she finally told me the truth, though in reality, I had sensed it long before.

After my mother turned seventy, we were chatting one day, and she told me that back then, she truly wanted to "end it all." But because she couldn't bear to leave me, and thanks to the guidance of my grandmother, she chose not to take that final, desperate path.

As she spoke those words, the memory of what she used to say immediately echoed in my mind: "My child, if Mama isn't here anymore, what will become of you?"

The son of a "Rightist," having already lost his father—without the protection of a mother, what would my fate have been?

With her fragile strength, my mother carved out a tiny sanctuary for me within a treacherous environment, allowing me to grow, bit by bit, within the narrowest of spaces.

Written on Mother’s Day, May 9, 2026

By Lewei Shang