5 HALF A YEAR OF QUIET

As is well-known, there is "A Three-li Trail of Cheerfulness" on Mount Tai.[1] It means a three-li easy ascent after a long strenuous climb to the top of the mountain, which demands little effort and is rather enjoyable, providing the mountaineer with a recess. So it is dubbed "A Three-li Tail of Cheerfulness."

The Cultural Revolution is unmistakably a hard mountain hike, immensely harder than the climbing to the Nantianmen on Mount Tai.[2] Consequently I became a climber too in this Revolution. But there was a period of more than half a year, from somewhere in the second half of 1966 to the end of the first half of 1967, when I found the road, on which I trekked, little taxing, if not completely smooth. Though the university, along with the country, was being wrecked by a crushing hurricane, a clear sky hung over my head. After the first stormy spell, I settled in an interlude of recess. I was delighted and sauntered along my three-li trail of cheerfulness.

In the past, I only knew some philosophers were interested in researching a human being's position in the cosmos and a related issue is the individual human being's position in society. But I had never thought about my own social position. Since the founding of new China, great changes had taken place, as political movements broke out one after another. In each of these movements, everyone had to face the challenge of locating his or her position accordingly. Roughly speaking there were two categories of people: those who persecuted others and those who were persecuted. Certainly a further classification would be very complicated, and one's position was not invariant. The proceeding of each political movement redefined and reshaped the rank and file. The persecutor could become the persecuted, and vice versa. One was persecuted in this movement and would become a persecutor of others in the next. The variation of the individual's social status was infinite. Like Prime Minister Zhuge Liang's Eight Trigrams Tactics, it dazzled and baffled me.

In the Cultural Revolution, I was surely worried about the assessment of me. The issue of "cap" as I talked about previously was primarily a concern of assessment. But it hung long in the air; the suspension had made me fret and unable to eat and sleep well. Later I gradually learned I was not considered as the enemy and felt at ease. I was still one of the "people," which was of life and death to me. Thus, I assumed my early buoyant deportment. It should be noted that at that time a huge valley lay between the people-enemy contradiction and the contradiction among the people and between the people and the so-called counter-revolutionaries. If a person was placed on the side of the people, things would not get out of control, and his reckless action, or a slip of the tongue, would be considered as committed due to carelessness, nothing serious. However, to be classified as the enemy on the other side of the valley, one would have endless trouble, no matter what caution one took, tucking one's tail between the legs and trying never to talk and act in a wholly irresponsible way. Once in a while when one stumbled in talking and acting, for example, uttering a wrong word like "socialism" in the place of "capitalism" or vice versa, then this behavior would be definitely classified as being counter-revolutionary, and the transgressor would be labeled an active counter-revolutionary and have to go through sessions of denouncement and torture.[3]

Who had the power over categorizing people between the enemy and the people? I had no idea. I was simple-minded; I pondered a hundred times and still remained perplexed. Though I was on this side of the valley for the moment, I felt like walking on a tight cable and a single slip would send me plummeting down into the other side of the valley. That would be a landing in the hell condemned to eternal suffering.

I had been the department head until now. Was I relieved of the post or was I removed from it? Nobody knew. Nevertheless it was unnecessary to clear it up. "Making revolution is nothing wrong, and making havoc is absolutely correct," which was the grounds for all action of the day.[4] As for what was making revolution and what was making havoc, no one cared. Even the state leader, the president of the country, was pulled out for criticism and torture. A department head like me was even more a trash like a sesame seed or a mung bean. What gave me moments of relief was the fact that I was pardoned with the withholding of the "cap" from being placed on my head, though that black gauze cap of mine, almost worthless to me, was taken away.[5]

By this time a PLA team of Mao Zedong Thought Propaganda (MTP) had been dispatched to our university for assisting the revolutionary faction, and each department had a few soldiers and military officers stationed.[6] Accordingly "the havoc-making people" of our department also had a leading body formed.[7] How did those become "the havoc-making people"? In terms of the situation of the Department of Eastern Languages, things generally evolved in the following pattern: some of the faculty members and students assumed they had a revolutionary family background so that they were dependable in implementing the "class line" rigorously.[8] Then they formed the "havoc-making people," starting to wear an armband made of red cloth, a sign of making revolution. The so-called revolutionary family background included the origins of poor-and-lower-middle peasants, family members of revolutionary martyrs, government officials and mill workers. These people issued from the qualifying stock with the revolutionary makings and, unquestionably and irreparably, became leaders in the Revolution. Another part of these people was made up of those who opposed Lu Ping during the SEM. They showed a good understanding of the Revolution and were entitled to leading the Revolution now. I remember only the first group of them qualified for wearing the red armband. With the red armband pinned on their left arm, they radiated red, face glowing with health, and stalked along in an imposing manner, breast thrown ahead and eying high, as if they were the conquering hero of the world. I had no idea why the second group of them were denied the privilege of wearing the red armband. This was the business of the revolutionaries, restrained from me, so I did not bother to think about it. What surprised me was that no one seemed to pass off himself as a revolutionary like Ah Q does, with a badge pinned on his cloth.[9] Obviously it indicated what high revolutionary consciousness these revolutionaries had. It is only the destiny of the sons and daughters of ranking revolutionary officials that was enigmatic. Their armbands were made of silk as opposed to the cloth-made ones that the rest wore. But their future was rather unfathomable. Today they stood head and shoulders above others and swaggered around because their parents, brothers and sisters were in power. The following day when their family members fell from power, a common occurrence like that happening everyday at that time, their sons and daughters immediately became "the whelp of counter-revolutionary beasts" and had to marginalize themselves in humiliation.

The so-called opposition to Lu Ping traces back to the Socialist Education Movement, in which most of the University's faculty, staff members and students, influenced by the "leftist" ideology, viewed Lu Ping, the secretary of the Party Committee and president of the university, as an official carrying out a capitalist restoration line, which was a revisionist line. So they rose in disclosing his misconduct, turning the campus into chaos, foul and rotten. Because I was as dull as dishwater in political understanding, the "leftist" ideology hit me right away and I went into the movement with all my heart. The more was disclosed, the more I was shocked, thinking Beida had gone to the dogs. I did these dumb things wholly out of my delusion of defending the so-called revolutionary line. I was naive but sincere, absolutely without any personal concerns and ends. In fact, I maintained a good personal relationship with Lu Ping, to whom I was indebted and against whom I held no grudges. Haunted by some heretic ideas, I was bent on criticizing him, ignoring my debt to him, for the goals of socialism. That is the genuine thought of mine at that time. Later Lu Ping's case was redressed at the Symposium at the  International Hotel held by the Party's central committee in a call for a unity of the whole university. Those who had criticized him were not hurt at all. I examined my doings, admitted the mistakes I committed and made self-criticism. Before long I went to Nankou in the participation in the Socialist Education Movement in the late fall of 1965.

When the Cultural Revolution started, as I mentioned previously, I rode out its initial waves, the stage of condemning counter-revolutionary capitalist scholars. These events were followed by the entering of the PLA team of MTP into the university and the reshaping of the leading body of the Department of Eastern Languages. As one former Lu Ping opponent, I should have fallen into the category of "revolutionary ranking officials." But word had it that I eventually surrendered to Lu Ping, which showed my frail revolutionary conviction, so I should be removed from the revolutionary rank. In contrast, those people, who stood in their ground, believing they had never been wrong for denouncing Lu Ping at the Symposium at the International Hotel, turned out to be heroes. Some of them were promoted to leaders of the Revolutionary Committee of the Department of Eastern Languages and some even to leaders of the Revolutionary Committee of the university.[10] I had no objection to their promotion. I was concerned with my own fate. One of the young revolutionaries, who was on good terms with me, secretly told me that he saw my name listed under the category of "the critical group" on the PLA team's confidential document. What is "the critical group"? It means I was placed on the side of the people along the line of contradiction between the enemy and the people. A push further would send me down to the side of enemy. At this news, I was at once astonished and overjoyed. I was astonished that I still held my footing at the edge of the precipice. I was overjoyed as if I were on the safe side of the Yin-Yang demarcation on Mount Tai and one step inched further would plunge me down into the bottomless Black Dragon Pond.

In the meantime, the "nationwide revolutionary notes-comparing trip" erupted.[11] The free train travel provided the opportunity for people of various kinds to make extensive trips across the land in the name of "making revolution." Train stations nationwide were dramatically jam-packed with young travelers on their way to desired destinations, and some people, more aggressive and rough than others, crawled into carriages through windows. Someone from the top authority said in incitation that it was revolution and exactly the torch lighting. As a result, the country was tossed into hurly-burly. Again someone called it "the right way to disorient the enemy." What sheer nonsense! A shocking baloney! In reality the revolutionary camp itself was first ripped in chaos. The enemy would have relaxed and enjoyed itself if there had been such enemy. But, politically muddle-headed, I never questioned the absurd occurrences then.

The Cultural Revolution started in Peking University. By now the campus had become the holy place of the Revolution, into which each day hordes of visitors, many times the number at the beginning of the huge havoc, flooded in pilgrimage, people coming from every corner of the country on the "nationwide revolutionary notes-comparing trip." They were said to be invited here by someone as guests, to be accommodated not just for their sightseeing but also for their room and board. How could Beida dare to give the slightest cold shoulder to them! All departments set about warm welcomes and shared responsibilities for receiving those "guests" who quickly brimmed a dormitory building. As a man in the "critical group," I was anxious to show my gratitude and faithfulness. I worked hard day and night, taking my share of duty; the "guests" needed quilts so I, with a few others from our department, took quilts from home and brought them to the "guests"; we pushed the water cart and brought hot water to the "guests" every day; after learning they needed washbowls, I paid from my own pocket to purchase twenty washbowls; seeing them using the brand-new washbowls, I was complacent.

But I had been smug with no reason and gone too far, as testified by the old saying that a lifetime is eighty to ninety percent full of misfortune. The young revolutionaries and, of course, some middle-aged revolutionaries, did not appreciate my dedication. Used for only a few days, the new quilts took on a completely new look, with the torn-out exterior layer of fabric revealing the interior cotton. Turning around to look at the washbowls that had been used by them for only a few days, I was even more frustrated; their worn-out appearance, with dents and scars, was unmistakably a heartbreaking sight. Originally I was sincere and treated these "guests" with awe and respect. The "guests," however, behaved this way in return. It seemed as if I were hit by a sledge-hammer on the head, as a mix of feelings, sour, sweet, bitter and spicy, all sprang up in me, hard to be described.

A period of time later, the country would be swerving to a terrible crisis, if no steps were taken to stop the continued damaging inflow of visitors into Beijing and renew production in some plants, where production ceased and workers went on pleasure tours. Some unknown leading institution made a decision that the fun-seeking visitors to Beijing should be persuaded to leave for home to "make revolution and increase production." Beida's PLA team of MTP assumed this mission. Our department took the responsibility, too, and sent people to the temporary quarters that housed most visitors and talked them into leaving Beijing. Led by the PLA team of MTP, we first went to Xiyi Hotel to talk to those visitors. Why would those pleasure-seeking people listen to us? Hence talking was followed by argument and, sometimes, even heated debate. I grew thirsty, as my voice ran hoarse, and had to swallow humiliation. Finally, our effort paid off, when they gradually started to leave for home.

Then we moved from Xiyi Hotel to the National Bureau of Meteorology, where another round of talk, argument and debate ensued exactly as in Xiyi Hotel. But the experience here broadened my vision. First the big-character posters put out over here excelled in quality. Contrary to the thousands of uniform and vapid big-character posters I had seen previously, the big-character posters and slogans here at the National Bureau of Meteorology emerged with accurate, clear-cut and graphic presentation. Admittedly, some of them were still in the general formality. But some did have the eye popping, stunning expressions, such as "chop so-and-so to pieces" and "deep-fry so-and-so." What a vivid expression the word "deep-fry" is! It gave one an enduring memory. Were these expressions learned from the infernal world as I mentioned at the beginning of this memoir? The most unforgettable was a session of mass torture I attended against a capitalist roader. A car slowly pulled up and, as the door swung open, a neatly suit-clad (or costly woolen tunic clothed) capitalist roader stepped down from the car, probably an official of a government bureau.[12] He carefully picked up, from the back seat of the car, a paper-made bizarrely shaped hat, painted with colors and hung with some trinkets, and set it on his head. One of the little things was a small turtle, particularly eye-catching and dangling as the man walked along. When he walked into the room, thundering chants of slogans shot up immediately and echoed through the building. Then speeches of criticism were delivered one after another. When the procedure was over, the capitalist roader was sent out of the room. He stopped before the door of the car and took off the precious headgear; I saw the small turtle still dangling there; and then he carefully put it on the back seat of the car, probably for the sake of using it next time. He smiled all the time. I was totally bewildered. Where did the smile come from? Think about it that he could smile after all the humiliation of "chopping him to pieces" and "deep-frying him." His smile was more puzzling than that of the well-known painting Mona Lisa. Anyway the experience uplifted my knowledge to a higher level.

After the mission at the National Bureau of Meteorology was finished, we continued with our work, but, this time, trekked to an institute way from Beida. It was now the winter of 1966. Each day I set off from the university by bike and rode more than one hour before arriving at the destination. Occasionally in the freezing snowy weather when the road was slippery, it would take two hours to get there. We stayed there for lunch but there was no room provided to us. So a shed was set up in the yard as our lunch room. The shed let in winds. How could it shield us from cold air? The food was not warm and turned icy when it was ladled into the bowl. An instant of procrastination in devouring and speedily dumping it into the stomach would turn it into frozen chunks. I imagined Su Wu probably ate this kind of icy food when tending his sheep near the North Sea.[13] Was it hard life? It is not sincere to deny the fact. But I was in high spirits and joyful. During the first wave of the Revolution, I narrowly missed being labeled a capitalist roader. Now I was particularly blessed to blend in with the people and make revolution. I should have no complaint.

Some weeks passed this way before the national travel frenzy to Beijing died down and "revolutionaries" gradually took off for home. We successfully completed the mission of persuasion and returned on campus.

In the days that followed, there were some events that delighted me and repeatedly came back to my memory. The first thing was the election of the deputies to the National People's Congress (NPC) of the Haidian district, Beijing. In China, the National People's Congress is composed of three levels of administration. The lowest level is the general meeting of deputies to the NPC from the county or district, who are elected by voters in the local area. Next, they elect deputies to the NPC at the level of the province and municipality. Finally, the National People's Congress, the top level of the legislature, is formed by election of these deputies. The election at the level of county and district is primary but competitive, as voters freely cast their ballots in favor of their own choice, reflecting true democracy. Before the Cultural Revolution I was elected a member of the Chinese People's Political Consultative Conference for a few terms and people's representative of Beijing for one term. Besides, I took part in the election of people's representatives of the Haidian district, Beijing, a couple of times. Now it came as a complete surprise that casting one's ballot was a hard earned right! This election took place after the initial thunderstorm of the Cultural Revolution, in which many former representatives were unable to participate, because they were labeled capitalist roaders and thrown out of the ranks of the "people." Fortunately, I was allowed to stay among the people so I maintained my right to vote. Seeing my name on the list of representatives thrilled me as if the glittering three characters of my name were about to jump off the red paper. The joy, I guessed, would eclipse the excitement of the candidate in ancient times of Chinese history, who successfully passed the imperial examination and saw his name on top of the list of the announcement. At the moment, I had the feeling that some personal possessions, earlier taken for granted, were actually hard earned. On the voting day, I dressed up and stood among the "people," the ballot clutched in my hand, feeling like it weighed one thousand kilograms. My bliss went beyond description. I did not become, I understood, one of those Indian untouchables, and no one was afraid of my stepping on his shadow.[14] The ripple of excitement ran through me for days on end.

Another occurrence, also delightful, was stone carved in my memory. In a wheat harvesting summer, the "revolutionary" faculty members and students were sent to help reap the crops, under the leadership of the PLA team of MTP, in a village close to Nanyuan in the suburbs of Beijing. It was, I remember, a year of abundant rainfall, and it rained daily during our stay of more than ten days there. The shower hit and then stopped in a blink of an eye, leaving damages behind. During the day, we carried home bundles of wheat on our backs from the fields and spread them over the threshing ground to dry before threshing. When a shower struck, we were flurried, spreading sheets of oilcloth over the wheat. Right after the shower ceased and the sun came through, we pulled off the sheets. Sometimes we had to do this a few times a day. What bothered us more was the rain at night when we had to leap from sleep and rush to the threshing ground to cover the wheat with sheets of oilcloth. We were dripping with sweat and rain. However, no villager showed up throughout the rescue. At that time, the peasants enjoyed eating from the "Iron Rice Bowl" in the People's Commune, which was supposed to bring them to paradise, instead of pushing ahead on farming.[15] As a "Stinking Number Nine" that was supposed to be educated by poor and lower middle peasants, I was just unable to make any sense out of it.[16] In what sense did people like them qualify for educating us? Their conduct was completely contradictory to the portrayal of peasants' admirable moral character, presented in some popular full-length novels of the day. I began to see through those writers' opportunistic and sinister nature. From then on I stopped reading any novel of this kind.

Passing myself off as "people," I was highly motivated. Each day, I carried on my shoulder bundles of wheat in the wheat field. "General Han Xin commands troops as many as he can in war."[17] So I would carry as much as I could and never let young men beat me in work. Back in the university after the labor, I was commended in the department. I was proud of myself. Life at Nanyuan was, frankly speaking, rather rough. The daily work wore me down. A big warehouse was our lodging at night, which was jammed with the makeshift beds on the floor, providing each sleeper with only room for lying down. In the countryside, mosquitoes were rampant. I was the only one who did not bring the mosquito net and mosquito repellent lotion with me. When the time came for bed at night, others rolled into the net, protecting themselves from mosquito bites. But I offered myself for stings. So the blood-suckers swarmed around me, humming around annoyingly. I became the dutiful son, in the traditional folktale, who draws the mosquitoes to himself to free his parents of the bites. The following morning, I woke up with the mosquito bites all over my body. But I swallowed my discomfort. On the other hand, life there was not monotonous, as we were often gladdened by occasional amusing episodes. One day, for example, a hare suddenly sprang into our sight, when we were carrying the wheat-bundles. Immediately setting down the bundles, we started to chase the hare. It leaped and scampered but we were many, trying to close in. Finally, the hare was caught, one leg broken. In addition, some one liked eating snakes. One day we caught one. Immediately we brought the snake back to the village, found a place, barbecued it, quickly chowed it down, lock, stock and barrel, right on the spot. Didn't these trivial episodes light up those days of monotony and give us some joys?

Half a year of my life flew away in ease and comfort.

[1] Mount Tai, one of the five famous mountains in China, which is located in Shandong, north China.

[2] The Nantianmen, the South Celestial Entrance, a pass and gateway of Mount Tai.

[3] "Active counter-revolutionary," a term used to refer to those who commit counter-revolutionary crimes at recent times, particularly after the founding of new China. The term is usually used to distinguish from the "counter-revolutionary in history," who committed counter-revolutionary crimes before the founding of new China.

[4] "Making revolution is nothing wrong, and making havoc is absolutely correct," a quotation from Mao Zedong's writing.

[5] The black gauze cap, a cap worn by the government official in ancient China and a figurative usage for government position in new China.

[6] The PLA team of Mao Zedong Thought Propaganda (MTP), groups of the Liberation Army soldiers sent to the colleges by the Central Committee of the CPC, the State Council, the Central Military Commission and the Central Leading Board of the Cultural Revolution issued on January 23, 1967, to give total support to the "left" factions of revolutionary people during the Cultural Revolution.

[7]"The havoc-making people," a popular term used positively during the Cultural Revolution, refer to those revolutionaries actively engaged in attacking the targets of the Revolution but later became a despising term for those who were ambitious for power and committed atrocities in the Revolution.

[8]The "class line," a "left" fundamentalist policy, used in political movements, employment, particularly in the Cultural Revolution, which emphasizes one's family background, or specially the revolutionary family background, as a primary consideration for employment, college admission, the Party and Communist Youth League membership, etc.

[9] Ah Q, the protagonist in Lu Xun's novel A Biograph of Ah Q, who is inspired by lofty and impractical ideas and never admits defeat.

[10] The Revolutionary Committee, Ji refers to the board of administration of Beida that replaced the original administration during the early stage of the Cultural Revolution; the first Revolutionary Committee was Shanghai Municipal Revolutionary Committee established on February 23, 1967.

[11] The "nationwide revolutionary notes-comparing trip," a large-scale student activity, in which college and middle school students from all parts of the country, from September to the middle of November of 1966, took trips to destinations of their own choice by train or bus free of charge and were provided with the accommodations at discount or free of charge. During this period, 11 million of Red Guards and revolutionary students came to Beijing and received the review of Mao Zedong in eight separate times in Tian'anmen Square.

[12] An official of a government bureau, an administrative government position right below the minister or provincial governor.

[13] Su Wu (140–60 B.C.), a messenger sent by Emperor Wudi of the Han Dynasty (206 B.C.–A.D. 220)in 100 B.C. to the country of the Huns north of China, but arrested and exiled by the Huns for nineteen years.

[14] Indian untouchables, meaning the Shudras in the Indian caste.

[15]The "Iron Rice Bowl" and the People's Commune, a form of the planned system, carried out in the years of 1958 and 1959, in which Chinese peasants worked in the collective fields and had free meals in the dining hall of the People's Commune, eventually causing catastrophe to the agricultural production.

[16] "Stinking Number Nine," a contemptuous term used to refer to intellectuals during the Cultural Revolution, who were ranked at the bottom of the nine most despised categories of people—landlords, rich peasants, counter-revolutionaries, bad elements, Rightists, traitors, spies, capitalist roaders, and intellectuals.

[17] Han Xin (c. 231–196 B.C.), a general in the Han Dynasty, during the reign of Liu Bang (256-195 B.C.). Once he talks with Liu Bang about the number of troops a general can command, saying, "In terms of my commanding of troops, the more, the better."