Da Jilu/en/Band 3

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The Great Report — Volume 3

All this seemed unrelated to the Yellow River, but in fact it was closely connected. With forests and vegetation intact, soil and water do not wash away, and sediment cannot drift restlessly downstream. At the same time, the Yellow River—like a vital bloodstream in this region's ecological network—continuously supplied clear, nourishing water. The grasslands did not thirst, and neither did the birds or the beasts.

Thus the Yellow River wrote a magnificent epic: sometimes peaceful, sometimes stirred, sometimes resting in quiet lakes, sometimes rushing through high gorges and dangerous valleys.

Its water shared the color of the surrounding trees and grasses, its calm stretches were like the embrace of the Yellow River Mother, its surging force was a high song—one it had to sing whenever it met obstacles and conflict—praising nature's strength and stirring courage in the weak. No sediment. No disasters.

The Yellow River and the Loess Plateau were inseparable—not only because, for thousands of years, yellow sand had rolled into the river, but because more than 4,000 years ago this entire region was covered in continuous primeval forests with abundant water sources and rich soil. Together, they nurtured the history of the Chinese nation and produced the world-renowned Yellow River civilization. According to ancient records, during the Zhou Dynasty the Loess Plateau held about 480 million mu of forest—roughly 32 million hectares—and forest coverage across the Yellow River basin reached 53 percent.

Such a majestic landscape—forests and rivers intertwined—became unimaginable to later generations. People could only marvel that humanity, with such primitive tools and backward productivity, had possessed the power to destroy so much: cutting tree after tree, using axe after axe. A brief period of farming prosperity was followed by centuries of desolation, drought, and disaster. Even today, with productivity and science advanced enough to astonish the moon, people still cannot “make the Yellow River run clear.” These words survive only as lofty slogans in textbooks and propaganda manuals.

For most of China's long slave and feudal eras, agriculture was the core of the economy and the foundation of daily life. Farmers produced simply to have enough to eat. Centuries of poverty and hardship gradually wore down many of the virtues once treasured by the Chinese people, such as those teaching them to accept mere survival and temporary peace. At the same time, farmers had no choice but to clear forests and grasslands to create farmland—securing the most basic necessities in the simplest way, while leaving behind extraordinarily complex and enormous problems for future generations.

Take the historically recorded “two Han prosperities” as an example. In the late Western Han, 8 million qing of land were reclaimed for farming; in the Eastern Han, another 7 million qing. By then, the forests of the Yellow River basin had been completely felled. Trees and grasslands were burned to ash. Nearly all the land in the basin had been reclaimed. The crops grew, the fields spread endlessly, and farmers' taxes supported the prosperity of both Han dynasties. But the same prosperity also marked the beginning of the Yellow River basin's decline and disaster. Today, across these 430,000 square kilometers, there are thousands of gullies and ravines, severe soil and water loss, and everywhere the eye falls—barren hills, exposed ridges, vast wastelands.

This was not the Yellow River of yesterday.

Yellow River, you cannot explain this, nor can you wash it clean—so you turned yellow, becoming the river with the highest sediment load in the world. During the flood season, sediment made up 50 percent of your flow—turning the Yellow River into a pot of mud. With the river's annual 1.6 billion tons of downstream sediment, you could build a one-meter-high, one-meter-wide embankment around the Earth thirty-two times. Each year, the Yellow River carried away 40 million tons of nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium—equal to every mu of farmland in the nation losing 25 kilograms of fertilizer (about 375 kilograms per hectare). An American friend once told me that the Yellow River does not carry sediment away—it carries away the blood of the Chinese nation. Not a ruptured capillary, but the bleeding of a main artery.

We were citizens of this hemorrhaging nation. Our spirits were depleted, our complexions sallow. At times we suffered neurasthenia; at times our hands and feet went numb. Our eyes betrayed us—nearsightedness, farsightedness, astigmatism. Suspicious, jealous, narrow in our affections—yet even so, we gave blood willingly.

From the Southern and Northern Dynasties to the Tang, people gradually turned their gaze toward the Yangtze River basin—fortunate, perhaps, that heaven had granted us two great rivers. But the Yangtze, too, began to suffer severe soil erosion and water loss. Warnings that it might become a second Yellow River had been sounded for years. Even then, forests in the upper Yangtze were still being cut.

Do we have a third great river?

In the new era, a book on environmental catastrophe became widely read—perhaps not “as costly as paper in Luoyang,” but eagerly sought by people along both sides of the Hongru River in the Zhumadian region. The great Henan flood of 1976 first entered the public consciousness through the work of a reporter who later became a writer.

The flood struck with terrifying force. In the basins of the Hongru, Shaying, and Tangbai—tributaries of the Yellow River—three days of unbroken torrential rain fell, 800 to 1,000 millimeters in all. The Banqiao and Shimantan reservoir dams could no longer hold and finally collapsed. The suffering that followed has already been recorded in that book; this text will not recount it again.

I searched through the past with one question in mind: were the breaches at Banqiao and Shimantan truly unavoidable? If those two reservoirs had held firm, countless people could have been spared the tragedy. Later investigations proved that the upstream and surrounding areas of both dams had endured years of forest destruction and severe vegetation damage; forest cover had dropped to just 20 percent. Under the same torrential rains, the Baoshan and Dongfeng reservoirs remained safe, protected by forests with 90 percent coverage—saving countless lives and immense wealth.

Sudden disasters always catch people unprepared, yet the reservoirs that failed had been showing warnings for years. Reports urging a halt to deforestation were issued repeatedly, but nothing changed; efforts were either ineffective or entirely futile. Our people of the Central Plains had even cut down the small forests that had struggled to grow in the Yellow River floodplain—how, then, could the thick stands of trees around reservoir areas have been spared?

The waters of the Banqiao and Shimantan reservoirs were often turbid. Even after ordinary light or moderate rain, sediment flowed in together with the runoff. Each year, silt accumulated by 30 to 40 centimeters, steadily reducing reservoir capacity. Faced with torrential downpours, how could these reservoirs not collapse?

By contrast, the Baoshan and Dongfeng reservoirs normally held clear water among green forests. Their annual sediment buildup was just 1.3 centimeters. During heavy rains, the large surrounding trees absorbed up to a ton of water each day, preventing sediment loss and, in doing so, protecting the reservoirs themselves.

Are these not the renewed revelations of the flood?

Everything was so simple. Since ancient times, we once had forests—then we cut them down. We once suffered the bitterness of floods—yet still we did not cherish the trees. Our ancestors left us disaster; we hand down multiplied disaster to our descendants. Save the forests. Save the generations to come.

Humanity suffers many calamities; the forests suffer just as many. The forests that protect us often endure the very disasters we force upon them. The deeper mystery of nature is this: over time, humanity realizes that many punishments are self-inflicted.

The great fire in the Greater Khingan Range was sparked by a few illegal operators. But its seeds were planted long before by negligent bureaucrats. In those green forests of brilliant sunlight and fresh air, at least one corner remained dark. When the flames finally swallowed Mohe, they still could not swallow the county magistrate's residence. As the fire raged through the trees, a fire chief actually ordered fire trucks not to put out the blaze or rescue the people, but to protect the magistrate and his home. To make the protection more “effective,” bulldozers pushed down the homes surrounding the magistrate's residence. There could be no more vivid or concrete example than this!

At its root, the forest crisis was not caused by rampant logging alone. The common wealth of humanity was no longer regarded as the common property of humanity. Those who governed the forests did not understand humanity's place in nature; they did not see forests as our mothers or our companions, but merely as resources to be cut. Bureaucrats entrusted with authority over the forests, armed with bureaucratic privileges, became emperors of the woods—forest rulers, forest owners. Their priorities were not the interests of the forests, but the interests of officials.

In the nationalized forests, officials freely used state authority and modern equipment for personal gain. It became as routine as offering wine in a wine-producing region—only here, timber was the preferred currency of corruption. And where timber held the highest value, the shadows were darkest.

We could calculate the losses from the Great Khingan fire, but we could never calculate how much precious timber from the Great Khingan Range had, over the course of more than a decade, filled the private pockets of so many. That was destruction in its most devastating form—where the wicked prospered, the good were punished, and both people and forests were left in despair.

On September 30, 1987, People's Daily reported: “Since the State Council's strict handling of the catastrophic Great Khingan fire, the Heilongjiang Provincial Party Committee and Provincial Government have uncovered widespread problems of bureaucratism and organizational indiscipline in provincial departments.”

Among the fifteen disciplined cadres were those who had spent 11,000 yuan of public funds renovating their own homes, along with the tax bureau's chief and deputy chief, division heads, and section heads who accepted “gifts” from taxpayers—bribes in everything but name. After reading this report, I felt only melancholy. What did any of this have to do with the State Council's handling of the Great Khingan fire? Did these officials really have to wait until the Great Khingan Range lay scorched and ruined before anyone stepped in? And where were the Heilongjiang officials who should have borne responsibility for the great fire? Which bureau? Which office? Which department? Heilongjiang once produced nearly half of the nation's timber, yet its forest area had recently been shrinking at a net annual rate of 1.7 percent. What were the causes? Where do the problems lie?

Heilongjiang's forests had long been a “forbidden zone,” sealed off by those in power. In such a place, national granaries could be looted, and public property could slip easily into private pockets, with no distinction between right and wrong. As early as the autumn of 1983, signs of a coming catastrophe in the Great Khingan Range were already there. Yet reporters were not allowed in, and writers were not allowed to write.

There was also another report: in the northern city of Harbin, cases of cysticercosis and hookworm had been climbing every year since 1983—from 60 cases to 150 in 1984, then 200 in 1985. These food-borne diseases had appeared suddenly, yet patients could not explain when, where, or how the pathogens entered their bodies.

The truth eventually emerged: a single handwritten note from a deputy Party secretary in Dehui County had violated national law and authorized the release of 450,000 jin of diseased pork—about 225,000 kilograms. Harbin's food-processing factories turned this pork into canned goods and meat products for the market—poison sold under state labels.

I still could not understand: what kind of pathogen was this? How could it so easily harm the elderly and children?

Then came the Harbin Flax Factory explosion.

Then the capsizing of a Songhua River ferry.

Then the bombing of the Songhua River railway bridge.

One harsh warning after another—Sun Island was no longer the gentle retreat it had once been. People still loved Sun Island, but now they feared the diseased pork even more. The illness could kill instantly through convulsions, or leave people demented—breathing, yet “living dead.” It could even blind them, their eyes wide open yet seeing nothing.

The living dead: blind with open eyes, able to eat and excrete, yet feeling nothing, seeing nothing. Forest fires, explosions, capsized ships—none of it touched them anymore. Soundless, silent—was this not an even deeper sorrow? And was this merely a physical sickness caused by contaminated meat?

In May 1987, the forest fire in China's Great Khingan Range delivered a vast, unmistakable warning to the Chinese people. And yet fire has always been humankind's companion, giving us warmth and cooked food.

One-point-seven million years ago, our ancestors first encountered fire in the forests—lightning that set trees ablaze. When they discovered that fire could turn raw flesh into cooked food, human civilization made a tremendous leap forward. Under the glow of firelight, new pages of history opened. In a sense, the wheels of civilization were pushed forward by fire.

But with fire came its shadows: playing with fire, losing fire, arson, forest fires, the fires of war. And modern warfare's flames have inflicted immeasurable destruction on human beings and on the environments that sustain us.

From 1961 to 1970, the United States carried out 20,000 spray missions over one-seventh of South Vietnam's territory, releasing 72 million kilograms of defoliants and destroying 1,400 square kilometers of mangrove forests. Half the hardwood forests north and west of Saigon died. Countless insects, amphibians, and reptiles were poisoned. Rates of stillbirths and birth defects among pregnant women in the region rose sharply. In 1971, after the spraying finally stopped, large bulldozer teams cleared the remaining vegetation, leaving 4.5 million mu—about 300,000 hectares—of exposed land. Over the course of the war, the forests eliminated across Vietnam reached 18 million mu, roughly 1.2 million hectares.

How could we not curse war? And yet humanity cannot seem to part from it. When the evening news contains no reports of fighting, people are almost startled—why is there no war today? Flames of conflict everywhere: mountains, fields, forests, gulfs, skies… Humanity is using every possible means to create tragedy, to create deserts. We are not only digging graves for ourselves—we are, with chilling inhumanity, burying our own descendants.

The revelations that emerge after war can be no less profound than war itself. The Korean War in the early 1950s shook the world. Today people focus on the peace proposals of North and South Korea, or on the mutual protests at Panmunjom. But few notice the greatest postwar miracle along the 38th parallel: a 243-kilometer-long, 4-kilometer-wide demilitarized zone that no human has entered for decades—now the largest wildlife sanctuary on earth, dense with thriving forests.

An American reporter described the scene this way: “Here we first saw a pair of red-crowned cranes searching for small fish in the shallow ponds, sometimes spreading their wings, sometimes dancing with elegant steps. They are among the largest flying birds. In 1974, people believed they were extinct—yet here, 170 have been found in and around the demilitarized zone. We also saw flocks of wild geese lifting off from the marshlands in tight formations, soaring and circling. Three eagles drifted lazily above them. Kites, buzzards, small raptors, wild ducks, and countless little birds filled the air. And then—a red-faced crested ibis, its white feathers tinted with pink—an endangered species with only eleven known individuals left in the world…”

So good. So beautiful. It felt like a kind of dark green irony—that the very land scarred by war, abandoned by humans, had become a paradise for wildlife.

These trees and birds—their ancestors were also victims of war. When humans fought life-and-death battles, no one spared a thought for the forests or their creatures; they were destroyed along with women and children. Such is the reach of hatred. And yet these trees and birds seem now to stand as a quiet reminder: remember war—or perhaps, let yesterday go.

Forest researchers told me: any farmland abandoned after being cleared and cultivated—if left untouched—will begin returning to forest within ten years. This is essentially the same phenomenon seen in the uninhabited demilitarized zone along the 38th parallel.

This world should have more “uninhabited zones.” Nature was silently fighting for unattended rights.

Under sunlight or moonlight, the sound that rises across China is… the sound of illegal logging.

In the great cities, skyscrapers and concrete high-rises have sealed people off from one another. Habit has dulled our senses: being far from nature—hearing no birds, seeing no forests—has come to feel normal. The arrival of negative-ion machines made people even more complacent, as if clean air inside a sealed room could replace the real thing. But nature cannot be manufactured; what is manufactured is not nature.

Children feel this truth instinctively. Their eyes are full of longing. On a two-square-meter balcony, they search the sky in loneliness, hoping that the few stunted trees between buildings might offer a trace of green. They scatter rice on the balcony rail, waiting for sparrows—believing, perhaps, that sparrows are the last beautiful birds in the world.

Arbor Day brings a brief moment of joy, then disappears. Few people care whether the saplings survive—so only a third do. As long as people plant trees merely to fulfill a task, without seeing their own lives as bound to the trees' lives, the distance between humans and forests cannot be bridged.

Television showed an even stranger sight: on Arbor Day, many people did not plant trees at all—they only posed for photographs. Dozens of cameras aimed at a single sapling. Crowds trampled the loose soil around its roots. People seemed far more interested in appearing on camera, or photographing others, than in giving a tree a chance to live.

Perhaps on Arbor Day, or on some spring day just after, when nature once again delivers its yearly gift of fresh green, we suddenly realize that the simple expectations of spring—the softness sung in old songs—have faded. Walking through forests the way spring wind once did, or hearing Beethoven's intimate conversations with each leaf and small bird in the woods outside Vienna—these belong to a distant past.

Most Chinese people do not know Beethoven, nor his famous line: “I love a tree more than a man.” In his darkest moments, simply thinking of trees and fields rekindled his will to live. His pastoral melodies carry hope through every note.

And what has taken their place?

Whether under sunlight or moonlight, if you hold your breath and listen quietly, you will hear the sound of trees being felled across China. It is this ruthless, cold, grasping destruction that fuels a vicious ecological cycle: the poorer the region, the more mountains are stripped; the more mountains are stripped, the poorer it becomes. The poorer we grow, the more trees we cut—and the more trees we cut, the poorer we grow.

In March 1987, the state forest farms of Nandan County in Guangxi were stripped bare. Tree stumps—some more than a meter high—still bear the scars of axes, desolation stretching as far as the eye can see. Who could imagine that this wasteland was once a vast forest of 190,000 mu (about 12,700 hectares)?

Since 1984, villagers had organized themselves to plunder the forest farm's timber. At Landietang, Malaomen, and other sites, roughly 1,000 mu (about 67 hectares) of mature forest was completely cleared. People then cut another 400 mu (about 27 hectares) at places such as Baliapo. During the 1987 Spring Festival, the timber on 150 mu (about 10 hectares) at Changwan Station came crashing down with explosive force. Some found cutting and hauling too tiring, so they simply helped themselves to piles of timber already felled by the state according to plan.

In just two years, a forest farm authorized to log 10,000 cubic meters annually was illegally stripped of 15,000 cubic meters, worth more than 4 million yuan.

No wonder so many “ten-thousand-yuan households” appeared there.

They became rich easily—simply by daring to steal and plunder.

But the more ten-thousand-yuan households there were, the fewer forests Nandan County had left.

In April, less than a month after the Shankou Forest Farm in Guangxi was looted, many villages in Liping County, Guizhou, were already stacked high with timber. In Deshun Village alone, the 33 households of a single production group had more than 1,000 cubic meters of timber piled at their doorsteps. Along the roads near Nanzhu Forest Farm, unlicensed timber stretched for a full kilometer, totaling more than 10,000 cubic meters. All of it cut from state forests—yet instantly transformed not into public property, but into private assets for those who had grown rich, and for those who soon would: the ten-thousand-yuan households.

It all happened effortlessly. In Hongzhou District, officials claimed they were “updating” state forests and petitioned the county government for permission to cut timber in Motianding State Forest Farm. The county approved 500 cubic meters, subcontracting the quota to five individuals. Those five cut 993 cubic meters—nearly double the quota—which immediately triggered mass looting. “Get rich together or stay poor together,” people said, and soon the entire community was climbing the mountains to cut trees. Chinese people are often cautious, sober, even hesitant when defending justice—but utterly fearless when destroying for personal gain. The result: Motianding's 3,000 mu (about 200 hectares)—a forest of towering tree pillars—was annihilated overnight.

In one county, the Shuikou District Forest Farm covered 5,700 mu (about 380 hectares). In 1985, management was handed over to Shuikou Town. Lacking funds for new government offices, the town requested county approval to cut 200 cubic meters of timber. The county agreed; the office building and the timber revenue, 50,000 yuan, both vanished without a trace.

Town leaders then led the way in cutting trees to build their own homes. The masses followed. Illegal logging continued; daytime was not enough, so they cut at night. Of the forest farm's 5,700 mu, a full 80 percent was brutally destroyed.

Near the county seat, the state-owned Huapo Forest Farm, built with more than 2 million yuan of state investment, covered 63,000 mu (about 4,200 hectares) of forest. Yet right under the noses of the county committee and county government, the pillaging of timber by cadres and villagers had become routine. Investigations confirmed that more than 20,000 mu (about 1,330 hectares) of forest had been cut, stolen, looted, or destroyed.

Could the county's magistrates truly sit still? In case after case, large-scale logging in state forests had first received the county government's approval—and then, inevitably, spiraled out of control, leaving vast stretches of forest cut to the ground. Even more astonishing, in 1986 alone, the amount of timber felled under written approvals from county leaders exceeded 100,000 cubic meters.

These “written approvals” are a uniquely Chinese phenomenon: a single sentence from a person in power, a slip of paper no larger than a palm, a few crooked characters; yet their force outweighs countless laws, decrees, notices, and proclamations. From the release of 450,000 jin of diseased pork in Dehui County, Heilongjiang, to the 100,000-plus cubic meters of illicit timber in Liping County, Guizhou, the pattern is the same. What exhausts and angers the public is this: in the old feudal era, one county magistrate handled many affairs. Even if he issued dubious approvals, he was still only one person. Today, a county has no fewer than ten deputy Party secretaries and deputy magistrates. No wonder these slips of paper have grown so terribly heavy.

Naturally, in such places, even though the Forest Law and the Implementation Rules of the Forest Law have been in force for years, violators and offenders rarely face serious punishment. When those above are crooked, those below simply follow their lead.

Wherever there is a forest farm, there is money to be made—and the main levers are power and profit. In Liping County, logging permits were controlled by the county, the district, the township, and the town governments. Regulations required a processing fee of only 0.50 yuan per permit, but some township authorities imposed “fees” of 15 to 30 yuan per cubic meter of timber cut. Others seized the opportunity to sell logging permits outright, forge official seals, forge transport documents, and collude inside and out to profit from the forest.

Thus the forests were besieged from all sides. One single word—”money”—created such disorder in society and in people's lives. Today some have grown rich; tomorrow they will face barren hills and empty wastelands. In the long run, they will be far poorer than before.

Anxi County in Fujian is famous for producing Tieguanyin tea. In recent years, as Tieguanyin prices soared and sales boomed, many grew wealthy. Forests paid the price; clearing land and cutting trees to plant more tea became fashionable. In just three to five years, soil erosion became visibly severe. If this trend continues—if the unique environment and climate of Anxi's high-mountain bamboo groves are lost—its farmland will be ruined, its trees gone, its tea gardens destined to decline. How will the mountain people survive then? What will their descendants rely on? Perhaps only the advertisements now plastered across every Tieguanyin tea box will remain:

“Anxi Tieguanyin is China's finest oolong tea. The bamboo gardens of Anxi's high mountains enjoy rare climatic conditions. Its traditional picking and processing techniques have a long history. Tieguanyin is famed worldwide for its fragrance, mellow sweetness, and unique flavor. After drinking, it leaves a pleasant aftertaste, dispels heat, aids digestion and urination, sterilizes and heals, refreshes and sobers, reduces fat and blood pressure, prevents tooth decay, resists radiation, and even prevents cancer—it is the ideal beverage for the atomic age.”

This entire advertisement was copied from an actual Tieguanyin package. Its global reputation is real; its medicinal claims are… absolute. I do not dare doubt them. But reading such claims, I cannot help feeling a deep, uneasy emotion: How will posterity judge us? How will history taste this moment?

Fujian's forestry departments are equally troubled by another crisis: the mass cutting of broad-leaved trees to cultivate edible fungi—tremella, shiitake, and others. To make quick money, people sacrifice the forests that should benefit both present and future generations. It is chilling.

Gutian County is known for its white fungus. After consuming enormous amounts of forest resources, the entire county now has only 180,000 cubic meters of broad-leaved timber left. The old trees are nearly gone; this year they began cutting the young ones. In Minhou County, three townships alone cut more than 20,000 cubic meters of timber in 1986 to produce edible fungi.

Why are edible fungi so popular? Short cycles, low investment, high returns. Many poor townships made fungus cultivation their primary means of poverty alleviation. And poor townships tend to have little forest and thin soil. So once their own trees were gone, they began buying—or stealing—from neighboring counties.

In 1986, Fujian consumed 1.38 million cubic meters of broad-leaved timber for edible-fungus production. The province's total stock of broad-leaved forest has now fallen sharply to 130 million cubic meters. Broad-leaved species are hard to replant, harder to grow into forests, and require long cycles to mature. Experts have already issued warnings: Fujian's broad-leaved forests will soon be exhausted.

Are we still gnawing our ancestors' bones and eating our descendants' seeds? No one denies that Tieguanyin tea and white fungus, after consuming vast stretches of forest, helped some farmers escape poverty. But the price was steep: bleeding hillsides and barren fields spreading for miles.

Nor are the cities innocent. Whether for beautifying urban landscapes or simply to make money, people have rushed into the mountains. Reports note that in Xining, Qinghai—part of China's “Three North” region—more than twenty species of evergreens, flowers, and shrubs were uprooted from the Liupan and Helan Mountains and transplanted into the city. Over 140,000 wild plants were taken, including Qinghai spruce. Yet the “Three North” region has the lowest forest coverage in the country, just 5.9 percent. When valuable wild plants are dug out on a large scale—whether for city decoration or to create expensive bonsai—the more prized and beautiful they are, the faster they are destroyed. In recent years, wild populations of rare ornamental plants—cycads, camellias, azaleas, orchids, lilies—have plummeted, some nearly to extinction.

On Changmen Rock Island, twenty kilometers off the Laoshan coast, the last wild camellias of northern China now face oblivion. These ancient evergreen trees bloom from winter into spring, sometimes for half a year. Pu Songling's famous tale of the camellia spirit descending like snow from Taiqing Palace is known around the world. Taiqing Palace sits in Laoshan; the camellias in his story were wild blossoms from Changmen Rock. Locals long regarded them as fairy flowers. In the past, wild camellias covered most of the island. Today, they are extinct on the Laoshan mainland, and only 549 trees survive on Changmen Rock—already in decline. These primitive plants, notoriously difficult to cultivate or protect, were destroyed with shocking ease: fishermen and flower dealers snapped off flowers, dug out trees, gathered seeds, and pried up seedlings. Nothing was spared. In less than three years, along with a beautiful legend, we may lose the camellias themselves.

Human beings still fail to grasp a simple truth: when we push forests and wild plants toward disaster, we ultimately threaten ourselves. We must free ourselves from selfishness and learn to live alongside forests. When a tree or a blade of grass is treated with care, it returns that care in its own way. A small example puzzled many of us:

Wild plants carefully dug from the mountains, tended on balconies, fertilized and watered with devotion—still withered away.

Two years ago, an American botanist conducted an experiment: someone deliberately damaged a plant in front of another plant of the same species. Later, when a group of people walked past the surviving plant, instruments recorded a reaction only when the “killer” approached—its own kind had sent a distress signal.

Humans cannot claim everything for themselves. Without the occasional, well-timed correction from nature—without the humbling of our arrogance and ignorance—we would destroy ourselves even faster.

When we speak casually about “culture” or “civilization,” we often forget one of humanity's oldest measures of civilization: reverence for nature, love for nature, and the care of nature. Parents teach their children to treasure every penny, yet rarely to treasure every blade of grass. We confine our hearts to small, narrow worlds instead of allowing our imaginations to stretch outward. We rightly teach children to care for the elderly—but why, then, can we not also care for old trees?

In the spring of 1979, I traveled to Hainan Island. The scenery was beautiful, the greenery abundant—that much goes without saying. But as I approached Wuzhi Mountain, I was stopped by a wall of smoke. I learned that the mountain people were burning the hillsides. From the Spring Festival until May, slash-and-burn was in full season.

I walked deeper into the smoke. The haze shifted between thick and thin, sometimes near, sometimes drifting far into the trees. In the glow of the flames, trees large and small were swallowed first by smoke, then blackened like charcoal. The small ones withered quickly and fell. The larger trees—dead but still standing—would later need to be chopped down.

In May 1986, friends returning from Hainan told me the same slash-and-burn practices continued. What they saw matched what I had witnessed, but they were even more troubled by the surge of illegal logging. Slash-and-burn had been a survival practice of the local people—especially the Li and Miao minorities—for thousands of years. They burned the mountains to plant grain and live. But illegal loggers were different: they came for profit, caring nothing for the value of rare trees, stealing everything they could.

We discussed Hainan—a region closed off and undeveloped, but with extraordinarily rich natural resources. Those green expanses were precious treasures. Since the founding of the Republic, in addition to its natural forests, Hainan had planted vast protective belts of casuarina and acacia to shield the island from wind and sand—its first line of defense for the island's ecosystem. Hainan's blue seas, green trees, and beautiful flowers all depended on these protective forests. Yet, unbelievably, Hainan's green was disappearing. What would this mean?

Baoting County lies at the southern foot of Wuzhi Mountain—long hours of sun, high temperatures, lush vegetation. At the founding of the Republic, Baoting had more than 1.12 million mu of tropical natural forest (about 75,000 hectares) with 41 percent forest coverage. By the 1960s, reckless logging had already cut that nearly in half, leaving 690,000 mu (about 46,000 hectares) and reducing forest coverage to 25 percent. As the years slipped by, the numbers continued to fall.

And with this downward trend came consequences.

Statistics from the county made one point unmistakably clear: when forests are destroyed, nature never shows mercy. On the contrary—its revenge is swift.

The elders of Baoting County all said the same thing: the weather had changed, the climate had changed, and the rains had grown scarce. In the 1950s, Baoting's average rainfall during winter and spring was 433.6 millimeters; in the 1960s, it fell to 389.6 millimeters; by the 1970s, it had dropped to just 319.7 millimeters. With less rain came fewer fogs and foggy days—102 days in the 1950s, 81 in the 1960s, and only 77 in the 1970s. This decline was the primary reason for rising temperatures and worsening drought.

Baoting's tropical forests once stood like a shield, breaking the force of repeated storms and protecting the county's mountains and rivers. In the 1960s, the average wind speed in Baoting was only 0.9 meters per second; in the 1970s, it rose to 1.4 meters per second. When Typhoon No. 5 struck Hainan in 1981, most of the forests that had once formed a natural defensive wall had already been destroyed. The winds tore through the remaining stands and in an instant flattened half of Baoting County's rubber plantations. Rubber trees bring profit—but how can profit withstand the force of a typhoon?

A single mu of forest can hold 20 cubic meters more water than land without forest. Destroy the forest, and you destroy the water source. In the 1950s, Chunlei Hydroelectric Station produced 2,500 kilowatts of electricity; now it produces only 1,000—not because its equipment has aged, but because the water has disappeared. In the 1950s, the county had more than 10,000 mu of farmland irrigated by natural water; by the 1980s, only 1,000 mu remained.

After the forests are felled, we face crises of our own making: deserts, storms, drought, thirst. Some people have already tasted the bitterness; others soon will.

Calls to “develop Hainan Island” have been constant. There is much that can be done on this treasure island. But the most urgent task is clear: protect the forests, plant as many new trees as possible, and only then pursue other forms of development.

Protecting Hainan's tropical forests has become an emergency. Illegal logging and arson must stop.

It is no exaggeration to say that the sound of axes—under sunlight or moonlight—echoes across every corner of China. Our own compatriots are hacking away at the nation's lifelines—its living flesh and blood. In that sense, China is a country that bleeds a little more every day.

Let us move from Hainan to Xinjiang—from islands to deserts and oases. Let us stop romanticizing deserts. They are not mystical landscapes but barren lands born from deforestation and exhaustion. And the camel caravans—who would truly want to be reborn as a camel, trudging along a new Silk Road?

Xinjiang also has oases. The Hami melons we eat do not grow in deserts but in these green enclaves protected by shelterbelts. Xinjiang, Qinghai, and similar regions stand on the front lines of humanity's struggle against desertification, where the damage is most immediate. Yet even in these fragile lands, the poplar groves, valley forests, and the tough, low red willows, saxauls, and other desert shrubs—plants that should be valued like life itself—are at risk. These tenacious trees stand year after year, holding back the sands, preserving a thin margin of peace for the people. And yet they face relentless cutting.

According to a report in Xinjiang Daily on May 12, 1986, more than 1,200 horse- and donkey-carts in Awati County hauled firewood out of the poplar forests every day. In the Hotan region, more than 200 brick and lime kilns burned wood as fuel, consuming over 10 million kilograms of poplar and red willow each year. At roughly 5,000 kilograms of firewood per mu, these kilns alone destroyed 2,000 mu of forest annually.

Some regions of Xinjiang now face a triple crisis: farmland turning to desert, grasslands collapsing, and the advance of sand driving people back. The deserts are moving forward.

On the morning of April 7, 1987, the village committee of Saishike in Shike Township, Wulan County, Qinghai, made a shocking decision: it mobilized villagers to cut down the poplar trees in the northern shelterbelt. More than seventy young and middle-aged people, carrying axes and pickaxes, rolled up their sleeves and began chopping. This usually quiet village suddenly echoed with the sound of falling trees. By the time the township Party secretary rushed over and stopped the operation, 208 poplars had already been felled, and more than 100 meters of the protective forest belt had been destroyed—one hundred meters of shelterbelt erased in a single day.

My most unforgettable experience, however, was a trip through the Three Gorges.

Everyone knows the Three Gorges are dramatic and beautiful, and that the Yangtze River is vast and ancient. Li Bai once wrote, “The gibbons cry unbroken from both banks”—yet now there are no gibbons to be seen, and no cries to be heard. As for Du Fu's lament, “Boundless leaves fall, rustling down,” even the fallen leaves are gone; the ridgelines on both sides are rocky and bare, with only scattered shrubs. Poetry allows exaggeration, but geography does not lie. The Three Gorges connect the fertile Bashu lands upstream with the fish-and-rice regions downstream. According to historical records, their banks were once covered in dense forest, rich vegetation, and hundreds of species of wildlife.

Only in modern times, through reckless logging and indiscriminate land reclamation, has the ecological environment of the Three Gorges deteriorated with such speed. From the 1950s to the 1980s, forest areas in the counties along the Gorges were cut nearly in half. Fengjie County's forest coverage fell from 32.3 percent to 17.4 percent; Wushan County's from 24.6 percent to 11.7 percent. As forests disappeared, wildlife lost its habitat. Coupled with excessive hunting, populations of rare species—sika deer, white cranes, swans, golden eagles—declined sharply. Clouded leopards and golden monkeys were now seen only rarely, deep in the remote mountains. The South China tiger was almost extinct.

Most farmers cultivated steep mountainsides cleared from forest. Soil erosion worsened year after year, fertility plummeted, and grain yields dropped to only 100–200 jin per mu (about 75–150 kilograms per hectare). In eastern Sichuan and western Hubei, per-capita grain output was 600 jin (roughly 300 kilograms per person) one-third below the national average.

Upstream of the Gorges, Wanxian alone had more than 6,000 mu (about 400 hectares) of completely eroded, barren land; devastation of this scale was rarely seen or heard of. The Three Gorges were, at the same time, rich and poor—magnificent yet disfigured. Their wealth and beauty lay in the singular harmony of mountains and water, a natural “corridor of landscape paintings.” Their poverty and ugliness originated in the destruction of forests: soil stripped away, land thinned to exhaustion, and governance either lax or absent.

The towns of the Three Gorges once nestled against the mountains and along the riverbanks, dotting the edges of the Yangtze and its tributaries. Today, the mountain-city charm that should have flourished is almost nowhere to be found. Disorder and garbage are everywhere; decent green spaces and street trees are rare.

Shops, vendors, pedestrians, and vehicles of every size crowd together along narrow, filthy streets—noise levels rivaling Beijing or Shanghai. Industrial wastewater is dumped directly into the river, untreated; town garbage is simply tipped over the bank into the Yangtze. The Yangtze may be China's lifeline, but it has also become China's largest flowing garbage dump—yet today even this garbage hardly flows. Some of the huge conical piles cannot be washed away even in the flood season.

Added to this is the endless sediment washing down from mountains stripped of vegetation. Measurements from Yichang show that for years the upper Yangtze has carried an average of 530 million tons of sediment annually. In the Three Gorges region alone, sediment yield reaches 1,000 tons per square kilometer. The fertile soil of the motherland is being swept, torrent by torrent, into the eastern seas.

The Three Gorges are also one of the most active landslide zones along the Yangtze. In recent years landslides have struck repeatedly—the Jipazi slide in Yunyang, the massive Xintan slide of more than 1,000 cubic meters, and the still-active Huanglashi and Lianziya slides. Nearly all occurred where forests had been destroyed and no vegetation remained. Quarrying and mining, carved deep into the mountains, only accelerated the collapse. People feared the same question: if a landslide's rolling boulders plunged into the Yangtze, what would happen?

Yet even as victims of the Wuxi landslide lay struggling in hospital beds, the felling of the Three Gorges' remaining forests resumed. From upstream to downstream, the Yangtze faces a growing population, growing sediment loads, growing volumes of garbage—while the only force that could protect and cradle the river, the forests, grow fewer by the year.

Everything has limits. The Yangtze's capacity to carry and cleanse is finite. Without urgent intervention, the Yangtze will, inevitably, become a second Yellow River. The riverbanks should have been lined with well-tended shelterbelts; where trees could not grow, grasses should have been planted—any grasses at all, anything green that could hold the soil in place.

The reed marshes along the Yangtze—especially the great reedbeds on the lower-river mudflats—were once a distinctive sight. Reeds are not strong plants, but they resist wind and water with remarkable resilience. Their roots weave tightly together, and they grow at astonishing speed. I spent an imaginative though impoverished childhood playing among the reeds. Now I am told that since reclamation began twenty years ago—and since reeds gained new economic value—the reeds have become scarce, and the vast marshes nearly impossible to find.

I could not help remembering the reed-leaf boats of my childhood—the tiny green boats that carried my earliest imagination. Would they still belong to the children of today's and tomorrow's Jiangnan water towns?

Not long after I walked out of the forests of Fujian and Zhejiang and began drafting this reportage in Shanghai, Liberation Daily published an article on October 11, 1986, warning that the agricultural ecological environment of the Shanghai economic zone was deteriorating at an alarming rate.

This decline was visible across the entire country—driven by excessive demands on nature, which led to shortages of natural resources, soil erosion, shrinking farmland, and falling forest coverage. But the Shanghai economic zone faced additional problems even more acute than elsewhere: pollution from township enterprises encroaching on rural green spaces and rapid expansion of urban construction eating into farmland.

Jiangsu Province had only 1.1 mu of farmland per capita (about 0.073 hectares), the lowest in the nation—yet land requisition for infrastructure continued to accelerate, causing the province to lose 0.8 percent of its farmland every year. In 1985 alone, Nanjing lost 2,680 hectares of farmland, with 371 hectares swallowed by new housing. If farmland continues to shrink at this pace, Nanjing will have none left in a century. Alas—on this ancient land of Jinling, outside the old Stone City walls, how will future generations survive?

A few days later, Xinmin Evening News reported that several street trees in Shanghai had died due to insufficient protection. That brief note made me look more closely at Shanghai's trees. Their branches were sparse, their leaves thin. On this land, even a modest amount of green in spring and summer seemed hard-won; how could the waters of the Suzhou River and the Huangpu River nourish deep roots and generous foliage?

But the destruction of trees under sunlight and moonlight extends far beyond this.

At dawn in Wuyi Mountain, before tourists even began climbing, someone digging up tree roots had already returned home with a full load.

And on the square bamboo below Xianyou Peak, knife blades had carved “masterpieces” from tourists across the country—”So-and-so was here”!

Beyond the disgust, I found myself thinking: if we provided more guestbooks to satisfy people's urge to leave their mark, perhaps fewer names would be carved into bamboo, trees, and ancient architecture.

Wuyi Mountain's Yunwo—the legendary cave where Li Shangyin once studied—still had a bamboo shoot growing from a crack in the stone. It rose straight upward, then angled out from the cave mouth, twisting its way until it finally reached the open sky. Friends told me that another bamboo had grown nearby that spring, even more remarkable: it curled once around a rock before standing upright in perfect grace. One night, that miraculous young bamboo was cut down by illegal loggers.

Beneath Yunwo lies a cave said to be the place where clouds and mist gather. In the past, no one could see how deep it went. Now that the clouds have thinned and the fog has cleared, everything at the bottom is visible—waste paper, bottles, and even human excrement.

At Mount Tai, the morning incense-burners are often elderly women with Taishan pine sprigs tucked into their hair, some carrying small bundles. When the evening glow fades and they descend the mountain, the pine sprigs have turned into mountain flowers picked from the Jade Emperor Peak—just a few, held joyfully as they begin their journey home. But Taishan pines are already few in number; how long can they bear such treatment?

At Yandang Mountain, I once watched several couples picking flowers and grasses all the way from the foot of the mountain to the summit. Romance and flowers may be inseparable, but flowers picked from the soil wither quickly. The couples simply tossed the dead ones aside and picked fresh ones. To treat such delicate lives in nature with this kind of carelessness—was it not too cruel?

Years ago, I saw Huangshan's Welcoming Pine already tied and propped up, its survival precarious. Recently I heard its trunk had to be wrapped in protective iron plates—nature forced to face humanity in armor.

I once read a thrilling report: in 1979, fifty-eight silver fir trees were discovered in Chengbu County, Hunan. These were a uniquely Chinese species—”living fossils” dating back a hundred million years, known as the “giant pandas of the plant world.” The world would surely take notice. And yet, just as many worry when new scenic areas appear on television, discovery often means trampling and destruction—and destruction comes quickly, in countless forms.

After the discovery, counties immediately began fighting over jurisdiction, eager to claim these national treasures for profit. For six full years, Xinning County and Chengbu Miao Autonomous County battled in court. In 1986, Shaoyang Prefecture ruled that the 8,200 mu of forest around Shajiaodon, where the silver firs stood, would be administered by Chengbu.

But some people held a cruel creed: if I cannot have it, then you cannot have it; if I cannot live well, then you should not live well either.

A group from Xinning County treated the fifty-eight silver firs as enemies. They hacked at them with axes and knives, destroying wantonly. Once, they mobilized more than 130 people to smash the entire management office of Chengbu's protection zone. Still unsatisfied, they gouged bark and dug holes into nine silver firs. A first-grade nationally protected species—the long-bracted hemlock—was burned and collapsed, crushing a silver fir. Even then they did not stop. They scraped more bark, dug more holes, pulled up wild silver fir seedlings, cut down fruit-bearing branches, and even removed the topsoil beneath the silver firs.

They truly intended to wipe them out—root and branch.

Did they ever consider that these were national assets—treasures of all humankind? If mountain villagers did not understand this principle, what excuse did the secretaries and officials of Xinning County have? They carried documents stamped with red seals and spoke every day of “serving the people.” Should they not have known the law, studied it, and obeyed it? What exactly were they doing?

To display their barbarity and ugliness to the fullest, these people did not stop at the silver firs. Since last July, they had stripped the bark from 150 laurel trees within the protection zone, uprooted 120 mulberry trees, cut down five camphor trees, and even knocked over eight wooden bridges built inside the reserve. Readers can easily imagine how thoroughly the habitat of the national silver firs was ravaged.

I could not understand it. What is the difference between stealing the heads of the Terracotta Warriors and scraping the bark off a protected silver fir in the wild, a national treasure? Which is a worse crime? Is only the murderer a killer? If crimes committed under broad daylight do not include deeds like these, then the sun itself must be at fault—either its sunspots are too many, or the clouds covering it are too thick.

And it must be said plainly: this rampage by the Xinning County group was not spontaneous. It was instigated by certain leaders in the Xinning County Forestry Bureau, complete with specially allotted funds for wages. Before they smashed the weather station in the silver fir protection zone on August 10, 1986, they even issued an “urgent notice” to village groups in Jiefu Village:

“By order of the county committee, tomorrow (August 10) at 1:00 p.m. Beijing time, all able-bodied men over the age of 18 are to gather at Wang Youqun's house. Bring vegetable knives, hammers, and steel picks. Do not worry about wages…”

The people who organized and directed this destruction were in positions of authority. If the law had truly been enforced, how hard could it have been to hold them accountable?

Winter came. To the silver firs with their bark scraped off—are you not cold? To the silver firs bored full of holes—do you not feel pain? People once believed these trees had gone extinct a hundred million years ago under the assault of the fourth glacial age, only to discover them alive on Chinese soil. And now their roots—still bearing traces of ancient ice—were hacked at, dug up, and carried away.

When it comes to forest protection, what do we have left to be proud of?

Deserts! Deserts!

Years ago, I heard a report on China National Radio's News Broadcast: deserts were closing in on Nanchang. The story jolted me and first sparked the desire to write this piece. But when you look closely, how could the danger be limited to Nanchang? Rampant logging leads inevitably to soil erosion, then to desertification, and finally to the slow advance of the desert. We simply fail to notice it because skyscrapers, neon lights, and streams of cars already narrow our vision—they block from sight the deserts creeping toward us.

In late summer 1983, when I traveled to Chaoyang in Liaoning to give a lecture, I experienced wind and sand for the first time. The morning sun rose into a sky that was gray and blurred. Under the only sturdy tree on the entire street, elderly people and children strolled, stretched, and practiced martial arts—enjoying what might have been Chaoyang's only breath of morning green.

Why “morning green”? Because once the sun climbed higher and temperatures rose, the briefly stilled winds lifted again, sweeping sand across the city. Within minutes, a thick layer of dust coated every leaf. Outside the downtown area, the roadsides had no trees at all—or only a few dying saplings, standing like lone sentries facing an overwhelming army of wind and sand.

You couldn't tell whether the wind stirred the sand or the sand stirred the wind. On the hillsides, patches of dying weeds offered only faint specks of green; everything else was bare mountains and exposed ridges. In the fields, the sorghum barely grew longer than chopsticks, each ear holding only a few countable grains. People walked with dust caked on their hair, their faces, their clothes.

Those days were the first time I truly understood how precious trees are—and how lonely the heart feels when the world holds no green. This was one of China's well-known impoverished regions. Without trees or forests, how could it not be poor? Yet local records show that centuries ago, this area was lush with water plants and humid air. Mongolian herders once grazed their cattle and sheep here on fertile grasslands.

Chaoyang still has many descendants of the Mongolian people. War and deforestation have reshaped the land so drastically that the desert now stands only inches away. And Chaoyang's story is far from unique.

According to the research of Hou Renzhi, China's Ulanbuhe Desert also emerged because forests and vegetation were stripped away. Before large-scale reclamation in the Han Dynasty, the region was an endless expanse of grassland, with Yinshan blanketed in forest. During the Early Han, the state established Shuofang Prefecture here, administering six counties. The historian Ban Gu wrote that for generations the region saw “no smoke of war; the people flourished, cattle and horses filled the fields.” At its height, the population surpassed 136,000. By the Later Han, only a little more than 7,800 remained.

Cultivation had destroyed the vegetation. When local uprisings forced Han settlers to withdraw, the abandoned farmland quickly turned desolate. With no plants to hold the soil, erosion accelerated. Surface clay was stripped away by strong winds, sand and gravel drifted freely, and eventually an entire desert was formed. Coffin bottoms excavated from Han tombs now lie more than half a meter above the present ground surface—evidence that centuries of wind erosion have carved the land down by more than half, leaving behind today's barren wasteland.

The Horqin region in eastern Inner Mongolia was still “rich, fertile land with abundant water and grass” during the Song Dynasty. By the Jin period, overgrazing and logging had already begun to degrade the grasslands. In the late Ming and early Qing—when warfare had not yet reached the region—cultivation was neglected, and the land briefly recovered. But in the late 19th century, seeking revenue, the Qing government launched massive land-reclamation campaigns. In 1907 alone, princes and nobles opened more than 80,000 hectares of land in Horqin Right Wing Middle Banner, earning 238,000 taels of silver. Such unrestrained exploitation, heavy cultivation, and subsequent abandonment destroyed the vegetation completely. Once the grassland cover was gone, wind erosion lifted entire layers of sandy sediment. Fertile grasslands became the shifting sands we see today.

The ancient, mysterious jewel of Central America—the Maya civilization—also rose from deep forests. By 250 CE, Maya achievements in culture, architecture, and science had reached astonishing heights. Yet as the forests were destroyed and the environment deteriorated, the civilization began collapsing around 800 CE. Within less than a century, the cities were all but abandoned. People later said the Maya civilization vanished “overnight.”

Early spring 1987—China faced a great drought.

The Yangtze was no longer the Yangtze it once was—its water shallower, murkier, inching past Wuhan like a sluggish brown stream.

People in Wuhan's three towns were stunned. The river had nearly exposed its bed. Of the eight massive piers supporting the Yangtze Bridge, only three still stood in the water; the other five lay bare under the spring sun. Children were running where currents once flowed. Flats of silt and mounds of stone—long hidden beneath the surface—now stretched across the river's width. It was impossible to ignore: the riverbed was rising, layer upon layer of sediment settling year after year.

The Yangtze—once the giver of water—had become a conveyor of sand.

It seemed unthinkable. If this drought continued—or returned year after year—could China's other great lifeline one day be blocked? And if the channel clogged, if the sediment kept rising, could Wuhan's three towns be buried under windswept dunes? Could deserts appear in regions that were once the heartland of fish and rice?

The Yellow River's soil erosion has already been described. But the pale sand and silt the Yangtze exposed to Wuhan this spring represented only a fragment of its annual erosion area—360,000 square kilometers.

Across the country, regions suffering soil erosion have expanded from 1.16 million square kilometers at the founding of the People's Republic to 1.53 million square kilometers today—one-sixth of China's territory. Each year, 5 billion tons of soil wash away, the equivalent of peeling a one-centimeter layer of fertile topsoil off all of China's farmland. The nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium carried off amounted to more than 40 million tons—nearly the entire nation's yearly fertilizer output.

These numbers alone should shake us. But the disasters that cannot be counted in numbers will require generations to endure—desertification.

At the founding of the Republic, China had roughly 1 billion mu of desert and desertified land. Now it has 1.95 billion mu—13.6 percent of the country. Of the 950 million newly desertified mu, 770 million are grasslands and 180 million are farmland. While we busy ourselves with public duties and private worries—housing for our children, promotions, Party membership, climbing bureaucratic ladders—100 million mu of farmland and one-third of the nation's natural grasslands are being overtaken by sand.

China's rate of desertification—10 million mu every year—is the fastest in the world.

Facing scenes like this, I often wondered whether I was dreaming. Once the forests disappeared, the Yellow River and the Yangtze had only two ways left to show their anger: by cracking the earth with drought or by drowning villages and cities with floods. Either way, the ending was the same: deserts were born.

And now the deserts move forward: they climb the mountains, they swallow the grasslands.

Deserts devoured villages. Sometimes they advanced with roaring winds; other times they crept in silence—entering unnoticed, like a presence in people's dreams. Deserts have no dreams of their own, only goals. Anyone who says a grain of sand is insignificant is a fool. A desert is an army—highly organized, advancing and retreating with perfect discipline, specializing in confronting humankind. Their long patience is no mystery: they understand human greed better than we do. Humans love themselves too much, want too much, and will eventually cut down every last tree. Before saplings can take root, the sands arrive. Without fighting, they turn fields into wasteland. And soon after, they begin eyeing the faint outlines of distant cities. Even as their walls crumble, the people inside continue seeking pleasure. Along the desert's path, humans themselves become its advance guard. Nothing delights the desert more than the sound of axes—that sound means trees are falling, the road forward is open.

Human beings can control deserts in small, temporary ways—but cannot fundamentally resist them. They show none of the courage in resisting deserts that they show when cutting trees. Wherever the sands advance, people flee. And on their flight paths, if they pass a tree, they still cut it down. One day, our descendants may have nowhere left to run. Perhaps they will no longer scramble to import luxury cars from Japan or Western Europe, but instead rush to buy camels from Africa. Camel humps will become the new fashion; the old Silk Roads will be trodden once more.

I once truly had a dream like this—at the ruins of the ancient city of Loulan. An archaeologist was excavating a female corpse—she was from Shanghai, a brilliant graduate of Peking University in the 1950s, my senior. I followed her, uncovering a woman from four millennia ago: excavating a fragment of history, excavating a nightmare. I murmured a line for courage: “Yellow sand and a hundred battles wear down golden armor; yet we shall not return until Loulan is destroyed.” Around us: desert. Wind-scoured mounds. Shimmering mica stones. Lop Nor—once a vast inland lake—now a dead bowl of dust. Without water, a lake becomes a corpse; it becomes the final destination of the yellow winds that sweep across the desert.

On a steep slope lay dry branches and withered reeds. I remembered that in ancient times this land had forests and aquatic plants—reeds grow only where rivers and marshlands once flowed. Yet here, in this silence, the archaeologist uncovered a tomb: a woman of the ancient Lop Nor people, her mummy astonishingly well preserved. She had a pointed chin, deep-set eyes, a high, sharp nose, and thin, firmly closed lips—still strikingly beautiful. She wore a handwoven woolen cloth on her upper body, a sheepskin skirt, and a small sheepskin cap with two goose feathers still tucked into it. Nearby were grass-woven baskets and winnowing trays. She had been a working woman, a member of an ethnic group long vanished. Had she lived today, she would be 3,900 years old. She was over forty when she died—yet she remains captivating even now.

Another marvel: even the lice caught in the woman's hair were preserved—one of the rarest parasitic specimens on earth, their tiny hairs still intact. I found myself wishing she could part her pale lips and speak—tell us what Loulan was like 3,900 years ago: the narrow streets and winding alleys, the wine shops and small inns; the eminent monks who traveled from distant lands to worship at the Buddhist pagoda; the envoys from Persia, India, the Yuezhi, and Syria who passed through Loulan before journeying inland.

But when a monk of the Jin dynasty came seeking Loulan centuries later, he found nothing. His account described it as “a place of evil spirits and scorching winds; all who encounter them perish, none return whole. No birds fly above; no beasts run below.”

Loulan had long been claimed by the desert. And Lop Nor—with its shimmering waters, its swaying reeds, its rich aquatic plants—had also become a realm of “evil spirits and scorching winds.” Why do beautiful things vanish so quickly? Why are green grasslands so fragile? Why does something as merciless as the desert advance without restraint—devouring not only a city but also a lake?

I asked the mummy. I asked the camel. I asked the sky, the earth, the Kunlun Mountains. I asked the Peacock River. I asked the lone Buddhist pagoda still standing in the ruins. I asked the faint traces of murals on crumbling walls. Everything remained silent, except for the wind and sand. The sound of wooden fish, the chanting of monks, the soft murmur of prayer—O compassionate Buddha, have even these been buried?

Only a bundle of wooden slips remains: faint records written by frontier officials and soldiers of the Western Regions during the Wei and Jin periods. Those ancestors could never have imagined that the land they reclaimed—the fields they believed would secure the future—would one day leave their descendants nothing but desert and ruins. To plant grain, they felled every red willow, every poplar, every reed.

The woman's silence seemed to answer me: do you still need to ask? In her tomb lay branches, reeds, and woven baskets—proof that in her lifetime there were trees, grasses, water. The wool and sheepskin she wore show that cattle and sheep once drank quietly at the lake's edge. Lop Nor reflected drifting clouds by day and scattered moonlight by night—its depths like crystal palaces. And the two goose feathers in her cap tell us that birds once lived close to people, resting in the reeds before soaring into the sky.

None of this is imagination. The Lop Nor woman is a living folk painting of Loulan's golden age: green forests, clear waters, flying geese, abundant grass, and Loulan itself—a thriving city along the Silk Road, peaceful and prosperous, rich with ritual and culture. But when land reclamation began and the greenery began to fade, that peace dissolved. No one understood yet what it meant. If the woman had consciousness in the afterlife, she could never comprehend why the land she hoped to cultivate in her next life had vanished. Lop Nor was gone. How many times had she admired her reflection in its waters, adjusting the feathers in her cap?

Loulan—do you know? Since the day you were buried, the wind and sand have never stopped. The desert expands each day; humanity withdraws each day. And still people cut trees, still they burn poplar groves for firewood. The desert has already pushed the descendants of Loulan to the foot of the Kunlun Mountains. Will people go there next to cut trees? Will the desert swallow the Kunlun as well?

Yet before the desert's advance, humanity is not powerless. We must stop approaching nature as conquerors and instead come with humility and kindness—to atone for the damage our ancestors caused and to safeguard the future of our descendants. If we return truth, goodness, and beauty to nature, nature will return even more truth, goodness, and beauty to us.

Consider the Saihanba Forest Farm on the border of Hebei and Inner Mongolia. Beyond the Great Wall stretches a man-made forest of 900,000 mu (about 60,000 hectares) with 400 million trees. It is young, vigorous, and alive. Around it, the grasslands glow green; yellow sheep bound across the meadow; delicate wildflowers such as dove flowers, heartbreak grass, magpie blossoms, and corn poppies grow beside larches, Korean pines, spruces, and dawn redwoods, sharing the sun, the wind, and the clear waters of the upper Luan River.

By day I saw—for the first time—a sky so intensely blue. By night I saw—for the first time—a moon so large, the stars so sharp and bright. What moved me most was this: the forest was built by human hands. All 900,000 mu of forestland (those same 60,000 hectares) were dug by spade, one shovelful at a time. All 400 million trees were planted one by one over thirty years. From the nearly one hundred pioneers who founded the tiny forest farm in 1956 to the 1,584 people who live there now, they endured life in earthen huts, mountains snowbound eight months a year, and decades of hardship to nurture this forest.

The forest workers told me: Who doesn't fear hardship? But if people don't tend the trees, the trees won't grow. Without this forest, the grasslands beyond the pass could not survive. And without forests and grasslands at the source of the Luan River, soil erosion would be unavoidable; sooner or later, the winds and sands would bury Beijing and Tianjin. Since not everyone can go to Beijing to climb the steps of power, become high officials, enjoy comfort, pull strings, or stroll around carrying birdcages, “then let us work here. The hardship is real, but there is joy too—when you look at this forest, when you breathe in this fresh scent. People cannot bear to leave the trees, and the trees cannot bear to leave the people.”

Walking through the forest, I felt I had entered a green kingdom. I placed each step with care, afraid of harming the young saplings—still as tender as children—growing in the shade. Inside the woods, there was no wind, and the air was far warmer than out on the open grasslands. Underfoot, the thick blanket of fallen leaves rustled softly. Beneath them, one could still see the debris of ages past: half-rotted, half-weathered remnants of ancient roots that had refused to disappear, leaving their faint traces in this newborn forest.

The director of the forest farm told me that during the Kangxi reign of the Qing dynasty, this had been a great primeval forest. In 1690, during the autumn hunt at Mulan, Emperor Kangxi rode out from the Chengde palace to chase deer here. But by the late Qing, large-scale logging for revenue had begun. When the dynasty finally crumbled, the forest that once sheltered it had already vanished—just as a dynasty that no longer cared to preserve even its own roof beams faded away.

By 1957, when the small forest farm was established, the grasslands beyond the pass were already in decline. With the disappearance of the primeval forest came changes in climate and temperature; birds and beasts departed with mournful cries, wandering toward new and unknown homes.

“But once the forest returned,” the director said, “everything came back—the creatures that fly, the creatures that walk, the plants that bloom, and even the ones that don't.”

This forest of 900,000 mu now shields a vast area of Hebei and Inner Mongolia—its grasslands, farmland, villages, and towns. The winds and sands are kept at bay; where greenery thrives, they have no choice but to retreat.

That autumn night, the wind had already turned cold. Wrapped in a cotton coat the director lent me, I walked to the source of the Luan River. It was only a small pool—no more than ten meters around—its surface trembling with the sound of flowing water. I dipped my hand in; it was piercingly cold and startlingly clear. The pool was barely a foot deep, yet the mysteries of the geological strata below were unfathomable.

All around lay boundless grassland, and to one side rose the vast black silhouette of the forest—solemn and dreamlike. When the moon reached its height, the grass and trees glistened under the fall of heavenly dew.

I once sighed: the project to divert the Luan River to Tianjin is well remembered in the annals of history—but what of those who protected the river's source? Who remembers the people who planted 400 million trees? Who remembers those who created this forest? In China, there are both tree-cutters and tree-planters. The tree-cutters outnumber the planters many times over. Planting a tree is far harder than felling one. Tree-cutting brings calamity; tree-planting brings blessing. These truths are as simple as “1 + 1 = 2” in a first-grade math book—yet somehow, we repeatedly fail to do the calculation.

Further west, a small group of scientific and technical workers continued their lonely struggle on the advancing front of the desert and the Yellow River. Only five of them remained year-round. Turpan has been known since ancient times as the “Prefecture of Fire.” Each year there are a hundred days when temperatures soar above 35°C, and forty days above 40°C. The heat, the dry air, and the fierce winds give rise to the most violent sandstorms. When the storms strike, crops vanish beneath sand; wells and canals disappear in an instant; houses collapse with ease. People can do nothing but sigh and retreat step by step.

To fight the desert here seems almost hopeless. The desert is too vast. The yellow winds are too fierce. The dryness, the suffocation, the desolation—all evoke only thoughts of death and hell.

In 1973, the sand-control station planted 20,000 poplar saplings in the barren dunes. Only one survived. In this ocean of sand, the chance of a tree's survival was one in twenty thousand.

What no one could have anticipated was that, in the heart of the desert, these five science and technology workers and their companions would spend five years squatting in sand hollows, searching for pioneer tree species capable of withstanding the desert’s yellow winds, and developing a method that used winter water stored in karez wells as an irrigation source. By 1980, they had miraculously grown 5,000 mu (approximately 667 square meters per mu) of Calligonum shrubland in the sea of sand. Five thousand mu of trees! Five thousand mu of green! For yesterday's Turpan, this was a fantastic astronomical figure, like a fool's dream! Additionally, there was a desert botanical garden covering 200 mu, with 145 species of desert plants. The garden had already promoted over 10 species of sand-fixing plants to Shihezi, Yili, Inner Mongolia, and Gansu, providing 1 million seedlings. That is to say, faced with science and the dedication of intellectuals, more green would appear, and this was also humanity's only hope for breaking free from the desert's advance.

Objectively speaking, such hope comes at great cost, while the enormous confusion we face is: there are far more people creating deserts than those controlling them!

Forest Stroll

I walked through the forest of Mount Tianmu. My thoughts scattered in every direction—from the Club of Rome and the Accademia dei Lincei to the shifting past and present of the old Yellow River course, from Loulan and the Maya civilization to President Roosevelt, to China's forest fires, to Heilongjiang's diseased pork, to the journalists who once pushed Roosevelt to halt logging, to the Chinese writers forbidden from entering the Greater Khingan Mountains, to those who held endless meetings and issued empty reports, to the giant pandas crying out as forests reached a state of emergency, to the Yangtze and Yellow Rivers that day and night carried the lifeblood of the Chinese nation…

A fallen maple leaf lay at my feet. The forest's calendar told me: it was October 20, 1987.

Every evening, a program that followed the “News Broadcast” had become wildly popular: “This Day in History.” This world is turbulent; we inherit a turbulent past, and what we ourselves create is another turbulent present. Each day is worthy of remembrance—and of scrutiny. Across the five continents and four oceans: wars, disasters; political figures in the spotlight, rising and falling; superpowers, nuclear tests, rockets bound for the moon; military coups; power struggles, profit struggles; assassinations both hidden and overt. Those who rose were pushed down; those pushed down struggled to rise again. Student demonstrations. Worker strikes. The mating of giant pandas. Ethiopia's worsening famine—black children holding empty bowls, too weak to walk, staring at an incomprehensible world with increasingly bewildered eyes… The list was endless.

But are there commemorations humanity has forgotten? Or commemorations humanity has deliberately erased?

One peerless milestone in prehistoric civilization occurred 420 million years ago, when plants first emerged from the sea and took root on land—ushering in a new green era, transforming a barren Earth and laying the essential groundwork for human survival and development.

Tragically, with each new wave of technological revolution, ecological destruction has only accelerated. Forests—because their timber was valuable—were the first to be devastated. Does humanity truly intend to return Earth to the desolation that existed before plants came ashore?

As the Club of Rome warned, in this age of a global human “kingdom,” our knowledge expands endlessly—we understand more and more about distant things, yet astonishingly little about the changes already taking place in our own living environment. This is ignorance bordering on self-destruction.

And as Alvin Toffler observed, speaking of modern science and technology and their negative consequences: “It is no exaggeration to say that no civilization has ever created such means—capable not only of destroying a city, but of annihilating the entire Earth. Never before have entire oceans faced the threat of poisoning. Through human greed or negligence, whole species can vanish from the planet overnight. Never has mining torn such wounds into the land. Never before have aerosols depleted the ozone layer, or thermal pollution altered the global climate on such a scale.”

Was Toffler being alarmist? No.

Look at even the incomplete record of disasters in China and around the world in 1987: in early spring, Western Europe was battered by extreme cold and snowstorms. China faced severe drought. The Greater Khingan Mountains suffered a catastrophic forest fire. Greece endured scorching summer heat, with people desperately searching for water and shade. Bangladesh flooded. Colombia saw deadly landslides. The Gulf region was shaken by continuous warfare. And in autumn, the Middle East was struck by a chain of natural disasters—floods, storms, earthquakes. In Lebanon's war-torn Bekaa Valley, winds reached 113 kilometers an hour. Egypt was inundated by days of heavy rain, threatening the Aswan Dam.

Every corner of the world was crying out: the Earth has changed. The climate is no longer normal.

I asked the forest, and the forest remained silent.

I recalled something Henry David Thoreau wrote in June 1853—a New England botanist and wanderer of the wild:

“If a man walks in the forest out of love for it, spending his time there, he will be seen as an idler; but if he acts as a speculator and spends the whole day cutting down those very trees, he will be praised as industrious and enterprising—while making the earth prematurely bald.”

Engels was even more blunt. He wrote: “The inhabitants of Mesopotamia, Greece, Asia Minor, and other places cut down all their forests in search of arable land, but they never dreamed that these regions would become barren wastelands because, by stripping them of forests, they stripped them of the centers that gathered and stored moisture.”

The Mesopotamian plain that Engels mentioned—the birthplace of the Babylonian civilization I wrote of earlier—had its downfall recorded vividly in his work.

Our ancestors are long gone, yet in any deep forest their words remain buried. If you listen quietly, you can still hear them. Do not think that a forest is merely a collection of trees. A forest is a world. In that world live countless plants, insects, birds, and beasts—and beneath its floor lie the coal seams formed from ancient Carboniferous forests. In this three-dimensional realm, rising and falling, large and small, the trees stand as the great “pillars” of the green temple, with most other life suspended from these pillars. Differences in height make the forest deeper and more mysterious; its silence and stillness are signs of a life force that endures.

Beneath rough bark lie cells of astonishing precision—structures through which trees carry out the unimaginable work of surviving, growing, and reproducing. Azaleas and hydrangeas, blooming in the understory, resemble open windows filled with flowers. The tiny birds are the darlings of this world—tireless singers—while the roar of lions and tigers embodied the dignity and ferocity that once defended this green realm.

To walk from the outside world into the mountains and then into the forest is to cross a boundary between two worlds. The living conditions trees create are immediately felt beneath one's feet: nowhere else is the soil so soft and loose, so moist and springy. Take a deep breath—fatigue vanishes. In the trees' fresh fragrance, the heart becomes calm and clear. Your blood seems to move with greater vitality, your imagination awakens. Poetry, music, and paintings drift into mind of their own accord.

There are no harsh winds inside a forest. The canopy and branches absorb them layer by layer. Only gentle breezes pass through—like the hands of children brushing lightly across your face. At first you hear only the sound of rain, though no raindrops appear. Only when the leaves are fully soaked do the drops fall—and even then, half of the water never reaches the ground.

The forest—what a peaceful, subtle, and inexhaustibly rich artistic world it is. With more forests, would we still fear the wind and rain?

Forests do more than beautify the Earth; they keep its temperature steady. It is the leafy green crowns above and the interwoven roots below that give both soil and humanity warmth and safety. Forests hold imagination and mythology as well.

Yet forests are not impregnable fortresses. Far away, whenever a tree is illegally felled, the trees here seem to tremble, and more leaves drift silently to the forest floor.

Beneath our feet, humanity drills ever deeper into the Earth's crust. Consider just a few figures: mine shafts now descend 3–4 kilometers, many mining sites lie 1,300 meters underground, and some boreholes reach 10 kilometers deep. Each year, the world extracts 3.9 billion tons of coal, 2.6 billion tons of oil, and 3.5 billion tons of iron ore—more than 20 billion tons of minerals in all—while the loose waste rock generated amounts to three times that. In agriculture, we move 3,000 cubic kilometers of soil. And once forests are gone, 7 billion tons of soil wash away every year.

It is no exaggeration to say the Earth's crust is being thinned. Beneath us, traps multiply. And once stripped of forests, the Earth itself grows fragile—melancholy, even somewhat neurotic, quick to anger. If the planet feels such loss, how can we, its inhabitants, expect to remain calm? To be content? To strive for better? To believe we will stay safe?

In 1974, West German scientist U. Schipke likened Earth to a spacecraft drifting through the cosmos. He posed the question: “Can this cosmic spacecraft Earth still be saved?”

Schipke wrote: “On humanity's cosmic spacecraft Earth No. 1, there are now 3.6 billion passengers, carrying 5 trillion trillion tons of air and 1.3 billion cubic kilometers of water, of which only 2 percent is fresh water. The Earth travels at 30 kilometers per second, covering 1 billion kilometers a year. And in this long journey, for the first time, clear signs of mortal danger have appeared. The spacecraft is overloaded, half its passengers are starving, and its life-critical reserves are nearing exhaustion.”

Opinions differ around the world on Schipke's prediction of Earth's future. But as a scientist, his warning strikes me as both real and timely. Photographs taken by astronauts show clearly that Earth is indeed a spacecraft drifting through the cosmos—one that has sustained humanity since the beginning. By 1987, the planet's population had already surpassed five billion. Yet the space on this small world is not infinite; it is finite. The resources it offers are not boundless; they too are finite. This alone determines that Earth's capacity has limits: limits to what it can hold, limits to what can be extracted, limits to what it can endure. It has given—and continues to give—immense wealth, but it also needs care, replenishment, rest, and recovery.

The harsh lesson of overloading and overexertion was vividly confirmed by the recent maritime disaster in the Philippines. A passenger ship and an oil tanker collided on a calm sea—though one carried more than a thousand extra passengers and the other held 8,800 barrels of crude oil. The collision ignited the sea itself; fireballs shot into the sky, and people thrown overboard were burned alive in the flaming water. Both vessels reportedly had collision-avoidance systems, yet so many lives were lost that investigators struggled to determine who was at fault. Whose crime was it? And if ships on the open ocean can collide like this, what should we expect of spacecraft in the skies?

Consider forests once more. Planned selective logging, thinning, the deliberate planting of fuelwood forests—our forestry departments have drafted regulations for all of it. The Forest Law is thorough, and public calls to protect forests grow louder each year. The real problem is that many people, including many officials, simply do not care. Every day brings new reports of excessive logging. Resources that belong to all humanity—and should be preserved for future generations—are being squandered, wasted, or siphoned into private pockets. At the same time, the pollution that accompanies modern technological revolutions poisons both people and the planet. We complain of exhaustion, forgetting that the scarred Earth is even more exhausted. We speak of loneliness, unaware that the solitary Earth is far lonelier still.

Earth has given us so much—what have we given it in return? Each person has only one mother, and humanity has only one Earth. When will we see less cruelty, less conflict, less killing—and begin treating Earth as a simple natural village, in which every one of us is just an ordinary villager, carefully protecting everything that belongs to this shared home?

Human life is short; its continuation depends not only on our biological endurance but on the improvement of the environments in which we live.

And now I hear calls from every corner of the world: Save the tropical rainforests while facing crises!

Commercial logging initiated by the Indian government in the 1950s has reduced Himalayan forests by 40 percent. The roof of the world should have grown younger and greener—yet it has only aged. Irrigation projects in Uttar Pradesh have had to be abandoned. In the face of six billion tons of fertile topsoil washed away each year, no one can stop the loss. Bangladesh suffers catastrophic floods; tens of thousands die in overflowing waters…

In Central America, between 1961 and 1978, 39 percent of forests were cut and converted into pasture.

In Brazil, large-scale logging to fuel iron smelting has reduced the once vast and magnificent Atlantic rainforest—the cherished home of increasingly rare primates—to just a handful of isolated groves.

Across the forest regions of Central and East Africa, even firewood has become scarce. As usable wood disappears, swelling populations are forced to eat raw food daily. Perhaps this is a stark warning: the day humanity fells the last tree may mark the beginning of a new era of eating raw meat and drinking blood.

Human progress is uneven. Building civilization requires years of effort—drip by drip, like water eroding stone. Human destruction, however, is coordinated and purposeful: excessive logging, relentless hunting, and the clearing away of everything that stands in our path.

In this forest, I felt the trees trembling. I was no longer a casual wanderer. My steps grew heavy. My heart grew heavy. I felt ashamed of myself. I felt ashamed of humanity.

In this human world, how much wisdom and talent, how much money and wealth, has been devoted to tyranny, hegemony, war, and mutual self-destruction? If this is how we treat one another, what hope is there for trees, grasses, birds—for nature itself?

According to estimates from the United Nations Environment Programme, global desert-control efforts from 1986 to the end of the twentieth century would cost $90 billion—an average of $6 billion a year. Yet the world spends $800 billion annually on military forces. That is, humanity is killing and bombing itself with 130 times the intensity it applies to saving its own environment.

I walked out of the forest knowing that I would return to a landscape of concrete—looking out from gray clothes at a world turning grayer.

But still, I want to cry out on this Earth, no matter how small my voice may be:

Wake up, Lumberjacks!

(Originally published in New Observer, Issue 2, 1988)

Reflections on the Bu Xinsheng Phenomenon

Zhou Jiajun

Walking home that night, I pieced together the broadcaster's voice through one window after another along the darkened street, catching the regretful tone: “The nationally renowned Bu Xinsheng has been removed from his positions as factory director, manager, and deputy party secretary... His Haiyan Shirt Factory will now accept public tenders...”

The river fell silent. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. A strange hush descended. The vague sense of foreboding I'd carried for years had finally come true. This, I realized, was history's verdict.

Quietly unsettled, I hurried to the banks of the Qiantang River and entered the factory that had occupied my thoughts The grounds looked the same: green pines and cypresses, small ponds with standing cranes, workers at their stations. Sunlight poured down brilliantly, yet people were unusually quiet, casting wary glances at every unfamiliar face. A sense of bewildered loss hung over the main gate.

I found myself recalling a dispatch from Beijing dated May 8th, four years earlier, written by the respected British journalist Euan Maxwell: “Bu Xinsheng, director of Haiyan Shirt Factory in Zhejiang, China, has now become one of China's most controversial figures...”

I can't say exactly what it means to raise that quote again, but there's no denying that this “most controversial figure” had once again become the subject of intense discussion.

“I need to reflect,” Bu Xinsheng said with effort, breaking his silence at last.

A Historical Confession

So I followed closely behind history, tumbling into a painful process. My pen should be writing about heroes, yet the man before me called himself the failed protagonist of a living drama.

Reflection always brings pain. It carries history's heavy burden, yet it holds a certain seductive appeal; after all, it can bring clarity and fresh motivation.

The townspeople told me a local legend: on a distant, cloud-swept midnight, the Qiantang River, whipped by fierce winds, had raised a great tide that nearly swallowed this ancient town. Four years earlier, another kind of storm had arisen—one that shocked and stirred the hearts of Wuyuan Town's residents. Yet this storm came from Bu Xinsheng himself, who would later appear frequently on television: his thin, wiry frame, clever eyes, animated gestures, and what was then considered unthinkable reform.

The townspeople were mostly kind but reserved. Time had made them accept the new reality. Countless bits of information, like the murky Yanping River flowing through town, constantly reminded them that their community had produced another capable man. The descendant of the Bu family tailors became their model. They followed his example with cautious steps, and the ancient town grew vibrant. The whole nation grew vibrant.

Now it seemed this same Yanping River was bringing discouraging news. The Qiantang was raising ominous waves again—Bu Xinsheng, their idol, was in trouble.

That day, entering the rural-styled but luxurious reception room he'd designed himself, my mood was heavy. I wanted to trace this remarkable figure's footsteps through history.

Printed carpets, exquisitely crafted high-backed rattan chairs, mirrored walls, gleaming display cases, and diamond-shaped chandeliers filled the room. Though everything appeared freshly cleaned, it still seemed covered with a layer of dust and gloom. He hadn't received journalists in years, and his stubbornness had caused problems. Today, he made an exception for me.

He sat on a foam cushion in the middle of a three-person rattan chair. He'd grown thinner, sitting there like a distant dot among far mountains. He gazed at me as if both questioning and answering. What did I want to know—failure, success, the curtain rising, or the curtain falling?

I suddenly remembered a provincial party secretary calling him a Xia Baoyang-type figure. But I'd always had strange thoughts—when I wrote those lengthy articles about him, an ominous premonition had inexplicably troubled me.

Anyone who's been to Wuyuan Town knows the teahouse south of the bridge where people sit with oily black teapots, discussing the old topic of the Bu family tailors' rise and fall with sympathetic regret and small-town worldliness, sighing: “Ah, this Bu Xinsheng!”

But the information gleaned from a few mouths with yellowed teeth and the “loudspeaker” in the corner was limited. They relied on the old wisdom that what rises must fall.

The Town's Grand Celebration

The increasingly thin Bu Xinsheng appeared bewildered and dejected while still maintaining a certain pride: “The pressure I'm bearing now is more than any factory director could withstand.”

His clever eyes swept over the brilliant walls, then stared blankly at me. I had, after all, been a fellow traveler through this segment of his history.

In the summer of 1984, this reformer—singled out by the central government for emulation—sat in this same three-person rattan chair and issued his command: “We must celebrate properly and grandly!”

A week later, an unprecedented celebration took place. People came from Shanghai, from provincial organs and units, from the press. Cars nearly filled the small town's streets, and the Public Security Bureau deployed police to maintain order. Firecrackers sounded throughout the town, and the aroma of fried fish and roasted meat drifted everywhere. Ten people per table at the feast, with performances by three nationally famous theater troupes. Who wouldn't flock to praise a reform hero?

The curtain rose. Bu Xinsheng, tracked by spotlights, wore a crisp beige suit with a gleaming red tie, chin raised, reading the names of journalists from across the nation whom he was rewarding for their reports on his factory's reform achievements.

That night, the townspeople didn't sleep. Bu Xinsheng excitedly contemplated the town's fate and the nation's fate. Reform—this fresh word with infinite charm—had taken root in the ancient town.

Bu Xinsheng sat beaming in the three-person rattan chair. The celebration finally dispersed, and the town showed the cold quiet after revelry, as if even its original prosperity had departed with the celebratory whirlwind.

Still in this same reception room, Bu Xinsheng sat upright, toying with orders for hundreds of thousands of shirts from over ten provinces and cities, then dismissively tossing them on the coffee table. He seemed beside himself.

Yes, reform was essential—without reform, there would be no Bu Xinsheng! He had some delusions, yet they were also facts. He clearly remembered that evening half a month earlier when China Central People's Broadcasting Station announced: “Tomorrow there will be an important broadcast...”

The next day they broadcast his reform achievements and the central government's directive. This tailor's descendant had an excellent memory. Such a solemn ceremony had occurred once before—that was the night before broadcasting the communiqué of the Third Plenum of the Eleventh Central Committee. Of course, he didn't fully grasp the significance.

This descendant of tailors who'd been handling needles and thread since childhood hadn't studied much and lacked modern business values, but he desperately wanted to change the status quo and develop his small factory. The laws of commodity economy prompted him to break through old conventions and mechanisms. He naturally voiced the cry “no reform, no way out” that followed the tide. Combined with his cleverness and boldness, he achieved the victories and support that people already knew about.

The government promptly seized on this model and promoted it nationwide. A report team leader from the county committee told me he'd made a rough calculation: since the founding of the People's Republic, in terms of publicity promoting individual achievements, perhaps only Lei Feng ranked higher than Bu Xinsheng.

But if we view the reform China began undertaking as a revolution, then the publicity about this small-town success story wasn't surprising. People not only read reports about him thoroughly but also became familiar with his thin, active image on television, his somewhat comical gestures, and his overconfident speech. Whenever he appeared on screen, audiences could call out: “Bu Xinsheng!”

China's First-Rate Suit Venture and the First Big Stone

Victory is what people yearn for, but eagerness for victory often becomes a signpost leading to failure. When people today discuss his decision-making errors, the first topic is suits—this strange tide that puzzled countless business operators.

Late at night, the reception room was brilliantly lit. The workers knew their factory director was thinking, working, meeting. They trusted their commander, and the lights gave them comfort. They could never imagine that their trusted leader was making an erroneous decision that would lead to disaster.

The room was filled with smoke, everyone drowsy, some yawning. But what they were strategizing would determine the factory's fate.

“Old Bu, we could make some suits,” said Director Shen from the Second Light Industry Bureau, straightening up from his rattan chair and staring at Bu Xinsheng.

The suit craze—this whirlwind that formed in late 1983 and peaked in 1984—was somewhat comical. People treated wearing suits as fashionable, as a symbol of supporting reform. From dignitaries in the Great Hall of the People to ordinary citizens, from company managers to street vendors, everyone wore suits ranging from crisp to wrinkled. Suits becoming popular was like an international joke happening in China.

In this shirt factory, ties were being produced like silkworm silk every day, thousands flowing out.

“No!” Bu Xinsheng finally took a position, gently shaking his head, though his clever eyes showed he was calculating—he was no fool.

This descendant of old tailors whose ancestors had made flowered shirts and qipao for Qing Dynasty officials and merchants was calculating the pros and cons without ambiguity.

Bu Xinsheng stood up and firmly repeated: “No, I developed from shirts. I won't do suits!”

This was spring. Summer passed, autumn came. Old Shen returned: “Jiaxing is doing it, Haining is doing it too. Let's do a little!”

So the tie workshop was established, the printing and dyeing workshop was established, and the huge shirt workshop was producing their honored products “Sanmao,” “Shuangyan,” and “Tangren.” Wouldn't adding a suit factory complete the picture? The magnificent scene already appeared before his eyes, making the reformer's ambitions soar.

“Do it!” The factory director jumped up from the rattan chair, waving those familiar gestures, widening his clever eyes. “Good, 80,000 suits. Set up an assembly line, import it, and go to Japan!”

Two hours—no one could imagine that such a major decision was finalized by the two of them in just two hours. He didn't understand that enterprises stay competitive by relying on transparent decision-making, extensive information networks, and deep scientific analysis. That day, with a victor's confidence, personal arrogance, and casual style, he made this dangerous decision.

He met resistance. Deputy Factory Director Xiao Shen, who had always admired his reformist spirit, raised objections: “We can't decide so hastily. We need a feasibility study!”

This young man in charge of the official seal dared to defy authority. But the factory director—later criticized as stubborn and willful—casually rejected this: “What do you know?”

Xiao Shen felt wronged. He persisted for a long time, unwilling to stamp the application, but finally yielded. We shouldn't be harsh on him—he was the only young cadre who clearly expressed dissent. We should praise his courage. His integrity was far higher than those in important positions who knew it was wrong but flattered and approved, then sang the “against my better judgment” tune afterward.

Next, Bu Xinsheng submitted an application estimating annual production of 80,000 suits and $180,000 in foreign exchange quota.

Accelerating Speed

Along the fertile green fields of the Hangzhou-Jiaxing-Huzhou plain, he took a car, bumping through dust all the way to the provincial government. The department director warmly received him, offering fragrant Longjing tea with both hands to the reformer who had brought glory to the province.

“Good, good!” He repeatedly praised the reformer's bold initiative. “We need this spirit of continuous reform!” The director sipped his tea and added with even more impressive authority: “I say, if we're doing it, do it big—annual production of 300,000 suits, and by 1990, 800,000 suits!”

To demonstrate his decision-making authority, he deliberately paused—this silence was more powerful than words, showing how resolutely he supported reform.

80,000 became 800,000! The Chinese have always had a penchant for “bigness”—the Great Leap Forward, the Cultural Revolution—but the results were never wonderful.

The car drove homeward, bumping back to the banks of the Yanping River. At the macro level, from county to province, nobody exercised control; instead, they enlarged the scale. What terrible encouragement!

“Good news” came as anticipated: the Ministry of Light Industry approved their plan; the State Economic Commission approved their report; an audit meeting with serious participation from provincial, city, and county officials began. The 6,000-square-meter suit building plan was formulated with extraordinary speed. Land acquisition, demolition, personnel, loans... The runaway train slid madly toward the valley floor.

News spread along the Yanping River, from workers to family members, from town schools to shops, finally reaching the town's news hub—the teahouse south of the bridge.

“Our Haiyan is building a tower!”

“The Bu family's descendant is going abroad!”

“Bu Xinsheng is making suits—suits are specially sold to foreigners!”

Sitting on this runaway train, this small-town success story envisioned future victory and was full of confidence. Like all historical figures, victory made him relax his vigilance against his own weaknesses, and dust clouded his vision.

The building began to tilt, and the repeatedly added infrastructure investments nearly exceeded the sum of all fixed assets. The sword of economic law that had punished others many times began to be unsheathed. However, borrowing temporarily supported the heavy burden on the reformer's shoulders.

I recalled the Spring Festival of 1985. I was invited to a banquet at a foreign guest restaurant at Jiaotong University, but I felt regretful that the university president didn't personally attend. At that time, I was exploring how a renowned university president could provide theoretical guidance to an entrepreneur from a small-town handicraft background and promote his self-improvement. For Bu Xinsheng, this was crucial. Such partnerships were common abroad but hadn't yet appeared domestically.

Under brilliant lights, Bu Xinsheng wore a light-colored suit, appearing dashing and capable, yet still with his restless demeanor.

“I'm about to go to Japan, invited by a clothing corporation. Leaving right away—the plane ticket is already booked.” He excitedly gripped my hand.

“Congratulations on your new breakthrough,” I responded.

“Yes!” He picked up the conversation in authentic Haiyan dialect. “If reform isn't combined with pioneering, then reform has no direction, goals, or future!”

He had a habit of using synonyms, sometimes with flashes of brilliant language and viewpoints that formed their own coherent system.

“Once the suit production line is imported and that building is completed, we'll produce 300,000 suits annually, and by 1990, 800,000 suits. The Haiyan factory will be completely integrated!”

Good self-perception destroyed his shrewd defenses.

Adding glory to glory, good news followed good news—Xinhua News Agency reported that Bu Xinsheng was elected as a supplementary member of the National People's Political Consultative Conference. Hundreds of millions of people saw a moving scene on their screens: the respected Comrade Deng Dajie, walking with difficulty, found this small-statured reformer in the crowd and earnestly wished: “Comrade Bu Xinsheng, you must continue reforming. Do you have any difficulties?”

“No, no, everything is going smoothly now!”

The fanaticism and complacency common to small operators flowed out. The small-statured reformer never anticipated that a big stone had quietly been placed on his foot.

History had already been written and couldn't be erased. The world was still watching him. China's economic reform continued to be the center of world attention, and the surfer leaping at the head of this reform tide was still that tailor-turned-factory-director in the small shirt factory by the Qiantang River, arousing intense interest from curious Western journalists not satisfied with that brief meeting at the Great Wall Hotel a year earlier.

Too mysterious, too newsworthy. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs continuously received applications from foreign correspondents stationed in Beijing, asking to conduct on-site interviews with Bu Xinsheng. They were accustomed to using observation and speculation to determine their approach to everything Chinese. The Dragon Nation promoting Bu Xinsheng at such a high level showed a future model, a signal!

Indeed, a long convoy of luxury cars rolled majestically into Wuyuan Town—Yugoslavs, French, Americans, Soviets, Poles. The townspeople were genuinely grateful that this descendant of tailors brought glory to every household.

The press conference was held in style. Bu Xinsheng occupied a three-person rattan chair alone, with excellent demeanor, everything proper, as smooth as the factory's well-ironed clothes.

“Sir, do you say your shirts can match or surpass American brand-name shirts?” an American journalist asked with considerable interest.

“Of course, that's beyond question.” Bu Xinsheng habitually turned his head sideways and answered without hesitation.

Actually, over the past year, although the neon sign “Reputation First, Quality Number One” still lit up all night on his factory roof, he had neglected quality issues. His answer caused whispers among the journalists.

“Mr. Bu, can you tell us what your country's main economic problems were before the Cultural Revolution?” a French journalist asked.

“Eating from the 'big pot'!” Bu Xinsheng used this vivid phrase to summarize years of problems. He seemed pleased, as if he had perfectly answered a teacher's question.

“Is this unique to your country?”

“No, gentlemen.” Bu Xinsheng became agitated, intensifying his gestures. He sensed the implications of this question. “Our Chinese nation has always been hardworking and brave. The 'big pot' was imported from abroad in the 1950s and fully promoted in 1958.”

Before he finished, the journalists were laughing heartily, flashbulbs flickering like lightning.

“Gentlemen, this 'big pot' was not invented by our country—we don't want credit for this invention!”

He elaborated further. Another burst of laughter.

This was both a successful and unsuccessful press conference. A Xinhua journalist said: “Old Bu, you've built up socialist morale!”

However, afterward he could no longer produce better shirts. His “Tangren,” “Sanmao,” and “Shuangyan” all remained stagnant, not only failing to catch up with American brands, but his cherished “Tangren” brand was deducted 15 points at the national shirt evaluation in Qingdao and failed by a margin of 0.05 points.

This was the golden autumn of 1985, but the season brought him no corresponding fruits. This was another ominous sign. However, the reformer's gaze never lingered on this important issue.

The first tall building in Wuyuan Town—his suit building—had already been pile-driven, opening the money-swallowing floodgates. Simultaneously, the clothing corporation easily collected their hundreds of thousands of dollars.

He should have sat down to plan carefully. He should have understood that China's economic reform produced Bu Xinsheng—not the other way around.

On a late winter night, I had seen on Bu Xinsheng's desk a letter from a scientific worker in Beijing:

“Reform is a great cause. As a reformer, you must guard against arrogance and rashness, be more modest and prudent. The tree that stands tallest catches the most wind; conduct higher than others invites criticism...”

China's thinkers, using language that crystallizes wisdom, awaken sleepers, making them clear-headed and enabling them to soar.

“This letter is very meaningful!” I said.

“Hmm, good, put it away, read it carefully later.” He seemed quite sincere, casually handing it to Deputy Factory Director Xiao Shen. The letter was put away and naturally never recalled again.

Then diplomats from various countries rushed from Beijing. He understood that the world was still paying attention. Then came officials from state ministries, provincial and municipal leaders, and even the General Secretary's wife came specially to visit him, conveying greetings from the General Secretary.

The reformer's cheeks appeared gaunt from constant deep thought. He told himself: I should consider the overall reform situation. I should face the entire nation!

(How could he have anticipated that three years later, he would say to me: “My career is in Haiyan!”—tragic yet poignant.)

He rode trains, ships, and airplanes, rushing to all parts of the country. He and professors initiated one national discussion conference after another about reform—rural, urban, cultural, educational—crowding together on solemn podiums, speaking about issues he himself didn't fully understand. He was far from his Haiyan, from his enterprise, as if he had undertaken the mission of the entire nation's reform.

However, he had some self-control. He never accepted invitations for recuperation trips with his wife. Although comfortable rooms were booked for him at seaside resorts, he always booked return flights and hurried back. He wanted to demonstrate his self-worth, yet away from that shirt factory south of Wuyuan Town, he would lose his real value. This entrepreneur from the countryside didn't understand this simple truth.

At this time, new reform heroes emerged across China. Ma Shengli appeared—this big man from central Hebei declared: “I learned from Bu Xinsheng's deeds and started reform.” Zhejiang's Lu Guanqiu appeared, also saying that only by taking Bu Xinsheng's path could enterprises succeed.

The sad yet gratifying fact of successors surpassing their predecessors!

The Building Begins to Tilt

At this time, his suit building had risen one floor higher, which he accidentally discovered upon returning from lecturing at a southern university. However, the building stopped rising.

“Why?”

“There's no money,” several young deputy factory directors answered.

At that time, civil construction alone cost 700,000 yuan.

“We can borrow!” Bu Xinsheng waved his hand, his manner as dashing as when giving reports at reform conferences.

He didn't read newspapers much. National finances were tight with high deficits, credit was tightened, and infrastructure projects were urgently curtailed.

“Old Bu, just say the word when you need us.” Over a year earlier, bank staff had always welcomed him with smiles. Now they were cold as ice.

This was progress, of course. All outdated production relations ruled by narrow old consciousness should be abandoned. Finance must dominate in the commodity economy.

Bu Xinsheng sat upright in his rattan chair, listening to Finance Section Chief Lao Lu's report: cement prices rose from 600 yuan per ton to 1,600 yuan; 200,000 yuan in working capital had been fully invested. The completed suit building was found to have shoddy construction, a result from the work of a Nanjing construction team. Steel reinforcement rusted and protruded from the concrete. Professional ethics worth nothing displayed their ugliness. Infrastructure was delayed.

The small town's capable man fell silent.

I recalled a speech he gave in Beijing during his peak period: “A factory director is like a family head managing household affairs. After monthly income covers daily necessities, whether to buy pants for the eldest son or socks for the second requires careful calculation and acting within one's means!”

How vivid and wise. Obviously, he now fell into difficulties because he bought everything without securing enough basics.

This was truth—plain and unadorned.

However, he had superior wit and creativity after all. In this difficult moment, he proposed gathering small-town residents, each contributing 1,000 yuan to enter factory work. He called them shareholders. Converting funds into capital, then expanding production—this was the foundation of commodity economy.

The Haiyan factory had unquestionable honor and attraction in Wuyuan Town. Without much effort, over three hundred people threw themselves into the factory's embrace, which added smile lines to Bu Xinsheng's gaunt face and increased his sense of pride.

Personnel for manufacturing suits came in, including several highly paid retired suit tailors from Shanghai. In the reform era, talented people sought to contribute their remaining energy. However, their techniques were outdated—wrinkled front panels, wrinkled lapels, with no fashionable appeal.

Bu Xinsheng's factory produced suits worn by rural cadres and roadside vendors alike.

At this time, the suit craze had become a hot topic in national newspapers.

Late at night, he returned to the top floor of the residential building. His wife was unexpectedly still awake, her face shrouded in anxious worry—the typical expression of a kind woman concerned for her husband.

“I heard the suits aren't selling?” she asked timidly.

“Who said that? Complete nonsense!” He was stubborn. Actually, the suits already showed signs of slow sales. But production continued at its original pace. Humans are strange animals, often viewing facts through wishful thinking.

“Will China have so many people wearing suits?” his wife asked with doubtful eyes.

“Among one billion people, if only one in a hundred wears suits, even new production lines wouldn't be enough. We must think far ahead!”

“Wearing suits requires ties—so troublesome!” Rural women always had that bit of stubbornness.

“Go to sleep, you don't understand!”

The vague sense of crisis gradually became clear. He appeared irritated, drinking the half-warm porridge on the table. With a bad stomach, porridge was his staple food.

His window faced the Qiantang River. In the quiet night, he could often hear waves, but he didn't listen to those inspiring calls. The brilliant stars quietly slipped by.

He was fortunate after all. In May, the Premier, accompanied by provincial leaders, visited his factory. For Bu Xinsheng, this was an opportunity.

The Premier observed this prominent reform figure with considerable interest. Now that the reform tide was surging, he wanted to see the changes in this “source.”

“I came here out of admiration!” the Premier said, gripping his hand as soon as he got out of the car.

Bu Xinsheng reported and accompanied him on a tour. “That's the printing and dyeing branch, that's the tie branch, that's the suit branch imported from Japan. We've already started producing suits...” he said with confidence and pride.

The Premier walked with firm steps, watching, listening, and thinking.

“We should actively seek support from Shanghai. We could make more fashion, strengthening adaptability. Jackets are good—casual, suitable for both old and young.”

The Premier seemed to pay little attention to the suits Bu Xinsheng spoke of with such relish, much less praise them. Bu Xinsheng's thinking suddenly showed a gap. The entrepreneur from a small tailor background lacked business awareness, preventing him from reaching a new level.

He was somewhat stunned: “Yes, yes.” He kept agreeing, but this rural reformer didn't keenly realize this was strategic economic information. He couldn't extricate himself. The tragedy continued to deepen, like an eagle with broken wings falling into the abyss.

Now, when it was too late for regrets, he looked at the carpet marked with the factory logo and said sadly: “How could I not have followed the Premier's words?”

His face showed the pain of defeat. Actually, even turning the ship around then would have been too late.

He too lacked the qualities of a modern entrepreneur. His rise was a manifestation of the rebound force produced after long constraint by old production relations. Modern enterprises require far higher standards, demanding that operators understand social, psychological, technological, cultural, and managerial dimensions.

The reformer's perspective continued to expand. In the morning, at the cafeteria dining table, he sat wearily. With over half a bowl of thin porridge remaining, he put down his chopsticks, leaving the cold tofu untouched.

“Don't prepare lunch for me,” he lazily told the server.

“Sir, you eat too little!” the anxious server said with genuine concern.

This was the factory's master! The 52-year-old Bu Xinsheng had become a little old man.

Time, like the Yanping River flowing peacefully, had carried away another quarter. Winter arrived.

The precious 2 million yuan in working capital was thrown into the ground. The hastily launched printing and dyeing workshop cost nearly 1.3 million yuan. Due to technical failures, with only a crew of rural dye workers earning dozens of yuan monthly, the tie branch's efficiency also dropped to freezing point.

Deputy Factory Director Xiao Li was also not a good operator.

“Xiao Li, how's the efficiency at your place?” the reformer asked hopefully.

“I've contacted Hangzhou and Jiaxing. I still need to visit Jiangsu. They say it will rebound.” He stuttered evasively.

“This won't work. Running a factory must emphasize efficiency!” Bu Xinsheng's face flushed red, his thick eyebrows almost jumping. Although this branch was praised to the skies, no profit could be seen.

All this deeply tormented his heart as reality mockingly jeered at him.

Shirts, with annual production reaching 1.2 million pieces, were the bread-and-butter product here, still maintaining appearances, but the finance chief twice sounded alarms: “Sir, there's no money for fabric purchases.”

“Didn't Yili in Xinjiang send a payment?” His memory was quite good.

“It went to the bank to pay debts!” the finance chief answered helplessly.

“Opportunistic!” he said indignantly.

Using merchant jargon: credit was tight, cash flow couldn't turn around. The factory that news media had repeatedly publicized as Haiyan County's first to exceed 10 million yuan in annual output value revealed signs of defeat.

However, this reformer still involuntarily followed that habitual rhythm, galloping to various places, delivering lengthy speeches nationwide and even overseas: “Views on Urban Reform,” “On Several Problems in Current Reform”... These reports were disseminated in factories, government offices, schools, and even military units. Limited energy was dispersed into unlimited reporting, while his own reform and management were neglected.

All appearances remained undiminished: factory celebrations cost 70,000 yuan; horizontal connections, sponsorships, and advertising fees nearly 200,000 yuan! While 1985's net profit was only 520,000 yuan! How shocking!

This was earned through hundreds of thousands of ties, nearly a million shirts, and the hard labor of nearly a thousand people! Traditional consciousness and lavish appearances devoured hard-earned profits. Even workers couldn't receive bonuses personally promised by the factory director, and assembly line workers' bonuses decreased monthly. Arguments arose, laziness appeared. His authority faced serious challenges.

“Why aren't you honoring the conditions you promised?” a deputy factory director argued reasonably.

“Then why should we work hard?” Actual work slowdowns occurred: sales personnel stayed in offices to chat instead of traveling.

“Why is it like this?” I asked a deputy factory director.

“Mr. Bu is too arbitrary!”

Times had changed. Modern management science prominently manifests as concentration of will and power, but its foundation is democracy and transparent decision-making. Management economists had already recognized this.

Thus, the crucial cohesive force in the enterprise disappeared.

Ties, Nooses, Tie Lawsuits

“Bu Xinsheng was sued by Green Poplar Tie Factory in court!”

“Bu Xinsheng went to court!”

“Haiyan Shirt General Factory and Shanghai Green Poplar Tie Factory are in litigation!”

In today's revival of values, almost overnight, all of China's news media delivered this major news to hundreds of millions of readers.

Celebrity news has always been high-value news that journalists eagerly pursue. In China, fame often correlates with rumors. I remember two peaks of rumors about Bu Xinsheng: the first was during his Beijing conference attendance when people said he was arrested; the second was during his prosperous period when his name disappeared from newspapers and some spread rumors that he was under investigation for corruption.

During a recent business trip on a train, I heard a supply clerk from neighboring Haining County tell his seatmate: “Bu Xinsheng was arrested.”

Bu Xinsheng, already almost besieged on all sides, sat upright on the wide rattan chair. The person being received was a woman in her thirties with a pleasant but restrained smile—the female factory director of Shanghai Jiading Green Poplar Tie Factory, a Shanghai New Long March Shock Worker, fashionably called a “strong woman.”

Sitting in order on the carved rattan chairs were several subordinates, plus an elderly man near sixty who looked like a worker.

“This is my godfather!” the female factory director introduced. “He's an old dyeing worker, an old expert!”

“Oh!” Bu Xinsheng pondered, closing his eyes briefly as his brow flickered.

“Factory Director Bu, your reputation is great. Please help my goddaughter!” The old worker's wrinkled face broke into a smile.

“Good to say.” Bu Xinsheng became lightheaded. His small-town business alertness was affected, and his emotional temperament took over.

“Help my goddaughter's factory sell ties. Their quality is quite good,” the old worker revealed his hand.

“Your dyeing workshop needs help—here's my godfather!” the strong woman smiled easily.

“Ah!” Old Bu responded while mentally calculating the printing production line of his stalled dyeing workshop—precisely that thing he knew nothing about was causing him trouble. This was his second heavy burden.

“Let him be your consultant!” she continued.

“Good. Old Shi will be our dyeing workshop's technical guide.”

The guests left satisfied.

“Mr. Bu, our ties aren't selling well either!” the straightforward Deputy Factory Director Xiao Shen timidly reminded his superior when no outsiders were present.

The Haiyan Shirt Factory could no longer manage its cash flow—how could it take on new burdens?

“Sigh, find a way, look toward the distance.” He seemed weak, always hoping for a bright turn.

“Mr. Bu!” Xiao Shen called out again, tears welling in his eyes.

“What do you understand!” The reformer's tone became harsh. He didn't want others interfering with his decisions. The current economic difficulties had strengthened his fatal weakness—a kind of reverse psychology.

“Mr. Bu, you should think thrice!” Xiao Shen didn't yield. He had already seen the tragedy of the suit production line, and it could easily repeat.

But Bu Xinsheng turned, stood up, pulled open the small door behind him, and walked into his office.

This deal, later considered the second major blow after the suit branch launch, ultimately couldn't be stopped. After brief exchanges, a contract drafted by the tie factory was signed. 130,000 double-thread, diagonal-weave ties, 220,000 yuan. Consignment became purchase. That “godfather” disappeared without providing any technical guidance.

Days later, shirt factory sales personnel discovered quality problems with the ties at the tie factory. For the livelihood of all workers and the factory's future, after consulting with Deputy Factory Director Xiao Shen, they decided to send a telegram asking to temporarily halt shipment while reporting to Bu Xinsheng.

Bu Xinsheng didn't take it seriously. That strong woman was quite farsighted—at 11:30 that night, she personally escorted 68,776 ties lightning-fast through the heavily guarded gates of Haiyan Shirt Factory.

Bu Xinsheng finally discovered problems with quality, materials, specifications, and categories, and decided to return them, but was refused.

“We won't pay!” the factory director who had always considered himself omnipotent became angry.

The tie factory quickly sued in court, demanding payment according to contract. Both legal and stern.

At this point, China's first prominent reform figure was finally summoned to the defendant's dock. In fact, he had walked there step by step himself.

Appeal and defense: the shirt factory said the ties had quality problems; but the tie factory said objections weren't raised within the time limit. Yes, everything was beyond remedy because the deadline had passed.

Bu Xinsheng, who pushed the law far away, could never know that business operators worldwide prepare to fight to the death at international commercial courts for their own interests. Competition is life-or-death struggle. Chinese-style gentleness and yielding cannot enter the ocean of commodity economy.

Finally, the Higher People's Court mediated: “This court believes that the ties delivered indeed had some materials and varieties that didn't conform to contract specifications and should bear certain responsibility... The shirt factory failed to raise written objections within the ten-day limit, so the delivered products should be considered conforming... Both parties should learn lessons...”

Newspapers, radio, and television sensationalized it. Over a thousand workers tearfully listened to broadcasts and read newspapers. That day, all factory workers were filled with resentment and fell into deep silence.

Debt-ridden, the van was driven away. The backlogged ties were finally bought by a Wuxi entrepreneur at a few mao per tie.

Thus, Bu Xinsheng shouldered another 220,000 yuan debt.

How to raise funds? The honest deputy factory director went to provincial departments to borrow. Seeking the Finance Department: “No money!” Seeking the head company: “Figure it out yourselves.”

The respectable leaders forgot that without the suit production line burden, the factory could have cleared this debt.

With nowhere to borrow, the predicament was exposed. Arrears accumulated. The factory headed toward the abyss.

Indeed, before people realized what was happening, two factory trucks were driven away by court-dispatched drivers. But how could 220,000 yuan be offset by two old trucks?

That day, more people came from Shanghai, including a driver. Their target was that most beautiful little van in town.

Workers became angry. Old workers with tears closed the iron gates and formed a human wall: No! No! No!

But this was the court's judgment, the law! There could be no sentiment here, only iron severity.

The teahouse south of the bridge had new information to spread.

“Bu Xinsheng's debt can't be repaid. Tomorrow they'll come for the branch factory too!”

In rural Zhejiang, those gossips were the most effective news media. Various rumors could spread overnight.

Thus, before dawn, someone stood before the factory director: “Return my 1,000 yuan!”

Another came: “Return it to us!”

“Return it! 1,000 yuan!”

From persistent demands to angry roars.

“We won't shortchange you by a penny!” cadres tried to dissuade them.

“No, return the money!”

The factory director's credibility faced serious challenges. Yesterday's reform innovation became today's disaster.

Where to find this huge sum of over 300,000 yuan?

The outstanding descendant of tailors appeared dejected and weary.

The next day, all Chinese newspapers reported that the reform figure entered Zhejiang University to study: “Haiyan Shirt Factory Director Bu Xinsheng enters Zhejiang University for further education...”

Bu Xinsheng stepped down gracefully.

The teahouse south of the bridge began spreading new news.

During this difficult moment, a newspaper dedicated to promoting the legal system wrote two full pages about Bu Xinsheng's refusal to give interviews, saying he was ungrateful and burned bridges. They even said his wife's household registration was transferred using his official position. Because he did business with Hong Kong merchants, they slandered him for accepting two gold rings.

This was naturally something that could be understood without deep reflection. Bu Xinsheng was both indignant and calm. Even during our meeting, he said: “They have time to spread rumors, but I don't have time to refute them. My anguish comes from my own lack of quality. My reflection is limited to introspection.”

The former commanding reformer fell into painful retrospection.

The Yanping River was quietly churning.

Haiyan, Kind People Think of You...

In the quiet night, I thought of Haiyan again, of that small-town figure by the Qiantang River whom I hadn't seen for so long.

In March 1986, Bu Xinsheng returned to the factory at the request of county and municipal governments.

Soon, I sat in a black sedan with an elegant young lady in front wearing a loose white silk shirt and light-colored suit pants. She handed me a business card: Zhang Haiying, New Development Enterprise Co., Ltd. (Hong Kong).

“Going to Haiyan?”

“Yes, looking for Factory Director Bu for business.” She spoke in Fujian dialect, very sincere.

“An old client?” I felt puzzled, as in my long association with Bu Xinsheng, I had never seen this Miss Zhang.

“An old client among new clients. I've come three times this month!” She smiled slightly.

The driver told me Miss Zhang had just gotten off the plane.

“Factory Director Bu has credibility...” The car braked suddenly, interrupting her words.

The conversation ended, and the car sped along the roads straight toward Wuyuan Town.

Dusk was deepening when we entered the factory gate. I stepped into the familiar reception room with its rattan chairs, wall lamps, and curtains. Where was he?

Sitting on the three-person rattan chair. Bu Xinsheng was still in a beige suit with a light striped tie, but his gaunt face had lost its former brilliance, and sadness attacked my heart.

“I was wrong!” he said, grasping my hand.

I was stunned—this was the first time I heard the word “wrong” from his mouth.

Suddenly, I recalled a philosopher's words: “Knowing oneself is a great discovery.”

“Hmm.” I held his hand—he was trembling.

“It doesn't matter. As long as the factory exists and people exist, I'm not afraid. Starting from zero, three years, I'll turn it around!”

Another habitual gesture, waving an arc, his small but clever eyes flashing with spirit again.

I couldn't use a writer's mind to perceive his current state. Listen first, look around, we'll talk tonight.

I noticed Miss Zhang approaching gracefully.

My Career Is in Haiyan

“In March, I returned from the university. In spring, the evergreen had actually become withered. The guard was absent, the goldfish pond was dry.

“I went to the workshop—cold and deserted. Didn't they see me, or were they deliberately avoiding me?

“I entered the cafeteria where even chairs and tables were turned around, cabinet doors were open in disarray, and even the large stove had collapsed. Where was yesterday's prosperity? Whom to blame? Me?

“In the accounts, losses approached 3 million yuan. At this year's order conference, spending 10,000 yuan, only seven clients came, not a single manager. Once sought after by crowds, now the door was deserted.

“Some were gambling; some were peddling factory shirts at the bridge; some were dancing disco in broad daylight at the newly opened coffee shop, drinking beverages, in trendy clothing with earrings, cursing, playing cards...”

A technician in his forties was crouched behind a grocery counter.

“Factory Director Bu, you're back?”

“Why are you here? Not working?”

“Quit! During Spring Festival, which factory in town didn't give two or three hundred yuan in bonuses? Our factory? Ten yuan, not enough for firecrackers. Work stopped every few days. Factory Director Bu, weren't you studying? Why did you come back?”

In the past, who dared speak so boldly before this reformer?

Late at night, two young deputy factory directors approached.

“Mr. Bu, let us separate!”

“What?”

“Let us take the dyeing branch away. It would lighten your burden too.”

Obviously, they had discussed it. Xiao Shen, who had raised objections about the suit and tie issues, finally left him too.

They were disappointed in him. They couldn't let themselves be tied to a chariot rushing toward the abyss.

He stood by the Yanping River, the flowing water whispering—they abandoned me.

No, first you abandoned them. You thought you were an omnipotent god! the river seemed to answer.

I am the factory director. I must make decisions!

Your arrogance resisted their wisdom. They have the strength to resist irrational treatment.

What should I do?

Go back, back into history, to conceive new waves for history.

The river rushed forward.

Facing difficulties, Bu Xinsheng appeared lost and indignant. Before going to university, that department chief who had raised the 80,000 suits to 300,000 generously announced the department would allocate 2 million yuan to fill his deficit, but this became an empty promise.

Besides sighing, Bu Xinsheng finally wanted to make another effort. He was confident that the reformer who turned the Red Star Clothing Cooperative into Haiyan Shirt General Factory could certainly steer this broken ship toward rebirth.

Back in this reception room for meetings. Cadres and workers stared blankly. They had too few opportunities to see the factory director before—he was surrounded by foreigners, leaders, journalists. He had also wrapped himself in his own network.

He pushed away the microphone, glanced at the “Tangren,” “Sanmao,” and “Shuangyan” in the showcase, made a thoughtful gesture, and said: “I was wrong.”

He stopped, falling silent, as if deliberately extending the distance of time and space.

“I'm sorry to the Party organization, sorry to Haiyan's 300,000 people, sorry to all the workers.”

He stopped again.

“If you want to leave, I won't stop you; if you want to separate, I won't stop you either. I hope you'll work with me. I'm 53 this year, still have energy. Three years, I'll turn it around. Work with me, help me, don't leave!”

Facing the factory director's simple introspection—formerly arrogant, aloof, stubbornly willful—the crowd stirred, excitement driving away dullness, doubt, and resentment. But it was just a beginning—people's attitudes remained reserved.

“Labor discipline isn't good now!” someone complained.

“I know. Some hit people, some gamble, some took factory things outside. You even curse me. I won't pursue any of this. Work well from now on!”

“During Spring Festival we only got 10 yuan bonus, not enough for firecrackers!” someone muttered.

“This year add a zero!”

“Zero?” Some doubted.

“100 yuan!” the political commissar immediately added.

The venue fell silent.

“We still have 6 million yuan in debt, with monthly interest alone nearly 100,000!” Someone appeared mid-meeting.

A heavy hammer blow overturned the meeting, suffocating everyone into silence.

Indeed, 100,000 yuan equaled two months' wages for the entire factory.

The political commissar's body trembled. For the shirt general factory with only 1.5 million in fixed assets, this figure was an immovable mountain. This mountain was piled up by the 2 million suit building, the 1.3 million dyeing factory, the tie production line, the 220,000 yuan debt from the tie lawsuit, and the 300,000 yuan demanded by shareholders.

During Bu Xinsheng's months of study, to raise wages, he had begged everywhere. Later, even wages couldn't be gathered. Recently, when the bank heard he had returned, they wanted monthly interest payments.

Bu Xinsheng, who had just waved his hand saying “add a zero,” instantly became a motionless statue, his clever eyes fixed on the yellowed Tangren shirt in the showcase—this was the product of his reform three years earlier. He had presented it to Zhu Jianhua after he broke the world high jump record. Bu Xinsheng loved seeking good omens, hoping for a world-shocking leap too.

The meeting ended hastily.

“At that time I was bearing difficulties that any factory director in China could hardly bear!” he said to me five months later. Difficulties were surging toward him like Qiantang River tides.

“Let us leave anyway!” After the meeting, those two young factory directors came again.

“Alright!” he finally agreed through gritted teeth. When the ship capsized, the people had to be allowed to escape.

“Please approve this, sir.” They still used this form of address, but their demands were harsh. Brooms, dustpans, tables, stools...

“Good!” He signed his name with trembling hands. “Come get whatever else you need later.” He understood the hardships of starting a business.

“We also need several maintenance workers and electricians.” They handed over a name list.

“Oh.” The factory director stared at the list—these were precisely the technical workers he appreciated.

“Alright!” He returned the list, his whole body suddenly feeling weak.

I was familiar with these people who left—young, energetic, even artistically inclined. Haiyan City's first factory song in all of China was infused with their wisdom.

“Did you use inappropriate people, or use people inappropriately?” I looked at him steadily.

“Sigh, I was wrong!” He cleverly avoided the question.

In today's era emphasizing enterprise spirit, the problem of talent utilization cannot be avoided—this is the internal condition for enterprise development. History has proven that success or failure in employing people affects order and prosperity in all times and places.

Will Lucky Stars Still Rise?

A broken home, a broken factory!

He got up early, stroking the evergreen plants along the wall, as if thinking. The cypresses were disheveled.

He found a handyman: “Master, could you please trim them?”

“Factory Director Bu, you should go look at the workshop!” Workshop Director Xiao Jin came with an anxious face.

“I know!” His heart was trembling.

“Know what?” Xiao Jin pouted. “Work starts at seven, quits at eight. Last time we finally got shirt processing orders, but no people—had to go to the coffee shop to drag them back, and they cursed me out.”

Xiao Jin almost burst into tears.

A coffee shop had newly opened near the teahouse south of the bridge. For the young people in town, it was stimulating enough to be considered trendy. The factory had no work, wages were cut, attendance was sporadic, and some sought opportunities there to jump factories and find deals.

“Go back, get to work!”

“What work? The factory's about to close.”

Cohesion had disappeared, leaving only peeling walls.

“Thank you all, there's work now, from Xiamen. Please help!” The workshop director almost knelt down.

“You help us too—get us a couple of ten-yuan notes!” The young man wasn't to be outdone, waving his drink.

Half-dragging, half-pulling, half-scolding, half-coaxing, the young man was dragged to the work bench. However, collar corners were uneven, buttonholes were unlocked, stitching was sparse.

“I know.” The factory director's eyes blazed with fire, filled with tears.

Three years earlier, when a deputy factory director was 3 minutes late, he unhesitatingly signed the deduction slip.

He already felt the seriousness of economic loss brought by his decision-making errors. Workers couldn't get bonuses, even wages had to be delayed, yet prices were rising. He seemed to have found the crux of the problem.

He said to several factory-level cadres: “We should let workers gain some weight!”

Facing doubtful glances, he added, “Implement piece-rate work—make one piece, get one piece's wages. Don't work, don't get a penny!”

Along both banks of the Yanping River, at the teahouse south of the bridge, at the coffee shop, there was new discussion, novel and surprising.

No longer could one see those female workshop directors in coffee shops chasing workers like herding ducks, dragging them back to workshops.

“Director, my quota is almost finished. You'd better prepare the next batch quickly—if I'm idle, you'll have to compensate me!” A young worker urged the leadership while rushing to make shirts.

Soon, Finance Section Chief Lao Lu reported shocking figures: average wage jumped from 80.5 yuan to 160 yuan! Some reached 300 or 400 yuan!

People exclaimed: This is swelling, not gaining weight!

Regarding this “weight gain,” opinions were mixed—those who gained were happy, those who didn't were angry.

Implementing piece-rate work was reform, but it needed strict scientific management, reasonable measurement, timing...

“Could I think of so much?” he asked himself in distress.

Hong Kong Female Manager

Bu Xinsheng's failure didn't make me forget the efforts made by workers, cadres, and even customers to save the ship—they were kind.

I recalled that somewhat prominent, plump Miss Zhang.

That late night, I walked alone in the factory corridor, searching for vanished prosperity. Memory always brings trouble and melancholy. The pocket radio in my hand softly reported the day's final economic news.

I discovered lights in the reception room. I walked in.

A surprising and thought-provoking scene: several people bent over patterns spread on the carpet—workshop directors, production section chiefs, Deputy Factory Director Xiao Liu, and Hong Kong's female manager Miss Zhang. Scissors, pencils, paper patterns, quiet consultation.

“You're still awake?” The first to speak was Miss Zhang—an elegant Fujian girl.

Miss Zhang's choice of Haiyan naturally occurred during Bu Xinsheng's internationally famous period. She was one of over ten Hong Kong business partners.

During these few days, several female cadres at Haiyan Factory generously used all the praise they knew—approachable, sincere, discussing matters when there were issues, working together, mingling without reserve, not putting on boss airs, loving to share snacks—to evaluate Miss Zhang.

Her company rented several office floors in Hong Kong's business center. From Hong Kong to Xiamen, to Shanghai, to Haiyan—by air, by land, travel-weary, but she finally found this shirt factory.

The year before last, Miss Zhang's company encountered difficulties. The Hong Kong market needed georgette women's shirts, originally processed by an American clothing factory, but just then they faced port closure.

The female manager found Xiao Liu, Bu Xinsheng's representative in Xiamen.

“Take it or not? 12 days, 4,000 pieces!” Xiao Liu raised his voice over long-distance phone.

America and China formed a competition in this small women's clothing production.

“Take it!”

In 12 days, 4,000 exquisite women's georgette shirts were delivered like a miracle.

China has a Bu Xinsheng—go find him!

Miss Wu, whom she introduced, wanted 12 sets of the latest women's fashion, completed on time! She introduced more partners.

Haiyan Factory encountered difficulties and made mistakes. Workers' hearts scattered, and the subsequent 22,000 dozen shirts defaulted. Long-distance phone calls couldn't revive original vitality. When agents came and saw the defeated scene, they cried!

“Cried quite miserably, grown men!” Server Xiao Gao, who had seen that pitiful state, told me.

Later I learned that this female manager was both trustworthy and loyal. After that batch of orders was completed, she allocated another batch of 60,000 pieces, but Haiyan Factory turned it down.

This clear-featured Miss Zhang had left the mainland during the Cultural Revolution. She loved her hometown and understood its temperament, so she persisted in “reasonable imagination” about business partners on this land she missed and was familiar with.

She fondled the exquisite handbag on her knee, saying somewhat nonchalantly: “Everyone experiences failure—lawsuits, losing cases, winning cases—these happen daily where we are, countless times. Fall down, get up and keep working!”

Her view of success and failure was the calm that comes from long experience in business battlefields, deeply marked by modern merchant consciousness.

The deputy factory director told me that at the turn of spring and summer this year, this slightly plump but extremely elegant female manager descended upon this land with her nearly 200,000 pieces of clothing processing business.

Tonight, she bent over the carpet discussing with the backbone staff the cutting, styles, and materials for a batch of sportswear exported to Italy. Even a wealthy boss worked through the night—this too was inspiration.

I sat in the rattan chair and asked Miss Zhang: “Aren't you afraid of taking risks doing business with Haiyan Factory?”

“Doing business always involves risk!” Her thick Fujian accent carried a very confident flavor.

“In the capitalist world, big fish eat small fish. You're intentionally supporting Haiyan Factory, aren't you?”

“You put it so well—we're all family! I'm not a big fish, just an ordinary fish. Everyone swims together!” She laughed, her face glowing red.

She told me she had seven sisters who all depended on her for living expenses and tuition. At thirty-seven, she still wasn't married—she had to lead seven small fish swimming together.

A Few Drops of Water in the Desert

Kind people still wanted to lend him a hand.

The telephone rang.

“Old Bu, I'm in Yili.” It was the supply clerk calling long-distance from the foot of the Tianshan Mountains. “The textile station manager Li here is willing to support us. They have tens of thousands of chi of fabric in Changshu. He wants us to send people quickly—if suitable, we can take it without paying first. After selling, we take the processing fee!”

“Good!” Bu Xinsheng's tears were welling up.

This was a business requiring no upfront payment, a friendly assistance.

Another colleague came—Lu Yougen, factory director of the distant suburban Xinyou Clothing Factory, 61 years old, with a bronze-colored face, sturdy and upright.

“You shouldn't be discouraged. The shirt factory's affairs are my affairs.” He took a deep drag on his cigarette. “If you have clothing orders, I'll help you make them. If you lack labor, I'll send people to help you get through this difficulty!”

Suddenly loud shouting and heavy door-opening sounds came from the entrance. Then guards rushed in: “35,000 chi of fabric from Zhuji has arrived, specially delivered, with the secretary escorting the truck.”

“Unload it!” The factory director checked his watch—11:30 at night.

They woke the warehouse manager. In one hour, the fabric was neatly stored, with sweat dripping into the soil moistened by seaside night fog.

But this was like a few drops of water in a dry desert—useless.

Sentiment is the most powerless form of self-mockery before economic laws!

Not the Tail of Light

Those in finance have special inherent qualities—always practical, meticulous, conscientious. Besides these characteristics, Finance Section Chief Lao Lu was also not easily optimistic.

Sitting in the rattan chair, he said seriously and worriedly: “Haiyan Factory's bitter days are still ahead!”

This was absolutely true.

That day, he returned from the bank with eyebrows standing like mountains. He reported: January to April 1987 losses of 265,000 yuan. This month's wages couldn't be paid. The bank insisted on not lending to loss-making accounts. Working capital interest was 600,000 yuan. Backlogged materials, equipment, clothing materials, and garments totaled around 2 million yuan, with only 60-70% recoverable. Processing income was all deducted by the bank.

Bu Xinsheng, thin beyond recognition, gripped the rattan chair armrest tightly with his bamboo-like hands, mentally calculating the factory's assets, as clouds of gloom rose on his face.

“Notify all supply personnel to collect outstanding debts when going out.” Though the reformer didn't know the details of debts, he had heard about uncollected fees.

“Pinghu still owes us 30,000 yuan for fabric!” Lao Lu reminded him.

“Right, Lao Lu,” the factory director picked up the words, “please investigate how many outstanding debts there are, and have field personnel implement collection.”

“There are also administrative expenses, Mr. Bu. This is also a considerable figure—over 15,000 last month alone.”

“Right.” The shrewd factory director was inspired. “Freeze all non-production expenses from now on. For factory repairs and spare parts purchases—anything over 200 yuan needs approval from supervising leadership plus my approval!”

He began economizing.

“Factory Director Bu,” the finance chief looked up, seeming hesitant, “what about entertaining guests for meals?”

“I'll personally approve!”

His tone became more resolute. Indeed, money was needed everywhere. But it was already a drop in the bucket.

“You're so capable at making, managing, and gathering money—why didn't you remind me earlier?” the reformer gazed dejectedly at the finance chief.

The shrewd chief reported figures, pulling down his fingers: Industrial and Commercial Bank loans 6.45 million, provincial finance loans 770,000, county finance loans 1.35 million, provincial Second Light Industry Company loans 300,000, county Second Light Industry Company loans 120,000, inventory losses 600,000.

Thus, nearly 10 million yuan in borrowed assets gradually became a cold negative number.

The factory director's face showed mixed colors of guilt and regret.

Income insufficient to cover expenses, heavily in debt—due to operational errors, Haiyan Factory had fallen into bankruptcy predicament. Everything was irreversible.

Efforts to reverse the defeat within three years ended here.

From an economic perspective, competition always accompanies failure. Transformation requires new conditions.

Bu Xinsheng, once active at the center of the reform whirlwind, calmed down, reviewing the fairy-tale-like past, falling into painful reflection.

Not the Final Dialogue

In his temporary bedroom, I sat facing Bu Xinsheng, who had just received his dismissal notice, in mutual silent contemplation. I had many one-on-one conversations with this famous entrepreneur, but all were difficult and brief. Too many people sought him—some to discuss reform, some about schools. He began to hide in distress. However, capable journalists managed to track him down.

I tried to find on his face the dejection people show when struck by extraordinary blows. I was disappointed. His eyes blazed with excitement and hope.

He personally went downstairs to fetch hot water for me. Soon a kitchen worker came inviting me to dinner—only then did I realize he had given instructions when fetching water. The kitchen worker was kind, which moved me.

The room was quiet, and there was no night shift downstairs. Our conversation continued.

“I didn't anticipate this ending,” he said.

“Why?”

“I devoted myself wholeheartedly to the cause.”

“I completely believe that,” I said. During the day, Deputy Factory Director Xiao Liu had told me frankly: “To this day, Bu Xinsheng has the highest work enthusiasm in the factory.”

“But as an entrepreneur, this is far from enough.”

“Suits, ties, personnel, temper,” he muttered, then shook his head as if in denial. “It's my quality that hasn't improved.”

“Mmm,” I responded, having no words to answer. I was an outsider to business management. Times were advancing, and entrepreneurs' self-improvement would be an important topic. The old self was eliminated in practice, while a new self was born in reflection.

“I originally planned to turn Haiyan Factory around within three years, but it's only been one year,” he brought the topic back.

I stared at him, unable to fathom his thoughts, waiting.

“Actually, today's decision is good for me, not bad. I need better reflection, I need to pioneer. After three years, I'll still be this Bu Xinsheng!”

His thin hands waved again.

I noticed several letters by his bedside, almost all in enthusiastic student handwriting from the Northwest, Zhejiang, Beijing, and Shanghai. I was surprised to find these letters were dated almost all on the 16th—the same day Xinhua News Agency broadcast the dismissal notice.

A Tongji University graduate student said:

“Company bankruptcy and manager dismissal are also normal, not meaning failure in your life path. You were once a flag, but this flag had many stains. Now that you've been dismissed, this reflects our Party's determination to correct errors, handle affairs decisively. No one can avoid making mistakes. One should be good at self-analysis, learn lessons, and keep advancing—being strong without being stubborn is what makes a real man! It's never too late to pursue any career.”

At this moment, a brief retrospection appeared before my eyes.

Recently, elderly economist Yu Guangyuan specially came to Haiyan. After witnessing the current situation, he held Bu Xinsheng's hand and said: “You just need to accept the lessons. No successful entrepreneur in the world hasn't stumbled. Enterprises that don't stumble cannot become true enterprises...”

He saw far ahead—this was undoubtedly encouragement.

Both letters and dialogue showed a relaxed and free social atmosphere forming, showing public opinion's attention to major social events, expressing grassroots sentiment. We cannot view all different opinions as “rebellious emotions”—this would become a usable excuse, avoiding the essence of problems.

Bu Xinsheng spoke well—he should engage in serious reflection.

However, shouldn't it be reflection not just by Bu Xinsheng alone but reflection on the Bu Xinsheng phenomenon?

From Haiyan Factory's rise and decline process, the role of the objective environment is clear, even playing decisive roles in specific links. During my interviews in Haiyan City, I heard many different views on some of Bu Xinsheng's practices.

Some said those who should be dismissed weren't only Bu Xinsheng! A workshop cadre told me it was unfair to push all responsibility onto Bu Xinsheng! Some journalists proposed that treating Bu Xinsheng as an isolated figure, evaluating success and failure only from personal morality without examining from macro and historical perspectives, would distort truth.

People began free discussion.

Reform is a society-wide undertaking and a historical process. It must break free from outdated constraints and establish new social mechanisms that reflect people’s aspirations and conform to the laws of economic development. This requires countless trials and errors. That is precisely where the difficulty lies in today’s great reform, a reform that touches the hearts of hundreds of millions.

No individual action can be separated from its objective environment, just as personal improvement cannot be separated from historical conditions.

For this reason, reflection on the Bu Xinsheng phenomenon carries profound historical significance.

At that moment, I recalled a remark once made about Bu Xinsheng’s reform years: “March peach blossoms, briefly red.”

Will such words be spoken again? Perhaps. But prophecies of this kind are ultimately bound to fail. Viewed from the larger perspective, reform is advancing with vigor. Difficulties and setbacks exist, but they are being confronted and overcome.

We hope not only for another Bu Xinsheng in three years, but for more reformers to emerge across this vast land.

(Originally published in Wenhui Monthly, Issue 9, 1988)

Li Bingyin ed.

The Great Report

China's Reform and Opening 40 Years

A Selection of Reportage Literature

Vol. III/V

Li Bingyin (Hg.):

The Great Report. China's Reform and Opening 40 Years. A Selection of Reportage Literature. Vol. III ; Bochum : Europ. Univ.-vlg. 2025

  ISBN 978-3-86515-608-2

ISBN: 978-3-869966-608-2, EAN: *9783865156082*

This is volume no. III. ISBN of all volumes: I: 978-3-86515-230-5, II: 978-3-86515-607-5, III: 978-3-86515-608-2, IV: 978-3-86515-609-9, V: 978-3-86515-610-5.

Chinese Original: 《大记录——中国改革开放四十年报告文学选》李炳银 主编

Copyright © 2018.10 安徽文艺出版社 Anhui Literature and Art Press

Translation: Martin Woesler 吴漠汀 (Hunan Normal Universität 湖南师范大学), Xiaoyu (Emily) Wang

English Edition Copyright © European University Press, published December 2025

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as expressly permitted by law, without the prior written permission of the Publisher.

Bibliographic Information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek: The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data is available online at http://dnb.d-nb.de.

Translation and book were realized with Chinese state support. The content of the book does not express the opinion of European University Press or the translators. The book is a contemporary historical document of Chinese propaganda. It is made available for scholarly reception.

This edition was published in 2025 by European University Press

Europäischer Universitätsverlag GmbH Berlin · Bochum · Dülmen · London · Paris 2025

Table of Contents

Volume I

Preface, Li Bingyin 1

Goldbach’s Conjecture, Xu Chi 9

The Captain, Ke Yan 36

Infatuation, Li You 60

Chinese Girls, Lu Guang 119

Anecdotes of Sanmen Li, Qiao Mai 181

Tears of the Populus Euphratica, Meng Xiaoyun 195

The Wilderness Calls, Wang Zhaojun 212

Hot-Blooded Men, Li Shifei 233

Volume II

The Great Trend of Chinese Farmers, Li Yanguo 3

Theory Fanatic, Chen Zufen 57

A Record of Sacred Sorrows, Zhang Min 84

Dreams of a Strong Nation, Zhao Yu 124

Wake Up, Lumberjacks!, Xu Gang 179

Reflections on the Bu Xinsheng Phenomenon, Zhou Jiajun 227

Volume III

The Kunshan Path, Yang Shousong 3

Flying to the Space Port, Li Mingsheng 52

Spring Arrives on the Eastern Wind, Chen Xitian 123

When Good Dreams Come True, Jiang Yonghong 171

Wisdom Storm, Wang Hongjia 3

Volume IV

The Concern Between 40,000 and 4 Million, Zhang Yawen 3

Hong Kong’s Return to the Motherland: A 10-Year Retrospective, Chang Jiang 58

Kapok Blossoms, Li Chunlei 85

The Revolution of Rest, Wang Hongjia and Liu Jian 111

A Career Accompanied by Tears, Jiang Wei 162

Difficult Homecoming, Guo Dong 187

Volume V

Nation, He Jianming 3

The Dragon Explores the Sea, Xu Chen 86

Yuan Longping’s World, Chen Qiwen 135

The “Shenzhou” Highway to Heaven, Lan Ningyuan 211

Wings of Wisdom, Li Qingsong 254

Appendix: Outstanding Reportage Literature from Forty Years of Reform and Opening-Up 272

The Kunshan Path

Yang Shousong

Opening (One)

China is a dream. The gunshot of the October Revolution sent Marxism-Leninism surging eastward, and from that moment China began dreaming the socialist dream. Thirty years later, Beijing, the ancient capital bearing five centuries of history, came under new administration overnight, and the national flag of the People’s Republic of China rose slowly amid twenty-eight ceremonial cannon shots. Another forty years passed. Eastern European regimes collapsed like avalanches, and the Chinese dream too grew heavy with unprecedented difficulty...

Opening (Two)

On the last day of 1968, a broken tricycle pulled me from the train station into a broken small city. Low houses, narrow streets, crooked chamber pot brushes and fluttering trouser patches everywhere. The winter sun traced only half a circle before hurrying away. Before six o'clock, the small city quietly slipped into sleep.

The next day, I went to Xihe Village east of the city to “receive re-education from poor and lower-middle peasants.” There were grass huts even at the city's edge. The whole county had tens of thousands of households. This was “paradise.” This was also called “paradise”?

“Poor mountains, evil waters, schistosomiasis”—a county party secretary's vivid summary of Kunshan in Suzhou.

Suddenly all this drifted away and disappeared. The old city was completely renewed, new districts rose from the ground. Xihe's grass sheds became tile houses, then buildings, then workshops and office towers. A fifty-six-meter-wide road cut through the center, with dozens of enterprises appearing as if by magic. Refrigerators and color televisions entered ordinary households, VCRs quietly penetrated farm homes... Cities and countryside resounded with laughter and bustling traffic. All year round merchants gathered like clouds and tourists flowed like streams... Where people once spoke of “little Kunshan,” a “little fellow,” now they said “little Shanghai,” “little Shekou”... Not paradise, but comparable to it.

Opening (Three)

The driver Xiao Zhou and I drank together. If he were there too, I would certainly toast him—though I know he doesn't touch a drop of alcohol. Actually, I can't drink either...

I once worked as his secretary, but even I find it hard to believe that in nearly ten years, my total conversation time with him adds up to less than one minute. I'm the type of secretary who runs around and writes but doesn't chat and joke. About him, I never thought of saying or writing anything. But at this moment, I urgently wanted to see him and felt I should say and write something. This strong desire was triggered entirely by his “retirement.”

I suddenly realized his value, his greatness. I even fantasized about discussing the grand topic of “socialism” with him—intuitively, he had his own insights. He had always been doing, and those who do have the greatest right to speak.

Emboldened by alcohol, I found his home. Because of our honesty, in just minutes we understood each other.

Chapter One: Borrowing the Eastern Wind to Catalyze Blossoming Trees

One, 1+1≠2

Beside great Shanghai lies little Kunshan. Though small, Kunshan sold hundreds of millions of jin of commercial grain annually. “Much land, little labor, low production, small contribution, good distribution”—this was the jingle circulating throughout the county. Self-sufficient and self-satisfied, little Kunshan's small contentment revealed an obvious small-mindedness.

Then one day, little Kunshan discovered that the world around it had become lively and profoundly changed. Township enterprises in Jiangyin and Wuxi were advancing by leaps and bounds. Zhangjiagang and Changshu were catching up rapidly. Only Kunshan sat in contentment, steady and unhurried, like someone fishing calmly by the water.

In 1984, a long-delayed spring breeze finally brought a hint of green to Kunshan. Unlike before, it also brought Wu Kequan, a county magistrate in his fifties, along with the black gauze official’s hat of his post.

It was an extraordinary era. Reform and opening awakened land that had slept for more than five thousand years, releasing both the good and the bad stored in the blood of one billion people. Positive and negative forces surged together. The land bustled, people were dazzled, and the nation changed with each passing day.

History moved forward, and Kunshan moved with it. Yet the harsh reality remained that Kunshan lagged behind. To fall one step behind was to fall behind at every step. Wuxi and Jiangyin benefited from transferred workers. Zhangjiagang and Changshu gained advantages from sent-down youth. All of them enjoyed preferential tax policies. Kunshan had none of these.

Still, Wu Kequan wanted to move forward. Kunshan was the hometown of Gu Yanwu. “Everyone bears responsibility for the fate of the nation” was a saying known to every local resident, and Kunshan people were unwilling to remain behind.

But Kunshan lacked funds, technology, equipment, talent, and management experience. “Lack” was reality, while “advancement” remained only a beautiful dream.

Awakening from idealism, Wu Kequan turned to reality. He sought out the retired secretary, local industrial specialists, and the ever-present purchasing agents. Gradually, a new idea took shape. Kunshan lacked what its eastern neighbor Shanghai possessed. Could it borrow some “eastern wind”? Could it establish ties with Shanghai?

Naturally, this could not be done through empty flattery or without cost. Yet Kunshan also had its own strengths: a favorable geographic location with convenient transportation, abundant land and water suitable for agricultural and sideline development, and a large supply of low-cost labor. These three advantages happened to be precisely what Shanghai lacked. Was this not an ideal complement? Could Kunshan and Shanghai be joined together?

Here lay an easily overlooked truth. Life itself is a matter of addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division. Everything depends on how one combines things. One plus one can equal two, zero, three, four, or something else entirely. If combined well, addition can produce multiplication. Combined poorly, it can lead to subtraction or even division.

For this reason, Wu Kequan repeatedly promoted the idea that one plus one does not necessarily equal two as the theoretical foundation for borrowing the “eastern wind” and pursuing horizontal cooperation.

As early as 1983, when he served as deputy county magistrate, he had advised the County Economic Development Corporation to engage in compensation trade at the cement factory. Through this effort, five million yuan was introduced from the Shanghai Municipal Coordination Office, raising the factory’s annual output from forty thousand tons to one hundred thousand tons. At the same time, he energetically promoted cooperation between Kunshan Printing Factory and Shanghai Children’s Publishing House, leading to the establishment of the nation’s first specialized children’s printing factory. He later joked to the deputy county magistrate in charge of industry, “I have taken over your authority.”

At that time, as a deputy county magistrate, he could not act entirely freely. Now he could. He intended to borrow the “eastern wind” and shape Kunshan’s economic future according to his own vision.

Two, No “Free Love” Allowed

Everything begins with difficulty. Zhuge Liang borrowed eastern wind through “heavenly will.” Wu Kequan's “eastern wind” borrowing could only rely on human effort.

The textile factory cooperation was a conscious choice from the start. The textile factory was a product of the 1958 “Great Leap Forward,” but unfortunately, over twenty years later, it remained dilapidated. Some said its best friend was the tax official because it barely survived on tax exemptions. A Textile Ministry official said after visiting: “I never imagined such backward factories still existed domestically. Hope to speed technical renovation, but best to preserve a section as a textile industry relic...”

To bring this “relic” into modern civilization, Wu Kequan thought of Qian Yiping, then deputy director of Shanghai Economic Coordination Office. Wu Kequan unreservedly introduced the textile factory's situation and proposed cooperation. Qian Yiping greatly appreciated Wu Kequan's ideas. The two talked more animatedly, then Wu asked: “Gong Zhaoyuan, Old Gong, do you know him?”

Qian Yiping nodded. “Right, he's an underground Party member from your Kunshan. He should contribute more to building his hometown!”

On Wulumuqi Road, two unexpected guests visited Shanghai Municipal Economic Commission advisor Gong Zhaoyuan's home. He was enthusiastic; even in retirement, he never truly had a day's leisure, with hometown people constantly seeking his help. Seeing his hometown, where he and his wife Du Shuzhen and many other Communists had risked their lives fighting, still hadn't changed much made him uncomfortable. But he clearly understood that solving urgent material shortages could only provide emergency relief, not cure poverty. Now hometown people came seeking his help, and the tea tasted meaningful! This time, hometown could “get on track!”

Meanwhile, the Industrial Bureau director also contacted Shanghai Second Textile Machinery Factory director Yan Yongsheng. Yan was a knowledgeable, far-sighted entrepreneur, but he also understood the realistic environment. From ordinary thinking, Shanghai and Kunshan were completely unrelated—how could both sides jointly run an enterprise? So while he felt Kunshan people proposing this was bold creativity, he worried that restrictive regulations might prevent it from bearing fruit. Initial contact proved difficult.

Wu Kequan clearly understood: this world loudly called for reform, but what reform actually meant, nobody had a clue. So countless reformers had to cross the river by feeling stones. No one could guarantee reaching the other shore easily without drinking water. The first to eat crabs always pays a price. He said, regardless, they must keep talking...

Speaking of Gong Zhaoyuan, he and Qian Yiping personally went to Jinshan Petrochemical General Factory requesting chip supply. When Petrochemical initially signed with Kunshan, they agreed to provide three hundred tons of material. Later Wu Kequan brought Qian Yiping to Jinshan to look. Qian Yiping was familiar with this business. He said: “Old Wu, three hundred tons definitely won't be profitable!”

Wu Kequan thought, this is exactly what I wanted you to say, so he asked: “Then what should we do?”

Qian Yiping spoke directly: “Don't mention this. I'll go find them!”

Indeed, Qian Yiping went to find the factory director, criticizing: “How can you profit doing this?”

The other party knew they couldn't fool him and said: “Three hundred tons can only 'start cooking.'“

Qian Yiping said: “How about giving another three hundred tons for backup equipment?”

The other party smiled. “Director Qian's words—how dare I not listen?”

Wu Kequan seized this opportunity to propose another three hundred tons for spare parts... Thus, they secured nearly one thousand tons at once!

Intriguingly, during this process, Gong Zhaoyuan repeatedly “returned to his old profession,” doing secret “underground work.” The difference: previously for political liberation, now for economic opening; previously the struggle target was the corrupt Kuomintang reactionaries, now the “target” was certain conservative, rigid clauses in our own policies.

Finally, the agreement secretly deliberated and word-by-word revised by Wu Kequan and Gong Zhaoyuan at Gong's home was brought to the negotiating table for semi-public discussion.

On December 21, 1981, Shanghai Second Textile Machinery Factory, Shanghai Petrochemical General Factory Polyester Factory, and Kunshan Industrial Second Bureau formally signed a preliminary agreement called “Agreement on Cooperation in Building a Spinning Machine Experimental Workshop.”

Notice how carefully the wording was chosen. First, “cooperation”—a broad, general concept everyone could accept; next, “experimental workshop”—”experimental,” not only principled but dignified; also “workshop,” not factory, a small workshop, completely inconspicuous; finally, “agreement”—modest and appropriate, cautious enough!

However, even this agreement, still carefully preserved today, faced obstacles everywhere then, unable to advance. Going to Suzhou, Suzhou answered: Shanghai is a provincial-level city. I can approve Kunshan County enterprises, but Shanghai's side—what authority do I have? Going to Nanjing, Nanjing replied: Jiangsu has no precedent for cross-provincial cooperation in running factories (workshops are factories—this “conspiracy” was exposed). If you cooperate with Shanghai, go to Shanghai for approval! Going to Shanghai, Shanghai replied: Great! Shanghai people not working for Shanghai—what are you doing running a “workshop” in Jiangsu? Also, how can Shanghai approve your Jiangsu enterprise? Even if approved, I can't get a (ministry) plan.

This was like free love: each side liked the other, but nowhere to get a “marriage certificate.” There was a saying then: “No looking around allowed.” Wu Kequan was economically oriented—doing economics couldn't avoid markets, so couldn't avoid “looking around.” Little Kunshan could never exist and advance in isolation.

He said, if Shanghai won't work, if Nanjing won't work, should we try Beijing?

So they repeatedly went north, seeking directors, division chiefs, and ministers at the Textile Ministry...

Now it seems incredible: from signing the agreement to project approval took a full two years!

Just as this project began implementation, Wu Kequan became county magistrate. It was precisely the textile factory, plus the children's printing factory and cement factory practices that gradually formed his concept, found his support, and figured out a development path suited to Kunshan's reality.

So he planned a dream-like blueprint—Kunshan would undertake fourteen key projects over five million yuan each, with total investment of one hundred fifty million yuan. The State Council approved fourteen coastal economic development zones. Kunshan wasn't a development zone, but would undertake fourteen key projects.

Was this real? Real.

Three, “Big Loss-Taker” Speaks

Our people never reject reform, but often have contradictory feelings about it.

China is a large agricultural nation with a large agricultural population. Intelligence and ignorance, diligence and laziness, greatness and smallness—these coexist. Grasping this point is an art. Seeing only one side leads to leftist or rightist extremes, too fast or too slow. Actually, Chinese affairs can't be unhurried, can't be too hurried, can't avoid reform, but can't be “completed in one step” or become fat in one bite.

Kunshan people were also contradictory, both envying Shanghai's prosperity and resenting their “wealth.” “High-wage” Shanghai “A-las” liked “rush-buying” at Kunshan markets, sometimes saying without asking prices: “I'll take everything!” Now Wu Kequan wanted to rely on Shanghai's advantages to develop Kunshan's economy and befriend “A-las,” inviting batches of “A-las” to Kunshan as honored guests!

So some people showed emotion, saying Shanghai people were too shrewd—dealing with them meant taking losses. Wu Kequan said whether taking losses or not, like fearing Shanghai people would raise local prices, depended on how you calculated. Actually, Shanghai first felt “losses,” not Kunshan.

Here's a legendary little story. Once Wu Kequan went to Beijing, visiting State Council Deputy Secretary-General Gu Ming. Gu Ming was from Kunshan—they gradually became familiar. Gu Ming highly valued Wu Kequan's clear, unique economic thinking and pragmatic spirit. That time he personally sent him to the airport. In the airport waiting room, Gu Ming mentioned he had helped Shanghai Venus TV Factory import equipment.

Unintended by the speaker, heard with intent. Wu Kequan immediately responded: “Secretary-General, could you write a note? I'll go to Shanghai to meet them and possibly open a branch factory in our Kunshan.”

Gu Ming was enthusiastic, immediately writing a letter in the Beijing airport's waiting room for Wu Kequan to take to Venus TV Factory's Director Ke.

Good things face many obstacles. The factory director was very positive, but some thought big factories cooperating with small counties lowered their status and would cause big losses. But they couldn't refuse outright due to Gu Ming's influence. Wu Kequan wasn't discouraged, running to Shanghai four or five times repeatedly. Later they reluctantly reached an agreement. Fortunately Director Ke was far-sighted. He believed expanding production was imperative, and Kunshan had the best conditions for branch factories. He persisted despite opposition.

The final time, Wu Kequan discussed the preliminary agreement signing in his small conference room until after eleven PM. Shanghai's side was sorted out, but Kunshan felt they were “taking losses.”

Wu Kequan openly declared: we must let investors make money!

The simplest reasoning: without benefits, why would Shanghai come to Kunshan? Extending this logic, all horizontal cooperation and domestic/foreign investors come seeking profit. Wanting only self-profit, considering only self-benefit; wanting partners to only “contribute” and have only “obligations,” getting red-eyed when others profit or profit slightly more, gritting teeth and holding firm against signing—superficially this looks “shrewd,” “smart,” “principled,” but essentially it's the most narrow-minded, pathetic, worthless small-mindedness, and ultimately, real loss-taking.

This key project nearly fell through, becoming just a dream. For the branch factory, they had to pay Shanghai a one-time technology transfer fee of one hundred fifty thousand yuan, plus fifteen yuan trademark fee per black-and-white TV produced. Some cried “losses,” calling this “unequal treaties.”

Wu Kequan explained that technology itself is money. Why, then, should Shanghai’s technology be handed to Kunshan for free? If Kunshan were to produce televisions under its own trademark, would consumers choose a Kunshan brand or the Shanghai Venus brand? Even if the Kunshan set were fifty or one hundred yuan cheaper, most buyers would still choose Venus. This, he said, is competition. Venus had built its brand, and the brand itself had become a form of capital.

Competition, in essence, is equal. What appears to be inequality often comes from a failure to understand how competition works. In reality, equality emerges only through competition. The degree of competition determines the degree of equality. Without competition, there can be no equality. This principle applies equally to nature and to society.

Competition between products is ruthless. There is no sentiment, no courtesy, and no room for debating ideologies. There is only one rule: survival of the fittest. Even if it does not reach the point of life and death, it always determines rise or decline.

What constitutes losses? Stepping outside negotiating parties to see the whole picture, when production develops and the economy improves, all society benefits—nobody loses. Sometimes, in specific situations, “unequal treaties” actually embody true equality, great equality! Those achieving great enterprises can not only take small losses but must dare take big losses! That is, seeing equality within “inequality,” seeing benefits within “losses.” Otherwise, how could one start late but start high?

Wu Kequan's courage, vision, and leadership style for great enterprises was compelling from the start, consistently showing extraordinary consciousness that was both forward-thinking and practical.

Four, The Lonely Parent Official

The fourteen key projects spread across the county's cities and countryside. That sound, that momentum, that atmosphere, that energy really resembled Nanniwan's great production movement, and somewhat like twentieth century “cooperativization.” This was a land of rolling waves and tumultuous roar.

Just days before, it had been fields crisscrossed with ditches and canals, green and yellow interspersed. Now it had become the infrastructure construction site of Venus Television Factory's Kunshan branch. Wu Kequan stood on this land of old and new transition, showing the smile of a creator on his face.

However, there were always those who were unhappy, always those who didn't understand. When the first macroeconomic control whirlwind swept down after reform and opening, the preparatory work for Venus Television Factory's Kunshan branch quickly fell into difficulties, and once again contradictions focused on Wu Kequan.

Starting so many projects at once, was this not a pursuit of grandiose achievements? Was it not a form of hot-headedness?

Loving socialism's “grandness” and taking pride in reform and opening's “achievements”—this he didn't deny. He always felt that as a Communist Party member, he owed the people too much. Whenever there was opportunity, he would achieve great things for the people and make the greatest contribution. In this sense, there weren't too many but too few people pursuing grandiose achievements—far too few.

Hot-headedness? He found this somewhat amusing. In 1947, at age fifteen, he became a bank apprentice. After the Republic's founding, he always campaigned north and south on the economic front—from Wuxi to Shanghai, from Guangzhou to Wuhan, from the State Planning Commission to the Hexi Corridor and to the May 7th Cadre School's kiln factory... Everything positive and negative, sweet and sour, bitter and spicy told him: under no circumstances could they engage in political movements again, under no circumstances could they use political movement methods for economic construction.

Precisely by grasping this basic point, he painstakingly sought out the path of “looking around” and horizontal cooperation, determining fourteen key construction projects on the foundation of thorough investigation and demonstration.

He was county magistrate, a parent official, yet he was also human. He couldn't be without his own thoughts and concerns, nor without his depression, loneliness, and bewilderment!

White nights. Black days. The world's confusing chaos and inverted contrasts ruthlessly disturbed his thoughts. He actually couldn't find anyone to talk to—though this was only a brief period. He developed a rare sense of loneliness. This made him unhappy at home, affecting his wife's emotions, and unhappy outside too, sometimes inexplicably becoming so agitated his face and neck turned red.

Fortunately, those at home and outside, officials and common people, generally understood his character and difficult situation, so no one minded. The more this was so, the more he felt worried and extremely depressed. He truly wanted to fly to Beijing and have a theoretical discussion with the decision-makers in Zhongnanhai.

Ah! This could only be wishful thinking. China's reform and opening hadn't reached the point where a seventh-rank sesame official could directly dialogue with the General Secretary anytime.

Well then, surely dialogue with the most grassroots factory directors and secretaries was possible?

By Yangcheng Lake at Bacheng Town, a new factory was rising beside the ancient town. This was one of the county's fourteen key projects. The factory director was named Lu Darong, who had once been in legal trouble over an “economic problem” of two thousand yuan. The Party committee secretary and town mayor ran to the Personnel Bureau to find Director Fang, then to the Organization Department to find Minister Shen. After analyzing Lu Darong's history, they proposed: Could this person be transferred? Could he become factory director? Yes. They asked again: Could he be director of a large factory with fourteen million yuan investment? Also yes. Could such a person still join the Party? Based on what you've said, of course.

It was this Lu Darong who, with desperado spirit, created “Bacheng Speed”: ten days per floor. When construction maintained quality, quantity, and speed, for each floor completed he'd carry a butchered pig to the construction site to reward the “three armies”!

When Wu Kequan came to the construction site, he clearly felt an atmosphere—tremendous enthusiasm induced from the masses' hearts. Our people are forever lovable. The people urgently hoped to change the status quo. They welcomed and unconditionally participated in all reforms as long as these reforms could give them hope and bring them benefits.

Wu Kequan asked Lu Darong: “Isn't your speed 'too fast'?”

Answer: “If not for rain, it could be even faster.”

He asked again: “Are there any other difficulties?”

Answer: “Difficulties exist, but compared to the county's, they're nothing... We can't do much else, but doing everything possible to complete this project and see results quickly is support for the county committee and government...”

Wu Kequan gripped Lu Darong's hand tightly and said: “Thank you!”

Thank you to the county's five hundred thousand people, thank you to the county's over a thousand factory directors and secretaries...

Five, “Old Wu Wants High Speed”

Not thinking about it, yet unforgettable—how many ups and downs in life, always facing them with true feelings!

Wu Kequan thanked from his heart and would forever remember all those who gave him understanding and support during difficult times. The fourteen key projects—he visited them one by one, hearing reports, viewing construction, holding discussions with grassroots factory directors and secretaries. He saw traces of a group of genuine strivers and felt the heated atmosphere of seizing opportunities to desperately change the status quo. The people praised reform not with words but with actions. The people supported reform; reform belonged to the people.

There were two more people he needed to deeply thank.

Suzhou Municipal Party Secretary Dai Xinsi came—he too had rushed over after hearing some rumors. Usually everyone was busy with meetings, and the secretary had to attend to various counties and cities, impossible to listen only to one Kunshan county magistrate. Now he could. First look, first ask, look while asking, then at the First Reception House, he heard Wu Kequan's report.

This was Wu Kequan's first time systematically reporting his economic thinking to municipal party leadership. Dai Xinsi listened extremely seriously. On major principle issues, he never expressed positions lightly, but this time he said quite clearly: “It looks like following your path, Kunshan has hope.”

One sentence from the municipal party secretary made Wu Kequan straighten his back.

However, due to macroeconomic control influence, the money originally to be invested by Shanghai's Venus Factory couldn't be produced. Would this joint venture factory just abort halfway? Deep feelings are always troubled by heartlessness. How much effort and sweat would end up flowing eastward like spring water?

Wu Kequan didn't believe it, nor was he resigned to it. If there's no money, couldn't they borrow? If you can't borrow well, couldn't we step forward to borrow? Wu Kequan immediately rushed to Shanghai, explaining his purpose: “Marriage” was a major matter, not to be treated lightly! The joint venture factory must be completed and run well.

As for funding issues, Kunshan would step forward to borrow in Shanghai's name for Shanghai's portion. Throughout history, it's unknown whether such precedent existed—both parties in love and marriage, when Party A couldn't produce their required money, Party B would borrow in Party A's name...

Reform is a kaleidoscope. People's wisdom and creativity during reform periods far exceed normal times. Sincerity brings results, determination brings success. Venus Television Factory's Kunshan branch was thus completed and put into production amid wind and rain!

The fourteen key projects overcame unimaginable difficulties while being prepared, producing, and developing at unimaginable speed. The fourteen key projects were Wu Kequan's fourteen thoughts, fourteen thoughts weaving a colorful dream: creating appropriate speed amid moderate risk, making Kunshan's economy take off quickly, enabling Kunshan's people to gain more benefits...

However, there are always too many “howevers” in our lives. If there were fewer—few enough not to cause lifelong regret, let alone national remorse—that would be good. However, there were still those who expressed “lack of understanding” about his path and intentionally or unintentionally created a kind of public opinion, a kind of pressure...

Hadn't the municipal party secretary clearly expressed affirmation? Hadn't the provincial party committee and government also given care and support? But this wasn't enough, or wasn't sufficient to explain the problem. The “big climate” or big policy was compression and control. Wasn't Kunshan's “high speed” singing in opposition to the center?

For a while, Kunshan was an important topic of discussion in Suzhou and even broader areas. Xue Muqiao came to Suzhou, and he seemed interested in this topic too. He was one of the economists who proposed implementing macroeconomic control. Yet Kunshan seemed unbound by this “control.” Kunshan still maintained “high speed”! What was going on? He wanted to get to the bottom of it.

Wu Kequan was initially cautious, careful and hesitant, not even daring to state Kunshan's economic development speed percentages. But he quickly discovered this concern was unnecessary because he felt that discussing economics with economists might be more favorable for clarifying his viewpoints and thinking.

He was methodical and thorough, reporting from beginning to end Kunshan's economic situation, the establishment and preparation process of the fourteen key projects, and proposing the basis for horizontal cooperation.

Xue Muqiao was greatly surprised after listening. He hadn't expected a county magistrate to independently think and create a unique path suitable for local conditions, nor had he expected that under national macroeconomic control, this county could still seek speed amid stability and rapidly change its original economic appearance. The more he listened, the more interesting he found it, unable to resist nodding frequently and saying: “Kunshan is doing quite well!”

Wu Kequan picked up the conversation: “Now the center criticizes super-high speed, which we completely support. When macro control is lost, it must be controlled from the macro level. But I also feel that no matter how good policies are, they can't be applied across the board, can't be understood only superficially, and can't be simply copied mechanically. Doing so seems like 'resolutely following orders' but is actually laziness, dogmatism, and also disrespectful to central policies... Elder Xue, perhaps I'm speaking too strongly...”

Xue Muqiao quickly waved his hands. Obviously, in his high position, it was difficult to hear a seventh-rank sesame official speak truthfully to him. Now someone had opened their heart to him—clearly showing great trust, making him happy and gratified. He quickly said: “Old Wu, continue!”

“Take a simple example—some of our Kunshan projects have already been invested in, factories built. Investing without producing is actually waste, so we overcome difficulties to make them produce. Some people say this is super-high speed...”

Criticizing “super-high speed” was Xue Muqiao's consistent position. Hearing this, he couldn't help thinking for quite a while before saying: “I wasn't speaking generally. I meant 'fixed asset investment cannot be super-high speed,' and this was regarding the overall national macro situation. Like what you're doing, proceeding from reality, taking your own path—since you've already invested, you should see results quickly!”

Wu Kequan's heart warmed—he felt their hearts had connected. As if still not satisfied, Xue Muqiao added with emphasis: “Old Wu, go for high speed.”

How straightforward and dashing was Xue Muqiao! Wu Kequan had taken a “reassurance pill,” and Xue Muqiao also felt the trip worthwhile. The two talked more congenially, and the more congenial they became, the more they wanted to talk deeply. Unfortunately, Xue Muqiao couldn't stay long, so Wu Kequan asked him to write an inscription as a memento. Elder Xue thought briefly, then picked up his brush and wrote directly: “Using Shanghai as foundation, develop horizontal economic connections, promote high-speed economic development.”

After all, he was a famous economist and someone who had experienced too much wind and rain. Xue Muqiao absolutely didn't deny micro-level “high speed” across the board just because he criticized macro “super-high speed” without analysis. Conversely, he realistically affirmed Kunshan's experience and used very clear and concise language to summarize this experience perfectly. Regardless of what kind of “expert” you are or what kind of authority you are, you must possess this kind of courage and magnanimity, this kind of breadth of mind. Otherwise, the people won't respect you, and you as an “expert” will be extremely fragile, shattering at the slightest touch...

Socialism isn't and absolutely cannot be just a rigid model. Socialism is the endless creation of millions upon millions of people. Trying to “cut” out socialism with one knife, like trying to become fat in one bite, is truly illusory, truly utopian.

Chapter Two: Quietly Nurturing Glory

Relying on Shanghai, borrowing “eastern wind,” and exploring a path of horizontal cooperation was one of Wu Kequan's important contributions through painstaking thought and risky practice. But life absolutely cannot and will never be as simple and plain as described by writers. How exactly did Kunshan's path come about? What I could interview and learn was only a part. The creator's pain was invisibly transferred to the writer.

How difficult it is for a person to gain understanding. People have many commonalities, but people are also absolutely different. Parent officials under heaven are numerous as ox hair—how many are like Jiao Yulu? How many like Wu Kequan?

Kunshan forged its own path, creating characteristics and achieving results. Socialism isn't utopian precisely because millions of people are there silently practicing and creating. Creation means dedication, and those who can dedicate are happy. So Wu Kequan didn't mention a word about the pressures he had endured. When absolutely unavoidable, he'd brush past it lightly, just peacefully and clearly recalling past years...

Six, Not Wild Fantasy

Just as horizontal cooperation was being implemented, Wu Kequan began conceiving another major article, dreaming of self-funded development of an economic and technological development zone. At that time, ordinary people didn't even dare think about this. He not only thought about it but wanted to do it!

Venus Television's Kunshan branch was both the catalyst for forming his development zone thinking and his earliest and successful practice.

Approved development zones received state investment and especially preferential policies. You want me to develop? Then give me money to use. So tens of thousands or even hundreds of millions of yuan could come floating like snowflakes, transported by vehicles and ships, piled into small mountains! Kunshan's self-built development zone, by preliminary calculation, needed tens of millions of yuan for basic infrastructure. The county's finances were pitifully small. Wu Kequan was an empty-handed, “light” seventh-rank official.

As for state finances, if you weren't on the roster, not a penny could be given, not one preferential policy could be had!

This wasn't the main issue. What mattered was risk—economic and especially political. Building a development zone—such big talk, such great boldness! Your “high speed” was already singing in opposition to the center. Did you want to be unconventional and arbitrary, establishing some development zone?

Of course, he had already found the path of horizontal cooperation, but this wasn't enough. As the overall “package” of Kunshan's economy, all aspects were interconnected. To achieve “horizontal cooperation,” you must possess conditions for horizontal cooperation. To be “outward-oriented,” you must have attractions for foreign merchants and investment. So the development zone absolutely wasn't his sudden whim or impulse—everything was the law of things' development inspiring desire. The key was whether you could timely seize this opportunity and dare to make decisions one step ahead. This required courage.

Where would money come from? Couldn't wait, couldn't ask, couldn't rely on anyone's charity. The only reliable and solid method was self-reliance. Building socialism could only rely on self-reliance. Building socialism couldn't depend on favors or anyone's aid. Blood transfusion could only provide emergency relief but couldn't create a living life. Only by relying on one's own mechanisms to strengthen blood-making function could there be fresh, vigorous life!

Running development zones, even State Council-approved ones, could only receive small state investment. Ultimately, it depended on self-reliance. Moreover, this was Kunshan's own initiative and demand! He believed that though many things had been done wrong in the past, many had also been done right. They couldn't deny the right along with the wrong just because of mistakes. Was self-reliance also wrong? Self-reliance suited China's national conditions. Building socialism also couldn't be separated from self-reliance! Self-reliance would never be “outdated” and must extend to the present and future. Only self-reliance could bring hope to Kunshan's development zone.

At the county magistrate's office meeting, he systematically discussed his ideas and plans, then took them to the county party standing committee for discussion. Wu Kequan's proposition received unanimous approval. When news spread, some opposed, some doubted. Rumors intensified one after another. As for him, he had his own ideas: you say yours, I do mine.

So he began selecting sites, conducting multi-faceted investigations and surveys. Kunshan's and other places' experiences and lessons gave him many insights. First, in site selection, he decisively rejected locations far from the urban area and plans based on the old urban area. Far locations lacked infrastructure to utilize, necessarily greatly increasing development costs. Near locations in old urban areas also wouldn't work. The old urban area covered four square kilometers with population already exceeding fifty thousand. According to regulations, one hundred square meters per person was already exceeded. How could a new development zone be built on the old site?

So they chose land east of the county seat. This was adjacent to the Su-Shanghai Highway with extremely developed transportation, closely connected to the old urban area, enabling many things to utilize existing resources. Moreover, several small factories already existed here, providing some foundation for development...

He invited planning experts from Shanghai, Suzhou, and Nanjing for repeated surveys and demonstrations. The province even held planning demonstration meetings in Kunshan to provide support...

Seven, The Heavy Burden of Relocation

Planning was just a dream, a blueprint on paper. Implementation was arduous struggle. The hardship lay in needing to develop while unable to request a penny from above, and in needing to deal with all parties to gain their support while actually only being able to proceed secretly!

Wu Kequan became commander-in-chief of the new zone. Then he deployed troops, pushing Bureau Director Pei and Deputy Director Chen of the Urban Construction Bureau to the front lines. Later, when Wang succeeded as bureau director, he was also sent to the new zone. Some work was very hard but with low starting points. When he saw this, he'd criticize unceremoniously. It was precisely amid various discussions and complaints that the development zone changed its appearance day by day.

In 1988, the development zone moved from “underground” to “above ground.” On June 4th, he sent County Party Deputy Secretary Shi Quanzhong as executive deputy commander-in-chief. The new zone command was located by Loujiang River—just a few simple rooms, shabbier than farmers' kitchen houses. Diagonally opposite was Venus Television branch factory. Compared to those tall, neat workshops and office buildings, it appeared even more shabby. This reminded me of Yan'an's cave dwellings and “earth dugouts.”

Right here, Wu Kequan hung a map on the wall. The lines on the map were dense as spider webs, each line representing a heart-consuming bitter struggle.

Relocation was difficult—more difficult than ascending to heaven! You said you wanted to develop an industrial zone, but they didn't believe it, thinking it was coaxing children, deceiving them. Feudalism and isolation were twin-born. Attachment to yellow earth and suspicion of new life made them prefer choosing the past over resisting the future. Previously, when regulations prohibited building within a certain area, farmers had rioted together, overturning the brigade office tables several times.

Relocation was just a small component of new zone development work. But even this consumed enormous energy! The most tense and difficult was widening and renovating Chaoyang Road, involving eighteen units, demolishing 6,894 square meters of buildings, mostly uncompensated demolition. To ensure smooth project progress, Wu Kequan personally mobilized and studied specific plans with Shi Quanzhong.

This road was right on the Su-Shanghai transportation artery with seven to eight thousand vehicles daily traffic! They couldn't close the road, only maintaining traffic while constructing. On rainy days, vehicle steel, road mud, and human irritation combined into a modern ancient battlefield. Arguments, friction, cursing heaven and earth, and raising fists weren't uncommon. But however complex and hate-filled, after explaining reasons and gaining understanding, both sides' “enough” looks, reconciling cigarettes, and dashing waves when parting all showed a “reformed” pragmatic spirit of everyone being busy with their own affairs, “please take care.” It was precisely this spirit that prevented major accidents throughout the road widening project—something professional departments found extremely precious...

Working hard under “secretive” conditions, then building vigorously after gaining recognition. Planning was magnificent, but implementation was frugal and solid. Every ten days or half-month, the new zone would give people fresh feelings. The road under their feet was extending moment by moment...

The new zone wasn't an “island”—it was a complete conception with the old urban area. The new zone drew on blank paper; the old zone required revisions to existing drawings. In some sense, old zone renovation was harder than new zone construction. Whether new or old zone, the most basic and crucial element was one word: road. Roads were line roads, framework roads, blueprint networks—even the planning itself.

In my memory, the old city was mostly “crotch alleys.” Crotch alleys had no stories or romance, only chamber pot brushes and “Dragon Beard Ditches.” However, small city people had grown accustomed. During the ten-year “Cultural Revolution,” things were still turned upside down. After the nightmare passed, they still lived day by day in complacent contentment—comfortable, at ease, calm.

Only on Lantern Festival 1984 was the small city's tranquility broken, giving the small city stories too. The Lantern Festival wasn't a major event, but Kunshan's parent officials held special meetings and established a command post. County Party Secretary Cai Changlin and Wu Kequan were both cautious, worried too many people would come to see lanterns while roads were too narrow. The number of viewers still far exceeded advance estimates. The whole city poured out, immediately bloating the streets to bursting. The small aged city trembled and groaned both happily and painfully.

On-site commander was Deputy County Magistrate Xu Chongjia. Standing on the Grain Management Office building with a walkie-talkie, he shouted himself hoarse to no avail. The crowded lantern-viewing masses like a tide instantly submerged the small city's main streets. According to those who “cleared the scene” afterward, lost shoes could fill a small cart...

The old urban area absolutely required renovation!

When Wu Kequan was deputy county magistrate, he did two things: first, renovating farmers' grass houses; second, widening People's Road. With support from the county committee and old County Magistrate Sun Fugui, he was determined to double the ten-meter base to twenty meters. Though very difficult with some people not understanding and others complaining to higher levels, Wu Kequan believed Kunshan must shed burdens and undertake major demolition and construction to get started.

Three east-west roads, one main north-south road, plus ring roads—”three horizontal, one vertical, one circle”—this was the road reconstruction plan all city residents knew.

Perhaps it's hard to believe county magistrates would be “beggars,” but all our county magistrates had been “beggars.” Three-year urban construction funding was six million yuan, actual expenditure 14.8 million yuan. Where did the additional 8.8 million yuan come from? One important source was county magistrates being “beggars” and begging for it!

Wu Kequan was the first “beggar.” He said he was both a “beggar” and a “strong beggar.” The meaning was clear: he knew your situation, knew fiscal contracting tasks weren't heavy, you had money. If you didn't give, he'd unceremoniously expose your cards, being a “strong beggar.” So when he begged for money, they didn't dare refuse.

When Xu Chongjia's turn to beg came, it was harder. He could only repeatedly and pitifully plead, saying how important things were and how pitiful the workers were, hoping bureau chiefs, bank presidents, factory directors, and manager brothers would show mercy and kindness, giving thirty or fifty thousand yuan to help pave the road... Speaking this way, he became emotional and couldn't help crying in front of so many middle-level cadres...

Oh, the county magistrate cried! The county magistrate didn't cry for himself—he cried for the cause, cried for seeking people's happiness. How could someone not wanting to pursue careers or seek people's happiness be willing to be a “beggar”? How could they cry in such circumstances?

Of course, funding didn't rely entirely on begging. When necessary, they'd see if “Boss Wu” could provide financial support. Pujiang Road was planned as asphalt but changed to concrete, requiring an additional one million yuan. Wu Kequan repeatedly emphasized main roads couldn't be “crotch alleys,” couldn't be torn open every few years for repairs. This required “one-step completion.” Xu's thinking exactly matched his. He said: “Good, I'll give you another one million yuan.”

During this period, two deputy town mayors in Yushan Urban Construction Office worked with full dedication. One was Zhou, a technical practical worker; the other was Pan, mainly handling relocations—relocating nearly a thousand households in three years, almost averaging one household daily. That trouble, that difficulty—ordinary people couldn't imagine. Fortunately the two partnered, handling both civilian and military roles. They also had a backstage “boss”—Town Party Secretary Yu Shoujin, who told them: “Be bold and do it. Don't fear offending people. The party committee supports you.”

That's what he said, but there were always those who complained—complaining about Pan and Zhou, Yu and Xu. When Xu's “backstage boss” Wu Kequan learned this, understanding how someone felt when attacked from behind, he told Xu: “This is nothing—let them come complain to me!”

Eight, Road Extension

New and old zones competed equally, and roads conceived and laid out here gradually radiated toward rural areas, extending into 921 square kilometers of rivers, lakes, harbors, and streams.

Kunshan had much water and many bridges. Winding rivers, scattered lakes, and hundreds of large and small bridges outlined the entire county as an exquisitely beautiful painting. Here, farmland was parkland, the entire county a garden-style “Venice.” Beautiful indeed, but from economic development perspectives and the need to transition from ancient closed civilization to modern open civilization, there was something lacking in this beauty—one word: roads.

Speaking of roads, everyone in Kunshan knew old County Magistrate Sun Fugui had walked the most rural roads. During his years as county magistrate, he brought secretaries to visit every brigade (village) in the county. Regardless of wind, rain, ice, snow, or scorching heat, his office was forever at field edges and roadsides. Now he was director of the County People's Congress Standing Committee. Because he'd walked the most roads with deepest understanding, he especially supported Wu Kequan's road planning.

During a People's Congress Standing Committee discussion of this issue, he suddenly had a stroke. After rescue he barely escaped danger, but still constantly thought about rural road construction, listening to reports while ill and revising plans together. He and Xu Chongjia brought Secretary Xiao Chen to inspect routes multiple times. Once in blazing summer, after running over twenty li they stopped at a town. The secretary was so exhausted he couldn't swallow a grain of rice. The condition of the ailing Sun Fugui was even more imaginable.

Wu Kequan deeply felt roads' importance for economic development. In his third year as county magistrate, he achieved roads to every township. Transportation Bureau directors Lu Zongmin and Qian Changming paid arduous efforts. By last year, total road mileage extended to 186 kilometers, during which 264 large, medium, and small bridges were built or renovated. Much water and many bridges meant Kunshan's roads required several times or even dozens of times more investment than elsewhere. One kilometer of asphalt road cost two hundred thousand yuan; concrete roads cost four hundred to four hundred fifty thousand yuan. Roads were paved with “Great Unity” bills laid one by one!

Money wouldn't fall from heaven. The state had only one pocket—how much could you “extract”? Wu Kequan created a “four-dish combination”: state investment a bit, local burden a bit, enterprise support a bit, transportation department squeeze out a bit. People, money, materials—all from this “combination.” Speaking plainly, it was still that old saying: self-reliance. Socialist construction without self-reliance could only be utopian, or would have to change names—not called socialism but some other “ism.”

After a road was built to remote Jinjiazhuang, benefiting farmers called Party Secretary Pan “Lord Pan” as a homophone. So with county-wide township road access, seventy-one percent of villages having roads, and clay-stone roads converting to black (asphalt) and gray (concrete), how should people praise Wu Kequan?

Wu Kequan's thinking certainly wasn't just the literal “road”—actually, as roads extended around urban areas, politics, economics, concepts, and culture also extended and radiated from county seats to townships and villages. The economic development zone, regardless of whether higher authorities knew or acknowledged it or how outsiders discussed and criticized it, was already functioning practically and was quickly accepted and emulated by other township leaders. As roads extended, their deeper benefits were developed more brilliantly by clever Kunshan people. The county's twenty townships built fifteen distinctively characteristic self-funded economic development zones with 220 enterprises. 1989 output exceeded one billion yuan, comprising twenty-five percent of county industrial output.

Now let's look back at how the road of Wu Kequan's directly managed self-funded economic development zone was traveled. Because it was “secretive,” the development zone always used hidden strength, quietly and silently nurturing its own glory. However, precisely because it was self-established, self-built, and self-funded without higher approval or official recognition, Wu Kequan's heart was always suspended until receiving authoritative affirmation.

However, could a development zone, an economic area involving all aspects, remain forever secret without any leaks?

In autumn 1986, Provincial Party Secretary Han Peixin came to Kunshan. This troubled Cai Changlin and Wu Kequan: should they report the development zone to him? Should they show him that area on the county's east side that had been carefully kept secret until now? After much hesitation, they still didn't dare report. But accompanying Municipal Party Deputy Secretary Lin Ruizhang said: “No problem! Go have a look...”

Wu Kequan and Cai Changlin were “forced up Liangshan,” having to let the “ugly daughter-in-law” meet the “in-laws.”

Han Peixin looked while listening to reports and thinking. Then, back at the guesthouse, he told Wu Kequan: “Not bad! Tell me about the development zone's overall conception.”

Wu Kequan already sensed Han Peixin had no intention of criticism or blame, instead showing strong interest, even asking repeatedly about data details. With this small but extraordinary “foundation,” Wu Kequan spoke more freely, detailing everything from beginning to end like counting family treasures...

This Han Peixin Kunshan trip could be called the turning point for the entire economic development zone moving from “underground” to “public.” Back in Nanjing, Han Peixin spoke about Kunshan's self-funded development zone at the provincial party standing committee, suggesting if possible everyone should go see it...

Soon after, Provincial Party Deputy Secretary Shen Daren, Governor Gu Xiulian, and Deputy Secretary Sun Jiazheng successively came to Kunshan. They viewed county and township development zones, were very happy and affirmative. At that year's Provincial People's Congress, Gu Xiulian specifically mentioned Kunshan's economic-technological development zone in the provincial government work report.

Wu Kequan could now act freely. Seizing this opportunity, he immediately filed reports to municipal and provincial levels, requisitioned land, and extended south from the original 3.75 square kilometers development. The development zone was planned as 6.18 square kilometers.

Also that winter, central government and Shanghai party-government leaders came to Kunshan. Accompanied by County Party Secretary Mao Yangqing and County Magistrate Wu Kequan, they toured the development zone, giving full affirmation and praise.

The development zone was an instant success, but development zone designer Wu Kequan's son fell ill and was hospitalized.

Nine, “Dad, Save Me Quickly”

Horizontal cooperation momentum was strong. Wu Kequan was intensely shuttling between Shanghai, Suzhou, Nanjing, Beijing, and “third-front” factories, with negotiation and reception schedules packed full. Just then his wife fell ill and was hospitalized in Shanghai. He couldn't care for his wife or son. His son needed to study for correspondence university exams, naturally couldn't worry about dad. Neither father nor son could attend to the other.

Sometimes very late when dad returned home, seeing his son's tired expression, he couldn't bear disturbing him, instead making noodles himself before resting.

This day, he received guests from Venus Television Factory. Because both sides' development intentions completely aligned, everyone was happy. Unable to drink alcohol, he used beverages to express sincerity. Originally he planned to go to Chenmu Town that evening. Someone reminded him: tomorrow you still need to give a report—shouldn't you rest a bit earlier, not go to the countryside? Perhaps there was some arrangement in the dark! Normally he wouldn't agree, but this time he actually nodded. He let Office Director Shen go to Chenmu while he went home.

Home was on the third floor—not very high, but he climbed with difficulty. During work, no matter how tired, he could concentrate. But once thinking of rest and relaxation, his whole body seemed to collapse. He struggled to find his keys and open the door. The door opened, lights were on, but no sound.

At this moment, after days of exhaustion, how much he needed someone to bring him tea and considerately offer a warm, kind smile! But his wife was hospitalized in Shanghai—patients needed companionship more, and he hadn't fulfilled this duty. How could he expect more?

However, son Xiao Jiang was home. Usually when he returned, the boy would always greet him. Today why was there no one, no sound? He gently pushed open his son's door—not there. Just puzzled, he faintly heard weak groans from the bathroom. His heart suddenly tightened. Rushing over, he saw Xiao Jiang lying on the floor, deathly pale. Seeing dad, Xiao Jiang's tears flowed down as he pleaded urgently and with difficulty: “Dad, save me quickly...”

The secretary's door was knocked by the county magistrate: “Quick, help me...”

County People's Hospital emergency room—the county magistrate waited anxiously beside his son who was already too pained to cry out. They only found high white cell count but didn't know the disease; only knew severe intestinal pain but couldn't pinpoint the exact location.

What to do? He was helpless, only looking at doctors with hopeful, pleading eyes, clearly saying: “Please, save my son...”

Doctors could only use emergency methods—”open in the middle,” find the cause after opening. Saving people was urgent, saving life was crucial!

Wu Kequan couldn't worry about much and urgently signed. His son was wheeled into the operating room. His heart, his everything was taken into that white world of uncertain life and death.

Doctors accustomed to various difficult and dangerous patients showed surprise and confusion this time: after opening, everything was pus! Blood and pus, pus and flesh—all blurred! How could the county magistrate's son's illness drag to such a terrible state before surgery? Appendix perforation had become severe peritonitis. If they'd come to the hospital an hour later, even if Hua Tuo were reborn or Bian Que revived, they'd probably be powerless.

What if Wu Kequan had gone to Chenmu Town that evening?

That night he didn't and couldn't close his eyes. Though he knew he had no way to reduce his son's pain, he still quietly watched by his son's bedside, feeling this was the only way to slightly compensate for his inner guilt.

Early next morning, his son was running high fever, calling “dad” and “mom” in delirium. Mom was in Shanghai, also hospitalized. Dad was right by the bedside, but dad had to force himself to stand up—he still had to give a report.

He left his sick son, then forced himself to calm his emotions slightly, and went to the cinema to give his report. The report content was none other than Kunshan's economic development zone—now he no longer worried about anything, no longer needed to work secretively. He straightened his back and confidently proclaimed the necessity and possibility of building development zones, discussing achievements already made, various evaluations, and future plans...

Listeners who found it interesting and exciting, couldn't help wanting to loudly cheer “Oh, you're remarkable” for Kunshan—did you know that Wu Kequan, the county magistrate who had devoted all his energy to the development zone, was at that very moment bleeding in his heart for two sick relatives...

Chapter Three: Kunshan Has Jade, the Jade Is in Its People

Ten, The More University Graduates the Better

China must develop economically. With economic improvement, everything becomes easier to discuss and handle. Leaving this “center” to indulge in other talk makes all actions and thoughts possibly “utopian.”

Economic development requires dedication. You can't stop talking about dedication once you mention reform. Wu Kequan's income might be less than a driver's or a township enterprise gatekeeper's, but he made the greatest dedication. Dedication is a spirit—people living in the world must have some spirit.

Economic development requires talent. When Wu Kequan became county magistrate, the entire county had only 150 technical personnel including assistant engineers. With such severe talent shortage, rapid, quality economic development in Kunshan was fundamentally impossible.

Wu Kequan called Personnel Bureau Director Fang Linlin and Wang Zhenlu, assigning hard tasks: three hundred per year (introduce two hundred, assign one hundred), only more allowed, not fewer!

Previously, outsiders coming to the Personnel Bureau wanting to transfer to Kunshan couldn't get in. Now, the Personnel Bureau went to other places like treasure-hunting to recruit talent, finding ways to “poach” you over.

Readers may remember the earliest joint venture “Spinning Machine Experimental Workshop.” This enterprise needed a knowledgeable leader. Initially, Factory Director Lu through Shanghai connections went three times to a chemical fiber factory, borrowing Engineer Zhang Changhua. This Beijing Chemical Fiber Institute graduate had relatively rich professional knowledge, had translated “Synthetic Fiber Processing Manual” and co-edited “Japanese-English-Chinese Textile Industry Vocabulary.” After borrowing him for several months, they couldn't bear to let him go and wanted to transfer him. But Zhang Changhua had his own career there and couldn't decide immediately.

Wu Kequan cherished talent like life, determined to “poach” Zhang Changhua over. To keep people, you must keep hearts. Considering Zhang Changhua had an elderly mother in Shanghai needing care and his wife was born in Shanghai, making outside work difficult, he took decisive measures, transferring her to Kunshan and assigning her as staff at Kunshan's permanent Shanghai office. He also arranged two apartments through Zhabei District government—one for office use, one for residence. He personally sought out Zhang for a talk, sincerely hoping he could come work in Kunshan.

With such thoughtful consideration from the county magistrate, how could he continue to decline? Soon after, he completed procedures and transferred to Kunshan...

Once concepts changed, personnel work became vibrant and colorful. The most active year brought in three hundred people. During Wu Kequan's six years as county magistrate, over 1,300 people were introduced successively, plus those assigned totaled over three thousand. Three thousand elite troops, one hundred thousand disciples—this is how Kunshan's economy took off.

There's also a small episode here. Some people loved to gossip, hearing that someone surnamed Wu was transferred from elsewhere, saying he was Wu Kequan's relative, or someone surnamed Zhang came, saying he was a relative of his wife Zhang Desen. In fact, not one was. At a meeting, he said: “If they were, that wouldn't be wrong either. As long as they can contribute to Kunshan's construction, all introduced talent are my 'relatives.'“

There actually was one real relative—his brother-in-law wanted to transfer to Kunshan, but he didn't agree.

Talent also has abundant times, and abundant times better show a leader's level. In 1989, university graduate assignment became a difficult problem. Previously it was “grabbing,” now it was “pushing away.” Wu Kequan called Wang Zhenlu over, saying: “We can't only consider immediate needs, seeking quick success and instant benefits. From Kunshan's overall economic development planning perspective, what's not needed now might be needed later. When the time comes, we can't urgently produce them either. Usually we compete with big cities for talent and can't beat them. Now they don't want them—this is an opportunity.”

Wang and Lu went to the Provincial Personnel Bureau for a list—all graduates from national key universities that no one wanted! Wu Kequan said: “They don't want them, we do.”

So beyond the plan they took another 139 university graduates! In 1989, Kunshan received and assigned over six hundred university graduates—the most in history and the fastest job placement!

Seeing Kunshan's uncommon vision and extraordinary boldness, the Provincial Personnel Bureau held a meeting in Kunshan, inviting personnel cadres from across the province. Wu Kequan spoke twice at the meeting, saying: “University graduates are treasures, talent is treasure. We're developing the economy, building socialism. We lack everything, but what we lack most is talent. To a great extent, having talent means having everything, so we welcome university graduates to work in Kunshan...”

Eleven, Emerging from “Misunderstandings”

Relying on assignment and introduction wasn't the entirety of Wu Kequan's talent philosophy. From the start he incorporated education and training his own talent into the overall conception of the “Kunshan Road.”

I asked Propaganda Department Chief Chen Borong to discuss this—he was formerly Education Bureau director and knew this account best. Kunshan's original foundation was very poor, called “Subei in Sunan” (the less developed north in the prosperous south). After Wu Kequan became county magistrate, together with County Party Secretary Cai Changlin, they invested great effort making the county's overall education level catch up with (some even surpassing) Suzhou's developed areas—this was unanimously recognized throughout the provincial education system.

Like the economic breakthrough, in education, without independent thinking and unique measures, how could there be major improvement in just a few years?

In 1983, Kunshan began planning a vocational middle school. To save money, it was built together with the Economic Commission vocational school, located behind Kunshan Middle School on ten mu of land already circled on the urban construction plan. Many were satisfied with this—after all, Kunshan had its own vocational middle school.

But Wu Kequan wasn't satisfied. He and Xu Chongjia and Chen Borong went to the site. After investigation, he decisively said Kunshan Middle School was the county's “highest institution of learning,” certain to develop in the future. Not one inch of this land could be touched. The vocational middle school wasn't just this one and wasn't just this small. Moreover, there was the Economic Commission vocational school. Ten mu total was nowhere near enough.

Xu and Chen were delighted he said this. Moving elsewhere would necessarily increase expenses. Wu Kequan naturally considered this. He was very “shrewd” in other aspects. Indeed, Kunshan people called him “one pen,” but regarding education, he was a rare “big boss” full of great boldness!

Both vocational schools were moved. The First Vocational Middle School went to Chaoyang New Village on twenty-eight mu of requisitioned land, having invested over two million yuan to date. The Economic Commission vocational school received separate land allocation of fifty mu, together with the Television University, having invested over four million yuan.

“Education spending in a proper manner began after Wu Kequan became county magistrate,” Chen Borong said. “For example, the county's 320,000 square meters of school buildings—220,000 square meters were mainly newly built or renovated after 1984. In 1989 alone, investment in school buildings and teaching equipment reached 10.38 million yuan!”

Teacher housing was a major problem. Wu Kequan ordered: solve one hundred units annually! From 1985 to 1987, they actually built three hundred units. But contradictions remained prominent. Wu Kequan again allocated funds for key investment. In 1988 and 1989, two years saw another three hundred units built. This was not only unprecedented in Kunshan's history but also rare throughout Suzhou region.

All subsidies for public teachers were fully included in county finances—around six hundred yuan per person annually. With nearly four thousand people county-wide, this meant over two million yuan yearly. Among all Suzhou counties and cities, including the urban district, only Kunshan achieved this!

Private teachers were always considered “second-class,” but from 1988 Kunshan began treating private teachers' various economic subsidies (except non-staple food subsidies, since private teachers had vegetable plots) the same as public teachers, implementing the same structural wage system and giving the same position responsibility bonuses... This alone raised private teachers' annual income by around five hundred yuan.

For public medical care, after implementing fiscal contracting, each person got sixty yuan. Some exceeded this amount, and some townships refused reimbursement, keeping receipts in their pockets. After Wu Kequan heard about this, he clearly stipulated: teachers' medical fee reform would proceed simultaneously with government agencies. Under current conditions, excess amounts couldn't be borne by schools, much less by teachers themselves, but should uniformly be resolved by township finances. Those with real difficulties could apply for county fiscal supplements.

Later, at a township party secretary meeting, Wu Kequan said: “If teachers' medical receipts have nowhere to be reimbursed in the future, tell them to go to the Finance Bureau for reimbursement. After reimbursement, county finances will seek payment from township finances!”

This measure was also implemented only in Kunshan—no other counties or cities implemented it.

Twelve, Inviting the “Tiger” Down the Mountain

Kunshan's education was emerging from “misunderstandings,” with advanced talent concepts, leading to obvious improvement in the county's cultural quality. This made Wu Kequan not a permanent loner, not “standing out like a crane among chickens” but merely one representative among many talented people. Precisely because of this, an atmosphere formed here—one of competing to excel and innovate.

From county party committee, government, people's congress and political consultative conference leaders to factory enterprise and township cadres, there was usually a sense of urgency. The machinery of thought kept turning, considering existing achievements not as endpoints but starting points, unique experiences not as conclusions but as continuously perfected and enriched through practice... Thus horizontal cooperation paths, new zone development paths, Suzhou's first Sino-foreign joint venture paths... all roads led to Rome, all roads shone with increasingly brilliant colors in Wu Kequan's conception.

Kunshan had a Hanshan brand refrigerator factory that started well, but later, as famous brands emerged in the refrigerator industry, Hanshan gradually appeared “shabby.” A deputy factory director went to Shanghai on business. Staying in a hotel discussing this matter, someone nearby said: “Can't you talk with Guizhou Fenghua Refrigerator Factory? They're under the Aerospace Ministry with very strong technical and equipment capabilities.”

That person also told him Fenghua Factory's director was visiting relatives in Shanghai these days and could be contacted...

The deputy director immediately rushed back to Kunshan to report to Factory Director Xu. Hearing this, Xu immediately drove east to find Fenghua Factory's Director Wu Mingzhan, saying: “We'd like to invite you to visit Kunshan.”

Wu Mingzhan looked at this unexpected visitor, spread his hands apologetically: “I have no relatives or friends in Kunshan—what would I do there?”

Factory Director Xu said: “We're a small county with a small factory. Please come give us guidance.”

Finally Wu Mingzhan was brought to Kunshan. Once he looked, he really became interested. So there was such a good place next to Shanghai! Kunshan's refrigerator factory was in the new zone with some foundation and broad development prospects. If Guizhou's technology and equipment could be brought over, this factory could leap to a new level without spending much money.

When Wu Kequan got the news, he immediately met with Wu Mingzhan. He comprehensively introduced Kunshan's economic development path, clearly proposing joint venture with Fenghua Factory... At this point Wu Mingzhan already had intentions, but he jokingly said: “If I'd known you had this 'conspiracy,' I wouldn't have come to Kunshan!”

Soon after, Deputy County Magistrate Zheng Huizhen and Huangfu and others went to Guizhou Fenghua Factory, introducing Kunshan's situation to all factory leadership, arousing great interest. The joint venture quickly entered specific project negotiation stages...

The great “third front” offered great possibilities! Wu Kequan accurately and timely grasped the opportunity of “third front” dispersal, personally going to Guizhou and other places to promote Kunshan's advantages and sincerity for horizontal cooperation, while county-wide calling on everyone to “look farther” and “reach longer.” Whenever there were clues or connections, they'd strive by all means. This led to another story.

Chongqing Automobile Factory Party Secretary Chen Shisheng was from Kunshan. He came to the Shanghai area investigating automobile sales, planning to open a window, and on the way home to visit relatives, also visited his teacher Jin Da. Retired Jin Da also knew Kunshan had developed horizontal cooperation experience. Seeing his student was a large enterprise leader, he had a sudden inspiration and told Wu Kequan.

Wu Kequan had Cooperation Office's Wang Shunbao find Chen Shisheng, inviting him to visit several factories. Wu Kequan said: “See if Kunshan has anywhere that can serve (support) your factory?”

Chen Shisheng felt this was impossible—his impression of his hometown's industrial foundation was too weak, incomparable to Chongqing Auto. But after seeing several factories, this thinking changed. So at lunch Wu Kequan introduced Kunshan's investment environment, revealing joint venture intentions. Chen Shisheng said: “I'll go back and discuss, then give you an answer.”

Soon a telegram came—Chen Shisheng invited Kunshan to send people for joint venture talks.

Zheng Huizhen and Jin Da went together to Hongyan Auto Factory. This factory was in a deserted mountain valley. Military industry converting to civilian use had produced many products, but all were backlogged in warehouses with many sales difficulties. For example, their vehicles couldn't enter Shanghai's urban areas.

Zheng Huizhen said: “We can work to get Shanghai to relax policies, opening convenient doors for Chongqing Auto.”

Chongqing Auto people were skeptical, thinking: We're a national first-level enterprise with considerable strength and reputation, but years of effort couldn't get into Shanghai. Could little Kunshan County have such capability?

Zheng Huizhen smiled without making guarantees, but said they'd definitely make maximum efforts...

Returning to Kunshan, Zheng Huizhen reported to Wu Kequan, who said: “We'll work together.”

Believe it or not, the road for Chongqing Auto vehicles entering Shanghai's urban areas was opened by Kunshan people! When vehicles could enter it meant people would buy your vehicles. At this time, Kunshan's Second Agricultural Machinery Factory was near bankruptcy. Both sides negotiated and established a joint venture factory on this factory's foundation. They signed in August and held an order conference in September in Kunshan under the joint venture factory name.

Zheng Huizhen guaranteed on-site sales of five vehicles at the conference. Hearing this, Chen Shisheng stared in amazement, wondering if he'd heard wrong, then found an opportunity to whisper: “Isn't your tone too big? If you can just sell two vehicles, this hometown person would have face.”

Zheng Huizhen smiled: “Secretary Chen, rest assured. I won't embarrass you. If we can't sell five vehicles, Kunshan will take them!”

A month later, the order conference began. The joint venture factory wasn't yet formed, didn't have a sign, so they hastily made a wooden sign and hung it at Agricultural Machinery Factory Two's main gate. Chongqing Auto people saw this and felt disheartened, holding little hope for the order conference. Just before this conference, they'd held one at Mount Emei, selling only three or four vehicles total. Now coming to Kunshan, holding an order conference in such a crude, pitiful factory—would anyone want them?

But a miracle appeared: Kunshan's order conference signed over sixty vehicles, with over ten fulfilled that year!

“Little Kunshan” amazed everyone! Both sides' “romance” married at lightning speed and soon had “offspring”: both invested fifty percent, with Chongqing Auto providing chassis for modification in Kunshan. From 1987 to 1989, three years saw over 230 modifications. Shanghai Baoshan Iron & Steel's first phase used all imported “Hino” trucks; the second phase used entirely Kunshan modified vehicles...

Thirteen, Kunshan's “Secret Weapon”

The horizontal cooperation concept in Wu Kequan's hands was a masterful, inexhaustible grand article. After Kunshan-Shanghai joint venture experience was promoted elsewhere, people focused entirely on Shanghai. Then Wu Kequan extended cooperation thinking to “third front” military enterprises, spreading nationwide. While some were complacent with small gains, Wu Kequan elevated single factory-single product cooperation to industry-wide joint ventures, further establishing textile export bases on this foundation.

Here we must first mention Yang Qiulin of Xinpu Village, Huaqiao Town. Initially he brought several people to Shanghai's Longqiao Township, opening a shirt ironing workshop in duck sheds. Soon the workshop moved back to Xinpu. Once during busy farming season, thirty thousand pieces of American children's clothing urgently needed ironing. He borrowed a tractor to transport goods back and forth. Ten thousand pieces per day and night—all completed in three days and nights!

Later Zhou Guiji became Shanghai Shirt General Factory director. Seeing the trend, he wanted to expand processing. Yang Qiulin heard and, together with Township Head Bei Yuzong, proactively proposed building a joint venture factory in Huaqiao. Zhou Guiji said: “To do it, do it boldly and properly!”

Opportunity couldn't be missed. Returning, they successively requisitioned 30.5 mu of land (about 2.03 hectares) while going to the county for loans. Two deputy county magistrates Huang Jizhong and Zheng Huizhen, plus County Government Office's Zeng Yong, Economic Commission's Xuan Binglong, Planning Commission's Dai Xiuliang and others, united in effort, rushing to Shanghai with full force, clearing channels, raising funds, busy and happy.

That September they preliminarily signed agreements—both sides investing one million yuan each for joint shirt export production. Year-end, Factory Director Zhou Guiji brought a group to Kunshan specifically to visit Wu Kequan, expressing heartfelt thanks. He said: “For me to establish such a branch factory in Shanghai, not to mention other things, I'd need seventy-two official seals—seventy-two round seals would take at least three years.”

This meant what took three years in Shanghai was accomplished in three months in Kunshan. Wu Kequan thought of another aspect, saying sincerely: “If we did it ourselves, three years wouldn't reach export standards. With your help, everything was exported in three months, so we should thank you...”

Sincere and mutually beneficial—the shirt factory's future became even brighter. Wu Kequan seized this opportunity, repeatedly traveling between Shanghai and Kunshan, advocating making the shirt factory Shanghai's branch factory. Shanghai also felt dealing with Kunshan was trustworthy and reliable, so the shirt factory officially opened on July 15, 1985: Shanghai Shirt Factory Branch Factory.

Wu Kequan invited Shanghai to send someone as factory director. Some didn't understand: Yang Qiulin alone was enough—why invite a Shanghai person? Wu Kequan said: “Shanghai's management level is high. Besides, people need face. With a director coming, they'll work harder, joint ventures will be more reliable, and branch factories will run better...”

Facts proved his viewpoint correct. That year two new production lines were added, producing 540,000 shirts with output value of 5.4 million yuan, profit five hundred thousand yuan, and foreign exchange earnings 1.25 million dollars. By 1989 there were eight production lines with output value 15.4 million yuan, profit 2.7 million yuan, and foreign exchange earnings 8.5 million dollars—all leading village-run enterprises city-wide.

Wu Kequan clearly declared: “All joint venture factories with suitable conditions should invite Shanghai (or other provinces and cities) people as factory directors.”

A Suzhou city leader said: “This is Kunshan's 'secret weapon'!”

Why weren't Kunshan's joint venture factories superficially united but spiritually separated, but rather both superficially and spiritually united? Why, though everyone said Shanghai people were very “shrewd” and hard to deal with, did Kunshan-Shanghai joint ventures become increasingly extensive and close? Because Wu Kequan wasn't vulgar, so Kunshan people weren't vulgar. Being vulgar might be shrewd but couldn't be brilliant. Not being vulgar might not be shrewd but could be brilliant.

There aren't many brilliant people. When brilliant people exist, capable people are fortunate. When there are no brilliant people, however many capable people are useless. One county is like this, as are cities, provinces, and countries.

Kunshan people weren't vulgar, Wu Kequan wasn't vulgar, Shanghai people weren't vulgar, Mei Shouchun and Wang Jinlin weren't vulgar, so there was one shirt branch factory, followed by five textile industry joint venture factories. Six factories, though pitifully few, but as an effort direction, Shanghai and Kunshan's textile industries achieved industry-wide joint ventures.

Of course, Wu Kequan was thinking about the next step. In April 1986, Kunshan County People's Government began discussing with Shanghai Textile Industry Bureau establishing a textile export base. On March 15th, Wu Kequan and Wang Jinlin specially went to Nanjing, reporting this plan to Governor Gu Xiulian.

Gu Xiulian gave full affirmation, saying: “Kunshan's cooperation with Shanghai—late start, high starting point, good results, beneficial to country, Shanghai, and Kunshan. The path is correct.”

Gu Xiulian immediately reported to Provincial Party Secretary Han Peixin. Han Peixin clearly supported this and instructed relevant provincial departments to actively cooperate without “building dikes.”

During this period, Textile Ministry Vice Minister He also actively worked to promote upgraded Kunshan-Shanghai joint ventures.

From April 3rd to 4th, Shanghai Textile Industry Bureau Director Mei Shouchun and Deputy Director Wang Jinlin, Kunshan County Party Secretary Mao Yangqing, County Magistrate Wu Kequan, Deputy County Magistrates Wang Guoxing and Zheng Huizhen, plus Shanghai Economic Commission Advisor Gong Zhaoyuan, held two days of talks in Kunshan. As a result of these talks, they signed an agreement establishing “Shanghai Textile Export Joint Production Base” in Kunshan.

The role of joint ventures, the power of cooperation, the energy that could be released by a correct approach was limitless. Precisely relying on this path and the strength and thinking it accumulated, in 1987, based on all fourteen key projects being completed and operational, Wu Kequan organized another major “campaign”—launching twenty-nine more key construction projects. Except for very few, they had successively been completed and operational...

Fourteen, Fei Xiaotong Said “Very Good”

Last October, Wu Kequan reported his economic thinking to Mr. Fei Xiaotong in Suzhou. When discussing “third front” industry, he said: “Previously we couldn't see those places—classified factories, who dared go? The center proposed activating state enterprises. 'Third front' military factories needed to disperse, so we proactively went to look. Some factories' equipment had been sealed for twenty years, never touched. People too were the same—virtually sealed. I said, could we bring products for production? They weren't enthusiastic. Having them come to us, they were willing. We have good environment and superior location, so they had enthusiasm. I believe the state should support them coming out.”

Fei Xiaotong nodded, agreeing with his opinion.

Wu Kequan further elaborated his thinking: “Initially we also worried whether joint ventures with 'third front' military enterprises would shake the 'third front' base's military morale. Practice proved that establishing joint ventures not only didn't shake military morale but actually made it more stable. For example, we established Fenghua Refrigerator Factory Kunshan Branch through joint venture with Aerospace Ministry's Fenghua Machinery Factory. Initially Guizhou had some concerns. Actually, this factory had many technical personnel from the south, like Shanghai people, who'd been in Guizhou many years and always wanted to return but faced difficult transfers, and some weren't settled in their work. Now with a branch factory, some engineering technical personnel could settle in Kunshan, also close to Shanghai—they could come to Kunshan for work in the morning and return home to rest in the evening. Everyone was very satisfied. Moreover, when the state needed them, these people could still return to the base.”

Fei Xiaotong said happily: “You've supported my 'third front' military enterprise dispersal theory!”

The next day, Fei Xiaotong went to Kunshan. Before leaving, he said: “Xinhua News Agency can issue a bulletin saying I went to Kunshan for field investigation and the development zone situation is very good.”

The investigation results were very satisfactory. Kunshan's practice and Wu Kequan's thinking coincided with the theoretical framework Fei Xiaotong had formed through long research. The Kunshan road was the road to a strong nation. To strengthen the nation, the economy must be developed, and economic development could only rely on self-reliance.

The Kunshan road's value lay in not being told to develop the economy or establish development zones, but rather wanting to reform and open up, wanting to establish development zones themselves. So rather than looking up and asking for money, they looked down and worked hard! Not being listed, not having official status, not receiving policies—they still worked, as long as it benefited the country and people and conformed to reform and opening trends, they resolutely did it.

Lacking talent, funds, and technology, they pursued “horizontal” joint ventures, borrowing winds from all directions. Without conditions they created conditions, creating a real, vibrant development zone, then astounding everyone, compelling admiration and recognition: the Kunshan road was a success road and a road to national strength...

During investigation, Elder Fei also discovered that Kunshan not only had an experienced, clear-thinking decision-maker and hands-on leader like Wu Kequan, but also a group of extremely energetic people. Though small, Kunshan couldn't be underestimated. Though late-starting, once awakened, it took rapid flight because here was a group of extraordinary, enterprising capable people.

Elder Fei, advanced in age, rarely had opportunity to visit Kunshan. Wu Kequan sincerely invited him to inscribe a memento. Mr. Fei Xiaotong, who usually disliked writing many inscriptions, generously wrote eight characters: “Kunshan has jade, the jade is in its people.”

Fifteen, The “Borrowing Chickens to Lay Eggs” Controversy

In January 1985, Wang Jinhua became Chengbei Township Party Secretary. His first problem was teachers demanding transfers en masse. School conditions were too poor—the middle school was built in muddy swamps. When it rained, bicycles couldn't be pushed to work and had to be carried on shoulders...

This was certainly a long-standing problem, but he felt ashamed and wanted to do something for the people. But Chengbei had no money—it was poor. The past talked of “starting from nothing,” but truly “nothing” made starting absolutely impossible. Cooking without rice, laying eggs without chickens—wasn't this fantasy?

At this time, Wu Kequan faced the same problem: Kunshan needed development, the development zone needed implementation, but without money, he could only sing “empty city strategy.”

Based on comprehensive analysis and calm thinking, he proposed borrowing money to run enterprises, running good enterprises to repay debt, while borrowing, producing, and repaying debt simultaneously. His clearly advocated horizontal cooperation had as one motive or purpose introducing capital through horizontal cooperation. Borrowing chickens to lay eggs—having eggs could hatch chicks, chickens could repay chickens or lay more eggs. Profound economic principles were explained through simple analogies that enlightened many people.

From then on “borrowing chickens to lay eggs” accompanied horizontal cooperation concepts, becoming another open secret of Kunshan's economic development.

Wang Jinhua followed this thinking, only doing it more boldly, thoroughly, and creatively. Of nine party committee members, six handled economics. They used desperately struggling spirit, sincere specialized credibility, and convincing benefits to go east to Shanghai, north to the capital, in all directions raising funds. Thresholds others couldn't touch, they knew well. Units others didn't dare enter, they were received as honored guests. Funds others didn't even dare imagine, they could borrow...

Having money they ran enterprises. Running good enterprises and earning money enabled debt repayment and production development for local people's practical benefits. Originally full of ditches, pits, and holes with only scattered small enterprises and unformed villages, this had now become a true “Kunshan World.”

After investigating Chengbei, Suzhou Municipal Party Deputy Secretary Zhou Zhihua summarized: “Education as foundation, technology developing the township, culture as stage, economy as performance.”

However, this very township, this Wang Jinhua who had brought almost unbelievable changes to Chengbei in just a few years, faced strong criticism. Criticism and accusations focused on borrowing debt.

Wu Kequan clearly understood that while the trouble seemed to target Chengbei, the real spearhead aimed at the county party committee and government, at him as leader. Furthermore, when grassroots cadres working hard faced unfair criticism and accusations, if upper-level party committees and governments remained indifferent and let things slide, the consequences would dampen enthusiasm, making continued steady high-speed development of Kunshan's economy impossible. Who would want to stick their necks out, who would be willing to work desperately?

This wasn't merely a difference in work methods.

In November 1988, Wu Kequan brought Gu Houde “without any preconceptions” to investigate Chengbei on-site. They first heard reports, then had Wang Jinhua and Township Head Yu Zengrong produce several report forms—naturally official statistical reports. Moreover, everyone in Kunshan knew Wu Kequan was an economics expert and generalist impossible to fool. He came to grasp first-hand materials, to see whether his conceived necessary element “borrowing chickens to lay eggs” actually worked and was worth promoting.

Looking at reports, not visiting enterprises, Wu Kequan had confidence. Outside rumors of debts in hundreds of millions—actually only tens of millions then. What about the laid “eggs”? What about Chengbei Township people's benefits and advantages? What about enterprises' potential, future, and economic benefits? Without borrowing debt, without joint ventures, Chengbei absolutely couldn't have today, much less tomorrow!

Wu Kequan further confirmed and enriched his approach from Chengbei's experience. He and Gu together drafted an outline. Wu Kequan's viewpoints, thinking, and affirmation and support for Chengbei were all written by Gu into a long article. After special county standing committee discussion, they decided to hold an on-site meeting in Chengbei, gathering all township heads and party secretaries plus county government department heads to Chengbei to visit enterprises, hear introductions, express individual opinions, and conduct open discussion. Then County Party Secretary Mao Yangqing, based on Wu Kequan's investigation, made summary reports representing the county party committee and government.

This clear, resolute attitude supported Wang Jinhua, encouraged all grassroots cadres, and gave Wu Kequan himself insight: as leaders, regardless of circumstances, they must always stand with practical workers, understanding, supporting, protecting, and promoting them...

So Kunshan reported Chengbei as a model to Suzhou Municipal Party Committee. After Municipal Party Secretary Gao Dezheng investigated Chengbei, he promoted Chengbei as a Suzhou city model...

This spring, Wu Kequan still remembered this vividly when discussing it. Gao Dezheng said the debt problem was actually a conceptual issue about transforming from small-scale peasant economy to socialist collective production. Chinese farmers had dreamed for generations of only one ox and one field, self-sufficient. Once in debt, they'd have to sell children. Every New Year brought fear.

After the Republic's founding, through mutual aid groups and cooperatives, later “communist wind” extremism, back and forth, socialism was never clearly explained, nor were beneficial Western development elements absorbed. So hearing about debt, they were terrified—hundreds of thousands, millions! When could it ever be repaid? One burden pressing so they couldn't straighten backs or raise heads.

Actually, it wasn't about borrowing or not borrowing debt, or borrowing more or less. The key was whether projects were properly assessed. Properly assessed projects should borrow debt however large!

Gao Dezheng also mentioned that small-scale peasant economic thinking was reform's major obstacle. Kunshan was also an agricultural county. Now wanting reform and opening meant, in some sense, jumping out of Kunshan's small circle and world. Without jumping out of this small circle and world, it would forever remain small production, small economy, small-minded, and could never build this small place well.

Gao Dezheng also mentioned viewpoints similar to Wu Kequan's: reform was also politics, reform needed thinking, reform couldn't be purely economic. Without thinking, without understanding politics, one couldn't manage reform well or economics well, and would instead affect economic development and hinder reform progress.

Using small-scale peasant economic thinking to participate in reform and build socialism was perhaps China's greatest sorrow and biggest misunderstanding. Why did some call socialism “utopian”? Because China chose socialism but socialism's benefits came too slowly and too little. To bid farewell to utopia and drive away this discouraging utopian crow, they must bid farewell to small production concepts, first driving away the evil hawk of feudal closure and conservative ignorance!

Fortunately, from central to local levels (like Kunshan) increasingly more people had realized this and were trekking and climbing toward set directions with tenacious perseverance and indomitable will. Wu Kequan's thinking, or the Kunshan road, precisely accorded with this basic point. Otherwise, he wouldn't have invested such great energy and finances in education, wouldn't have spared everything to introduce and train talent, and wouldn't have stepped forward amid wind and waves to care for and protect every person adding luster to socialism.

Chapter Four: Possessing Countless Smiles

Sixteen, The First to Eat Crabs

Time is a net, and people always live in a netted world. The great net is like heaven, vast and incomparable. To break through this net is as impossible as grabbing your own hair to leave Earth. Moreover, net holes are everywhere, loopholes always visible. So youth and love, including opportunities and chances, all silently and unknowingly leaked away and were lost...

Autumn 1984, a middle-aged man who'd had polio walked with difficulty on muddy roads east of Kunshan's urban area. He always carried his briefcase and always wore glasses. He stood still, supporting his body with one healthy leg, using one strong hand to draw an imaginary circle in mid-air while muttering...

He was Mr. Miyoshi, boss of Japan's Suowangnai Limited Company.

How did he come to Kunshan? This was another result both accidental and inevitable. That day Wu Kequan received a phone call from Planning Commission's Tang Fan, who said he and Bank Vice President He had gone to Suzhou and accidentally heard Suzhou Bank of China people say Kunshan had glove factories. Japanese people were doing joint ventures producing gloves—why go to XX County instead of Kunshan?

This information immediately made Wu Kequan think of the development zone's future. The next day he ran to Suzhou, to the Light Industry Bureau, then to find Planning Commission Director Chen Hui. Chen Hui was also negotiating with foreigners for the first time and said Kunshan and XX were competing—whoever had better conditions would get it.

Wu Kequan's brilliance lay in gripping something tightly once he saw it clearly. He ran to Suzhou seven consecutive times!

Formal negotiations began. Deputy County Magistrates Li Jinfang, Zheng Huizhen, and Xia Liangxin successively appeared. Negotiations were difficult. Once, emotional Mr. Miyoshi actually cried from agitation. Finally, Wu Kequan stepped in to finalize things, quickly reaching agreement. Both sides held celebration banquets.

When toasting with Wu Kequan, Miyoshi suddenly cried aloud with emotion!

Wu Kequan was absolutely an economic-type talent, but absolutely not a pure economist. In China, except for theoretical researchers and scholar-professors, being a “pure” economic leader or entrepreneur was fundamentally impossible. Politics was economics' concentrated expression; economics was politics' material foundation. Doing economics couldn't completely separate from politics. Without thinking or political acumen, one couldn't manage economics well.

Was reform and opening political or economic? Both political and economic. If someone's vision focused only on one factory or county's small scope, ultimately it could only be small production and small-scale peasant economy—how could it connect with socialist large production and large economy?

So Wu Kequan focused on economics while understanding big policy directions, focused on Kunshan while grasping big economic trends. Precisely because of this, he could seize opportunities and establish this joint venture.

Yes, Miyoshi had contacted many Chinese officials and business people, but he rarely met someone like Wu Kequan—both understanding economics and being honest, neither letting you profit without cost nor preventing your benefits... Dealing with such officials gave him security. He said: “Mr. Wu, I'm very happy to meet you...”

Wu Kequan said: “Wishing our cooperation success, let us both make big money!”

In March 1985, “China Suowangnai Limited Company,” Suzhou city's and Jiangsu Province's first county-level Sino-foreign joint venture, officially began production.

Now we can make a simple, clear statement about the “Kunshan Road” or Wu Kequan's thinking: East relying on Shanghai, west supporting “third front.” Internally linking villages, facing the nation, going global.

Having gradually formed such a relatively complete approach through practice, Wu Kequan dared “be first under heaven.” “First” didn't mean going beyond bounds. “First” meant overall grasp of national conditions, policies, and reform/opening trends, so being “first” uncommonly, extraordinarily, methodically, and colorfully. Precisely because of this, what others didn't dare think he thought, what others didn't dare do he did. When others also thought and did it, he'd made the article more lively, deeper, richer and more skillful...

Immediately after, Wu Kequan pioneered paid land transfers and enterprise mergers... By early 1990, the city had over forty enterprises merged by outside large enterprises or local advantaged enterprises, with universally good benefits.

Following feelings, grasping dream's hand, footsteps becoming lighter and happier, freely expressing one's own smile. When a person's thinking and talent matured, like a mature writer with individual personality, writing articles wouldn't be clumsy but would “freely express one's own smile,” daring to use surprise tactics and bold strokes to create articles no one dared write.

Land transfers and enterprise mergers, like initial horizontal cooperation and self-funded development zones, were all unexpected yet reasonable upon reflection...

Seventeen, “The Kunshan Road”

We can now make a numerical statement about the “Kunshan Road.”

In 1978, Kunshan's industrial output was only 220 million yuan. By 1983, it increased to 570 million yuan—more than doubling in five years. In 1984, Wu Kequan became county magistrate, and Kunshan's economic development was incorporated into his thinking. By 1989, industrial output reached 4.034 billion yuan, six times more than 1983; foreign trade procurement 409.2 million yuan, nearly twenty times more than 1983; fiscal revenue 123 million yuan, 121% more than 1983; per capita gross production 3,256 yuan, 290% more.

Total city industrial fixed assets were one billion yuan—a billionaire, thirteen times more than 1978. Particularly worth mentioning: six years' total grain production was 2.62 million tons, 1.09% more than the previous six years, becoming a national advanced county (city) for grain sales; diversified management output 737 million yuan, growing 152.4%. In 1989 farmers' per capita income was 1,233 yuan, 400.6 yuan more than 1983.

Economic development, especially industrial production development, didn't sacrifice agriculture but gave Kunshan's agriculture new development amid stability. Municipal Finance Bureau Director Yan Wenkui said this was precious and a remarkable contribution. This was also another powerful proof of the scientific “Kunshan Road.”

Six years, a colorful performance! Six years, a varied dream! Six years walking the “Kunshan Road,” creating an independently thoughtful good article for building socialism with Chinese characteristics!

Six years, still those mountains, waters, and people, but Kunshan people didn't recognize themselves anymore. Whether clothing, manner, speech, or thinking concepts and civilization levels, all had obvious changes, leaping to a higher level...

All this was closely connected with the self-funded economic-technological development zone. Commerce Bureau Director Luo said well: “It's not that the development zone benefited from Kunshan people's glory, but Kunshan people benefited from the development zone's glory.”

The development zone was Wu Kequan's and all Kunshan people's pride. The development zone belonged to Kunshan, to Jiangsu Province, to all China, and could even be said to belong to all socialism.

Great wisdom is neither mediocre vulgarity nor otherworldly deity. Great wisdom is always realistic. China has 1.1 billion people and was “feudal” for thousands of years—this is China's most basic national condition. Here, cynical world-weariness and groundless worry are useless. The key is still developing the economy. Only economic development can bury feudalism, and only economic development can build socialism.

Wu Kequan understood this national condition, so his thinking was practical, always centered on developing the economy, and practically advanced Kunshan's economy a great step.

Someone said to me: “You've written many articles about other places. Can't you promote Kunshan?”

However, local articles are hard to write. “Not recognizing Mount Lu's true face because I am within this mountain.” The more contact one has, the harder it is to grasp. More difficult still, articles have their own laws—writing about people and events must start from the article's conception. Writing about some of a person's deeds doesn't equal affirming everything about them, much less denying or belittling others... In short, articles are articles, yet some people insist on misunderstanding articles as organizational decisions or merit awards according to official commendation lists...

Precisely from this concern, plus other reasons, I didn't rashly take up my pen but invited reporters from Xinhua News Agency and People's Daily to conduct interviews from an “observer's” perspective. These two reporters were skilled writers. Seeing the materials I provided, they were determined to write a major article. Indeed, in July 1988, People's Daily published it on the front page—specifically about self-funded development zones, with a special accompanying commentary titled “Three Reviews of the 'Kunshan Road.'“

Kunshan immediately became famous.

In winter 1988, the State Council Economic and Technological Development Zones held a theoretical discussion meeting in Tianjin. A year later, they held another policy research meeting on the same topic in Yantai. Naturally, only the fourteen State Council-approved development zones were qualified to attend, but Kunshan, as the sole “specially invited representative,” attended both meetings. Wu Kequan couldn't get away, so he had Office Director Gu Houde attend while he prepared a written statement.

Let's look at a meaningful comparison: The nation's fourteen development zones spent 4.1 billion yuan on forty square kilometers for their first phase, over one hundred million per square kilometer. Kunshan's first phase developed 3.75 square kilometers, spending forty-seven million yuan by last year-end, achieving “seven connections and one leveling” (connecting roads, electricity, water, telecommunications, drainage, gas, steam, plus level ground), costing twelve million yuan per square kilometer—equivalent to twelve percent of state-approved development zones.

The speed of results was also remarkable. Kunshan's development zone had thirty enterprises, including eleven with foreign investment and sixteen domestic joint ventures. From 1985 to 1989, they completed 1.539 billion yuan in industrial output, earned 40.79 million dollars in foreign exchange, accumulated 45.41 million yuan in profits, and paid 53.83 million yuan in taxes—totaling 110 million yuan in taxes and profits! In 1989 alone, output exceeded five hundred million yuan, surpassing the entire county's 1983 industrial output.

If we ranked the national fourteen state-approved development zones by output, Kunshan's unlisted self-funded development zone would rank third, after only Guangzhou and Shanghai! In 1989, Jiangsu's two state-approved development zones paid two million and three million yuan in national taxes respectively, while Kunshan's self-funded development zone paid eight million yuan!

The “Kunshan Road” caused great sensation during the meetings. In 1988, five of eleven meeting bulletins mentioned and warmly praised Kunshan's approach: “Their experience mainly involves self-reliance, acting within capabilities, frugal development, prioritizing primary over auxiliary, production over living, external over internal...”

Professor Chen Yinfang from Nankai University's International Economics Research Institute said: “Without state investment or preferential policies, Kunshan achieved such excellent results—truly inspiring...”

Some experts and professors jumped out of pure theoretical oceans to loudly call: “We must value the 'Kunshan Road' and help our development zones emerge from misunderstandings quickly!”

Perhaps more than just economic-technological development zones need to emerge from misunderstandings. Isn't the “Kunshan Road” an important inspiration for the road to national strength?

Eighteen, Give Me Some Leisure

An ordinary dark blue Crown sedan drove steadily toward Shanghai, steady yet containing hints of anxiety. The driver clearly understood this trip should have happened long ago but kept being delayed—delayed for three years, six years, no, nine years...

Three years as deputy county magistrate, six years as county magistrate—nine years total. Now he was mayor.

On September 28, 1989, Kunshan was upgraded from county to city status. As Kunshan's first mayor in history, amid one hundred colorful flags, one hundred thousand pots of flowers, and over five hundred thousand smiling faces, he appeared exceptionally calm. He felt happiness for Kunshan and comfort for himself.

He deeply thanked reform and opening policies, thanked the entire city's people for their hard work, thanked all departments and units for understanding and support, thanked leaders and friends from Shanghai, Beijing, Nanjing, Suzhou, third-front areas, domestic and foreign locations for their care, help, and friendly cooperation...

I finally incorporated thousands of enterprises into my thinking. I finally possessed countless sincere, enthusiastic smiles.

Ah! The past is like dreams and smoke—bitter, joyful, sour, and sweet, with too many losses and regrets. People say worldly affairs are never perfect! Give me some leisure to contemplate regrets.

The economic-technological development zone still remains off the official roster, outside the fourteen state-approved development zones. In 1989 and 1990, Mr. Fei Xiaotong twice investigated Kunshan's economic development. He said Kunshan's development zone should be “legitimized”—”It has already succeeded and should be recognized, acknowledging the rights Kunshan's development zone should enjoy...”

On January 13, 1988, Jiangsu Provincial Party Committee and Government submitted to the Party Central Committee and State Council “Request Report on Policy Issues for Accelerating Export-oriented Economic Development” (Jiangsu Government Document [1988] No. 1), requesting approval for Kunshan Economic-Technological Development Zone to enjoy equal treatment with coastal open cities' economic-technological development zones.

On February 7, 1990, Jiangsu Provincial Government again submitted to the State Council “Request for Approval of Kunshan Economic-Technological Development Zone” (Jiangsu Government Document [1990] No. 16)...

When would Kunshan's development zone be included in the “official roster”? How he hoped this day would come quickly.

(Heaven fulfilled human wishes. Just around June 20th, as this article was being prepared for publication, Governor Chen Huanyou and Deputy Governor Gao Dezheng, leading mayors from all eleven cities in the province and main leaders from provincial government functional departments, visited and inspected the development zone, heard reports from Kunshan Municipal Party Secretary Wu Kequan, Mayor Zhou Zhenhua, and Deputy Mayor Wang Jinhua, and formally announced: The provincial party committee and government decided to list Kunshan as a Jiangsu Province key economic-technological development zone, accelerating reform and opening steps...)

Wu Kequan showed an unprecedented gratified smile. Kunshan's economic-technological development zone received high praise from provincial party committee, government, and relevant central party and state council leaders. Wu Kequan's thinking was extended and developed in broader, deeper senses. His dreams and pursuits took on more magnificent, brilliant colors...

Speaking of dreams, there were still many regrets, many things that hadn't become reality. Export-oriented economy was placed in the first important position in the 1985 government work report, but though conceived, it wasn't well executed—foreign exchange earnings remained minimal...

Enterprise groups—only one looked decent. Several others could be formed but weren't yet emphasized or mature...

Moreover, though Kunshan was good, it wasn't entirely satisfactory. Seeking private gain through public office, gift-giving and bribery, excessive eating and drinking, corruption... those people, those incidents, those ugly phenomena hadn't been thoroughly investigated and couldn't be fundamentally eliminated quickly...

Don't forget himself too. Nobody's perfect—he also left many regrets. For work, he'd opposed and offended some people. Sometimes his words were unacceptable, making people unhappy. On some issues, he could seem stubborn...

Ah, it's past, all past. “A gust of wind blew away all grudges and grievances.” Regardless of who was right or wrong, there was no need to remember or calculate anything...

Political life is brief; only careers endure.

His back ached again. He shifted with difficulty, regretting not bringing his plywood board. When traveling for meetings, he always brought plywood. Kunshan's Nanjing office had a wooden board. When attending provincial meetings, he'd take that obviously narrowed board to his lodging. He couldn't enjoy Simmons mattresses—only with a wooden board under his back could he sleep. Sofas didn't work either; hard-backed chairs were actually better.

He didn't smoke or drink. At home, besides noodles, preferably a bowl of plain porridge...

Wu Kequan, what exactly are you after?

He didn't answer. He silently but persistently pursued adding bricks and tiles to socialism, enriching his life's journey with content. He thought he'd achieved this, so looking back, he felt clear-conscience comfort.

So he thought of home, of his illness, and requested to step down. Both provincial and municipal party committees originally wanted him to take the soon-vacant position of Kunshan Municipal Party Secretary, but he suggested young comrades form the “cabinet.”

Finally gaining understanding, he brought this small secret to his wife Zhang Desen, saying: “I can breathe easier now. I'm going to Shanghai for medical examination.”

Zhang Desen usually spoke quickly, but now said little. About Kunshan's achievements, she was genuinely happy—her husband's efforts were always part of it! Yet honestly speaking, she felt marrying him meant a lifetime of hardship: at marriage, half a grass hut cost six yuan (one yuan for marriage certificate, five for wedding candy). When she bore two children, she never ate a whole chicken. After her husband became county magistrate, life became harder.

Once with colitis, no one to care for her, she had to carry a spittoon to Yushan Hospital herself. Getting IV drips without company, women in the same ward said: “The county magistrate's wife receiving medical treatment is worse off than us farmers!”

She was a college graduate from the 1950s, then a cultivation target. Because of him, she went from Guangzhou to Wuhan to Beijing to Gansu's Hexi Corridor... years of wandering, reaching middle age before some stability, just when he became county magistrate and plunged into his “thinking.”

Now, though she received a thirty-year financial work honor certificate, she had nothing else besides too many regrets...

Sometimes when they spoke heart-to-heart, she couldn't help complaining about her grievances: “Old Wu, you've been worthy of the Party and people, but you've wronged me, wronged our children, and wronged yourself...”

He understood his wife's words, sympathized with her difficulties, bowed his head speechless, ashamed beyond words.

Now it was better—he'd stepped down. He wanted to compensate his wife and children, including himself, for what he owed. First medical treatment, then fulfilling some husband and father duties. Because family happiness was equally indispensable for a Party member cadre—what was lacking should be made up!

So he went to Shanghai for medical examination. The results shocked the entire family: lumbar inflammation, cervical inflammation, heart disease, atrophic gastritis, early liver cirrhosis!

What shocked him more came afterward: a few days after returning from Shanghai, superiors sent someone to talk with him, wanting him to take over as municipal party secretary for a transitional period, then see...

He couldn't retire but advanced another step. What about his family, his health? When could he be worthy of his wife and children, and himself?

Ending (One)

Southern winters are colder than northern ones. Spreading manuscript paper, hands trembled, heart trembled, pen slipped on paper. I sought the First Reception House to borrow a heated room, but it was full. Director Xiao Wu had to open a dusty warehouse beside the office. It remained like an ice house. I finally squeezed into a sunny room and joyfully wrote continuously.

At night, I copied at home. Half a day and night—nearly seven thousand words were sent off the next day. Within a month, People's Daily had typeset and arranged the layout.

After thinking, I still called to inform him, writing a note about this matter. The phone rang: “This is Wu Kequan. Don't publish the People's Daily article.”

I couldn't understand and tried persuading him. No use. After over an hour's talk, he finally picked up the phone to call Beijing reporters on the spot. The reporter was somewhat displeased. Getting reportage literature published in People's Daily wasn't easy. But...

I had him speak directly with the reporter. Finally, the article was withdrawn.

Ending (Two)

Previously, Kunshan people traveling abroad always felt inferior, couldn't stand firm in any aspect, only shrinking into corners. Now it's different. Speaking of economics, there are development zones and horizontal cooperation; speaking of culture, there's the “Big World” and nationally influential representatives...

Kunshan people finally have their own pride and dignity. “Friends, please visit Kunshan—aren't we building socialism with Chinese characteristics? Kunshan can inspire you.”

When will Chinese people abroad be so substantial and proud? This is my “Chinese Dream.”

Ending (Three)

Returning to this article's beginning. Eastern European changes were obviously a globally shaking, historically major event shocking billions of hearts. Socialism went from one-country practice to multi-country practice, then from one-country failure to multi-country failure.

Tragic or sorrowful? Great or pitiful? Waterloo or Austerlitz? Mournful dirges or inspiring marches? Verification of “rise and fall” or survival of the fittest laws?

How would Marx answer? What would Lenin think? Would Mao Zedong again wield his great brush to write magnificent prose, displaying in the universe's canopy “Only socialism can save China”?

I asked three mayors (county magistrates). County Magistrate Sun Fugui before Wu Kequan served one term with clean sleeves. After Wu became county magistrate, Sun became People's Congress Standing Committee director. Recently, due to advanced age, he fully retired. When announcing this, the national labor model became emotional and nearly cried... But Sun Fugui still retired.

Before long, Wu Kequan would also retire. They departed toward the brilliant sunset's depths...

The current mayor is Zhou Zhenhua. I discussed with three mayors (county magistrates): Is socialism utopian? Their views, comprehensively organized, follow.

Whether China chose socialism or socialism chose China is irrelevant. What matters is only socialism can save China. In China, no other “ism” can replace socialism, no other party can replace the Communist Party, because no other “ism” or party can unite China's 1.1 billion people.

Socialism isn't inferior to any other “ism.” The problem is socialism's superiority hasn't been fully realized.

In 1985, Wu Kequan visited Japan's Atsugi City and learned that thirty years ago, Atsugi wasn't as good as Kunshan then, but now with 170,000 people, it's very developed. He thought: with the same foundation for development, you develop capitalism, I develop socialism, I definitely won't need thirty years to surpass your level.

So without all that back-and-forth turmoil, China's construction wouldn't be slower than the West's. Some young people only praise foreign countries as good while China has nothing worthwhile—corrupt cadres, no good people.

Once during New Year, Wu Kequan invited joint venture Japanese managers for dinner. His home was too small, so they cleared space, even borrowing tables temporarily from the reception house. Despite this, the Japanese manager was greatly surprised: the county magistrate's home had so little space, so few things? Later he told others: “Now I know what Chinese government officials are like!”

Of course, others praising us doesn't mean we have no problems. Regardless, building socialism requires socialist thinking. Reform can't abandon dedication spirit. Using feudalist or capitalist thinking for socialism won't work.

Socialist construction can't be dogmatic, much less one-size-fits-all. One-size-fits-all creates chaos and ruin. The “Kunshan Road” could only emerge on Kunshan's soil. Kunshan has Kunshan's characteristics, Suzhou has Suzhou's, each city and county has its own. But there's a basic point: seeking truth from facts. Self-reliance must also seek truth from facts.

The world is pluralistic, there isn't and can't be only one “ism.” Even within one “ism,” there are different models. Worldly roads aren't singular—all roads lead to Rome. Whether white or black cats, those enabling societal prosperity and peace are good cats.

Is socialism utopian? Two conditions prevent this: first, develop the economy—with economic development, everything changes; otherwise, everything is “utopian”; second, the Party must manage itself well. The key to self-management is properly positioning public servants and masters—public servants must serve the people.

There's a Wu dialect saying: “Fresh generation after generation, each generation reaching heaven.” Socialism must continue generation after generation.

The great river flows eastward, sunset red appears repeatedly. Asking green mountains and yellow earth about eternal rise and fall.

I suddenly inexplicably thought of a phrase: Rivers and mountains don't develop cancer.

I also inexplicably recalled a poem I wrote:

In your hands is a piece of gold. This gold forever belongs to you. Regardless of seas drying or stones crumbling, regardless of sky collapsing or earth splitting, you absolutely must not abandon it. The Chinese Dream forever belongs to you.

(Originally published in Flower City, Issue 10, 1990)

Flying to the Space Port (An excerpt)

Li Mingsheng

One: Xichang—Hometown of Synchronous Satellites

At the Gate to the Universe

The moment I stepped onto Xichang soil, I felt its warmth. Satellites, satellites, satellites—at stations, along roads, in restaurants, at market stalls, people spoke of them with an air of mystery.

A young couple with a five-year-old girl hurried toward me. “Comrade, how do we get to the satellite launch base?”

“Why do you ask?”

“We heard they're launching an American satellite. We want to see it—all three of us.”

“Where are you from?”

“Zunyi.”

“Defense factories?”

“No, we're entrepreneurs.”

“Uncle,” the little girl suddenly grabbed my hand, “can children watch satellite launches?”

“Yes, of course.” I crouched down, cupped her face in both hands, and kissed her forehead gently.

Xichang, my second hometown. Sixteen years ago, when fate's train jolted and cast me onto this desolate land, my heart was colder than the harsh winter of the Daliang Mountains. I seemed to lose everything at once: freedom, love, life itself, everything a person should have. I never dreamed that on this land abandoned by God, Asia-1 satellites would one day rise. Yet today, stepping onto this dear yet strange land, I felt an invisible current surge through me, a visceral connection like tree roots gripping soil. The bustling scene before me seemed to proclaim something to heaven. I didn't know—couldn't know—whether this launch would succeed or fail, but I could see clearly that the past was fading. In the beautiful yet brutal collision between primitive and modern, civilization and ignorance, East and West, a rosy hope like dawn was quietly leaping up. I seemed not to have returned for interviews but to search—for footprints my youth once left, for dreams my days once cherished, for hopes my passion once burned, for the moon and sun my life once possessed.

Beyond my personal attachment, Xichang also occupies an important geographic position. It lies in southern Sichuan along the middle section of the Chengdu-Kunming Railway, commanding the strategic corridor between Chengdu and Kunming. It's 577 kilometers north to Chengdu, 543 kilometers south to Kunming—twelve hours by train from either city, or just forty-five minutes by Southwest Airlines. As the capital of Liangshan Yi Autonomous Prefecture, Xichang serves as the region's political, economic, and cultural center.

The area enjoys a subtropical plateau climate with 320 days of sunshine annually. Temperature variations are small between seasons but large within each day—no bitter winter cold, no oppressive summer heat. January, the coldest month, averages 9.4°C; July, the warmest, just 22.5°C; the annual average hovers around 17°C. Hence the saying: “countless flowers never wither, warm winters and cool summers, spring all year round”—earning Xichang the beautiful name “Little Spring City.” The air quality is exceptional, too—the moon is visible most of the year. Especially on clear summer nights, when you stand quietly beneath the starry sky, you'll see a moon larger, brighter, rounder, and clearer than anywhere else on Earth. For this, Xichang is also called the beautiful “Moon City.”

Xichang is China's largest Yi ethnic concentration area. Besides the Han and Yi, over ten ethnic groups live here, including Tibetan, Hui, Mongol, Miao, Zhuang, Dong, Qiang, Buyi, and Naxi. The Yi have a long history, simple customs, warm hospitality, and great friendliness. If you have the chance to enter a Yi mountain village, your hosts will gladly keep you as their guest, offering distinctly Yi-flavored “jar wine” and “flower meat.”

“Jar wine” is made from corn, sorghum, and buckwheat grains, plus over ten herbs, brewed in earthen pots. The wine tastes sweet and refreshing without being intoxicating. “Flower meat” is generally cooked from a pig type called “piglet.” Since these pigs roam freely on mountain slopes and in wild forests year-round, they develop firm flesh that tastes tender, soft, and fragrant without being greasy. When you're full and ready to leave, your hosts will give you a pig's leg or half a face to show their respect.

I had once experienced this hospitality myself. Two years ago, I accompanied a Beijing writer into the deep mountains and forests, feasting beautifully on "flower meat" and "jar wine" on a Yi village grassland. Though my stomach was long full, I was reluctant to leave. I heard that several Americans participating in the Asia-1 satellite launch, just days after arrival, clamored to eat “flower meat” and drink “jar wine” at Yi homes.

The Yi's greatest festival is the Torch Festival. Xichang's Yi Torch Festival is called the “festival of eyes,” with documented records dating back to the Han and Tang dynasties. Besides daytime bullfighting, sheep fighting, cock fighting, horse racing, girls' dancing, and boys' wrestling, evenings see villagers in groups carrying torches through mountain forests. Scattered lights flicker across fields like heavenly maidens scattering flowers or stars falling to earth—a spectacular, magnificent scene. More interesting still, traditional beauty contests are held during the festival, and men and women can court freely. If you're an unmarried, fortunate man, Yi girls hiding under umbrellas might spread love's sails for you.

Xichang is an ancient city with a long history. In the Stone Age, this land already had human habitation. Records show many famous Chinese historical figures visited here: Sima Qian's western expedition to Ba and Shu, Zhuge Liang's May river crossing, Kublai Khan's southern expedition to Huili, Yang Sheng'an's night at Lushan, Shi Dakai's defeat at Dadu River, and others.

Xichang has also been a paradise for Western scholars and travelers. In 1275, Italian explorer Marco Polo came to Xichang, becoming the first foreigner to reach it. Subsequently, from 1868 to 1909, over forty-one years, French traveler Anye, British traveler Ge Bo, French Prince Orleans, Frenchman Versailles, French military doctor Lu Zhen, Englishman Bullock, and Frenchman Duolong's expedition team all visited Xichang.

Xichang was a route for the Chinese Workers' and Peasants' Red Army's Long March. The celebrated story of General Liu Bocheng and Yi leader Xiao Yedan's “Yihai Alliance” occurred here.

Yet what ultimately transformed Xichang’s destiny was that brilliant night of April 8, 1984, when China's first Earth synchronous communication satellite successfully launched from here. That night, the whole world learned China had Xichang, and Xichang had a satellite launch site.

Xichang Satellite Launch Center sits in a large mountain valley about sixty kilometers north of Xichang city. Americans call this valley “mysterious canyon,” while local Yi elders say: “What's mysterious? This is where we used to herd sheep!” Hence locals call it “Sheep-herding Valley.”

This is a large mountain valley unknown to the outside world, two to three kilometers wide, about ten kilometers long. Perhaps billions of years ago, when two drifting continental plates violently collided here, the seabed cracked open. After floods receded, this great valley remained.

This was wilderness—desolate mountains, empty wild forests, humid clouds and fog, alkaline-saline soil. History left a blank here. For thousands of years, it lay like a drowsy dream even God seemed to forget to awaken. Until the early 1970s, when a mysterious team in green military uniforms came from the vast Gobi Desert, arriving carefully and cautiously. With sky above their heads and green mountains under their feet, opening roads through mountains and building bridges over water, they erected the first green tent in this silent valley with calloused hands and lit China's first torch of modern scientific-technological civilization. The ancient wilderness valley trembled, small creatures in wild grass were stunned, and mountain people's originally desireless, peaceful lives began subtle changes, gradually gaining vitality and energy, expectations and dreams.

The launch site was located in the late 1960s; construction began in the early 1970s. To select an ideal launch site, the National Defense Science Commission organized dozens of experts to conduct aerial and ground three-dimensional surveys of thirty-one counties in four provinces. After analysis, comparison, and demonstration, they determined that this location on the western edge of the Hengduan Mountains' southern section, with its lower latitude and proximity to the equator, offered very advantageous geography. When launching satellites, these unique geographical advantages could improve rocket carrying capacity, facilitating the delivery of synchronous communication satellites into equatorial space 36,000 kilometers high. Moreover, rockets launched from here according to designed flight paths would avoid large and medium cities along the entire trajectory, not endangering people's lives and property. The pleasant climate and clean air provided ideal temperature, humidity, and air cleanliness for rocket and satellite testing work, making it a good place for launching Earth synchronous satellites.

Of course, when experts demonstrated and selected this range twenty years ago, they never imagined this primitive valley would one day launch American satellites. Had they thought of it then, perhaps the launch site would today be in “Nanchang” or some other “chang.”

For twenty years, this team has quietly lived, created, and waited in this wilderness valley. With youth and passion, blood and life, they built a world-renowned space port while experiencing an unimaginable ordeal.

Everything existed in silence, everything proceeded in secrecy. This team pioneered humanity's most sacred yet most difficult enterprise—space civilization—while living in near-primitive survival conditions. Even their sacred, great work used only the simplest code name: “Project 331.”

However, since January 29, 1984, when the first satellite rose from here, six satellites have flown to space by March 1990, five of them synchronous communication satellites, with a 100% launch success rate—rare in world aerospace launch history.

So whether Chinese or foreign, all must acknowledge that a tenacious, distinctively characterized launch team exists here. Every blade of grass and tree in the valley naturally remembers every person in this launch team, and history will never forget those earth-shaking, glorious moments.

Yet when satellites are launched into space one after another, perhaps what's most easily overlooked or buried is precisely these living people tightly wrapped in “classified” outer garments.

In 1986, Xichang Satellite Launch Base announced it was opening to the outside world and would undertake foreign commercial satellite launch services. Subsequently, Xichang Launch Site began transforming from a closed experimental base to an open launch center. Tens of thousands of Chinese citizens, overseas Chinese, Hong Kong and Macao compatriots came here for sightseeing and tourism, as if seeking spiritual sustenance and pilgrimage to holy ground.

A sixty-five-year-old overseas Chinese traveled far across oceans to reach Xichang Launch Site. Facing that eleven-story-high launch tower, he was so moved he couldn't speak for a long time. Before leaving, he faced the launch tower and bowed deeply three times, then stood beneath it, having photographers capture his aged yet satisfied smile.

Additionally, foreign guests from over twenty countries and fifty satellite organizations visited here. In October 1988, the Foreign Ministry News Department organized forty-eight foreign correspondents stationed in Beijing from eighteen countries—along with their wives—to visit. Xichang Satellite Launch Base left deep impressions on them too.

Associated Press Beijing Chief Correspondent Aibolun said in his reports: “World aerospace organizations can no longer ignore China's Xichang Satellite Launch Base and its eleven-story launch tower, which mark China's entry into international satellite launch markets.”

Reuters correspondent Geng Biru reported: “China seized opportunities from America's 1986 space shuttle disaster and Ariane rocket launch setbacks to accelerate developing commercial satellite launch services.”

AFP correspondent Lesko reported: “Conquering space is the enterprise Chinese military and scientists strive for. Xichang is China's hope for realizing its aspiration to become the fourth satellite power after Western Europe. Chinese military and scientists have set their sights on 2000. China will participate in satellite launch trade wars because launching one satellite earns China at least $100 million.”

No wonder, when Foreign Affairs Office Director Qi introduced the situation, he began very proudly: “After foreign guests and reporters from the 'three worlds' visited Xichang Satellite Launch Base, they all shared a common impression. This impression is: 'China is remarkable!'“

I asked Director Qi how to specifically explain “remarkable.” He said: “The First World says China is remarkable because they couldn't imagine China achieving this aerospace level under such difficult conditions in such short time. The Second World says China is remarkable because they couldn't imagine China suddenly becoming their competitor. The Third World says China is remarkable because they couldn't imagine China's aerospace enterprise relied entirely on its own national strength.”

More unexpectedly, Xichang Satellite Launch Base attracted not only ordinary foreign friends and journalists but also attention from American high-level officials.

On October 8, 1986, U.S. Defense Secretary Weinberger visited China. Two days later, Weinberger mysteriously “disappeared” in Beijing. While the outside world speculated where he'd gone, his plane quietly landed at Xichang Qingshan Airport under the Daliang Mountains' warm sunshine. Deng Xiaoping had specifically mentioned China's satellite launching for other countries when meeting Weinberger and invited him to visit China's Xichang Satellite Launch Base.

So Weinberger flew specially to Xichang, rushing to the satellite launch base upon landing. Base Deputy Commander Tong Lianjie received Weinberger in the command control hall. After introducing the situation, Tong specifically said: “Xichang Satellite Launch Base can send 1.4-ton satellites into equatorial space 36,000 kilometers above Earth.”

Weinberger was pleased. He then sat in the front row center chair in the hall, quietly watching video of China's Long March 3 carrier rocket's entire process from transportation, testing, and assembly to successful launch.

Afterward, Tong told Weinberger: “Last February when we launched satellites here, our country's Premier sat in the chair you're sitting in, watching the entire launch process.”

Weinberger stroked the chair's armrest, saying happily: “Good—seems like a good omen!”

Next, Weinberger's group visited the Long March 3 rocket testing facility. The facility director, pointing to the 44.56-meter-long milky white Long March 3 rocket lying in the hall's center, told Weinberger: “We use this rocket to send our synchronous communication satellites into equatorial space 36,000 kilometers above Earth.”

Weinberger immediately showed great interest in this behemoth. He declined his Chinese companions' invitation to sit while watching and listening to introductions, instead walking directly to the Long March 3 rocket, carefully observing from head to tail while inquiring about connection details.

Finally, Weinberger's group drove to the satellite launch site, which faced the valley with mountains behind. Standing at the launch site's center, looking at the magnificent launch tower and clear blue sky, he used a Defense Secretary's tone to express his views to accompanying reporters:

“China's Xichang Satellite Launch Base indeed has satellite launching capabilities with great potential, leaving me deeply impressed. This launch center is further improving facilities to execute China's own space program and prepare to launch foreign commercial satellites. This center's launch capability is obviously convincing.”

Two: Launch Site—Myth of Primitive-Modern Co-construction

Perhaps these were the most exciting, inspiring, busy, tense, and difficult days in the space city's history.

Upon entering the valley, I discovered everyone was very busy, everyone very tired. Whether “city people” or “valley people,” whether Chinese or foreigners, whether experts or operators, whether commanders or cooks, whether political cadres or technical personnel, whether high-level leaders or ordinary soldiers—all appeared hurried and weary. Wherever you went, heat waves struck as if everyone's heart burned with fire.

Especially at the launch site, standing at the gate to the universe, watching the launch tower reaching toward clouds, watching those hurried figures and those eyes eager to soar, you immediately felt the pre-battle atmosphere, the indomitable heroism, the pioneering Genesis spirit—as if this mysterious valley's twenty years of struggle and waiting were all for this day.

Xichang Satellite Launch Base Political Department Deputy Director Wu Fengqi told me every task here was like fighting a war. Base Combat Test Department Staff He Yuguang told me everyone had been working desperately from last autumn to this spring.

This was indeed true. Since 1989, Xichang Satellite Launch Base had faced three major tasks simultaneously: first, rush-building a new launch site; second, launching China's fifth synchronous communication satellite; third, preparing for the Asia-1 satellite launch. Some joked these three major tasks were like “three great mountains” pressing overhead.

Moreover, more severely, just as base officers and soldiers worked desperately for these three tasks, merciless nature threw a tantrum.

At dawn on September 3, 1989, when Communication General Station officers and soldiers had just entered dreams after a tiring day, a once-in-a-century mudslide suddenly erupted. Instantly, rolling mudslides poured down the valley like tsunamis. In just half an hour, houses collapsed, railways were washed away, bridges destroyed, roads collapsed, and all wired communication lines to the launch site were severed. Personnel were injured, disabled, killed. When launch base people climbed from sleep, the once-dry valley had become a vast ocean.

The mudslide lasted an entire week.

In this week, Asia-1 satellite preparations were forced to halt.

In this week, Communication General Station officers and soldiers' survival faced extreme difficulties and dangers. Twenty-cubic-meter boulders blocked roads, trucks and cars floated on water, rails lay scattered everywhere, over 200 rooms flooded. Hundreds of officers, soldiers, and family members had no clothes to wear, no food to eat, no place to sleep—even drinking water was difficult.

Facing nature's challenge, base officers and soldiers didn't retreat a step. Under capable base leadership, from commanders and political commissars to soldiers and family members—even small children—all mobilized. Rolling up trouser legs and sleeves, stepping in mud and water, treading mud pits, ignoring storms, regardless of hardships, day and night, united in effort, they engaged in a life-or-death struggle with nature.

Originally, base officers and soldiers' wisdom-filled hands were for pressing buttons, constructing modern civilization edifices, lifting rockets and satellites, opening roads to the universe. But facing nature's fierce assault, their hands had to engage in the most primitive labor: scraping mud, picking bricks, pushing stones, building stoves—even enduring thirst, hunger, cold, and danger, using near-primitive survival methods to weather disasters.

After the mudslide, Communication General Station officers and soldiers quickly rose from mud and water, tearfully burying comrades' remains, then rapidly joining communication line repairs. They re-laid seventy-nine kilometers of underground cable, fifty-two kilometers of underground fiber optic cable, completed thirty-five kilometers of overhead line installation and 104 kilometers of line maintenance, while timely completing the new satellite ground station's rush construction.

Work requiring half a year was completed in just one and a half months.

It was precisely through this tenacious, unyielding spirit that all officers and soldiers of Xichang Satellite Base ultimately overcame the massive mudslide disaster, weathered the crisis, and quickly resumed preparations for launching the Asia-1 satellite, opening the “green light” for the launch on schedule.

The coexistence of advanced and backward, primitive and modern—this is another characteristic of Xichang Satellite Launch Site.

When you step into the launch site, you'll be both awed and moved by the over-seventy-meter-high “Tower to Heaven” marking modern civilization, while also puzzled and attracted by the slash-and-burn farming methods and pastoral beauty surrounding the launch site.

Standing at the launch site, you can see a winding mountain road, one end extending toward distant barren mountains and ridges, the other connecting to the gate to the universe. The mountain road is like a sturdy carrying pole, bearing modern civilization on one end and ignorance and poverty on the other. On the road, Liberation trucks encounter old water buffalo on narrow paths, Santana cars travel alongside donkey carts; there are People's Liberation Army soldiers carrying steel rifles and elderly Yi people draped in “charwa”; there are engineers wearing glasses and bare-bottomed shepherd boys; there are “foreign experts” riding in Mercedes and mountain people driving ox carts.

Standing at the launch site, you can also see wisps of cooking smoke rising from distant Yi mountain villages, piles of steaming fresh cow dung on nearby barren slopes, and figures of farmers plowing fields near the launch tower. Looking at those rust-stained plowshares, you might wonder how poverty and ignorance once turned history page by page on this land growing wild grass and grains, how modern high technology reflects ancient civilization in this primitive mountain valley.

However, standing at the launch site, when you gaze at that mighty, towering “Tower to Heaven” and imagine the great moment when rockets blast skyward at command, you absolutely cannot imagine that these launch officers and soldiers about to lift the Long March 3 rocket and Asia-1 satellite into the sky actually live in a “Water Curtain Cave.”

The so-called “Water Curtain Cave” refers to a “Cooperation Building” at Xichang Satellite Launch Base—a structure specifically built for external experts and technical personnel assisting with launch missions. Since the building hadn't been completed and was still under construction, upstairs and downstairs, inside and outside, were in complete chaos—cement and sewage everywhere, toilets and washrooms all unusable.

But with the Asia-1 satellite launch imminent, thousands of external scientific-technical personnel and engineers rushing to build the new launch site all crowded into the site, making housing a prominent major problem for Xichang Satellite Launch Base.

What to do?

Xichang Satellite Base leaders thought and thought. With no other options, they finally decided: vacate the houses originally occupied by base launch officers and soldiers, let external experts and technical personnel move in, while base officers and soldiers moved into the “Cooperation Building.”

Since the building was under rushed construction, from morning to night there was mixing cement, sand, installing windows, painting walls—clattering and banging constantly. Whether noon or night, sleep was impossible.

More seriously, the building's beams and wall corners dripped sewage constantly day and night. It was winter, already cold in the mountain valley, and the new building was very damp, so the rooms were bone-chillingly cold, clothes and bedding seemed wrung with water. Sometimes when a water pipe suddenly burst, rooms flooded with slippers floating everywhere.

So everyone jokingly called it “Water Curtain Cave.”

The base commanders launching the Asia-1 satellite lived in such conditions—each person had a single bed plus an office desk. On the desk were a telephone, television, and piles of documents and materials. The remaining quarter space became the place for strategic planning and command.

If I hadn't seen it myself, I couldn't imagine Chinese rocket launch commanders organizing and commanding the Asia-1 satellite launch under such conditions.

Moreover, all staff living in “Water Curtain Cave,” including launch commanders, worked overtime until late every night, sometimes all night. But their nightly meal was just two packages of instant noodles most Chinese know well.

These are the people launching China's satellites. On one hand they engage in the world's most advanced scientific enterprise; on the other hand they must survive with difficulty in remote, desolate environments and poor material conditions. Though for decades they've endured spring, summer, autumn, and winter under mysterious veils, what they've sown with blood and wisdom is brilliant modern civilization.

At Xichang Satellite Launch Site, you can see another group of people.

Every evening, in groups of three or five, they walk along mountain paths, roads, or around the launch tower, strolling and chatting. Among them are men and women, elderly and young, experts and workers. After a tiring day, they take brief rest through walking.

This group of strollers beneath the launch tower is the work team organized by the Ministry of Aerospace Industry to participate in the Asia-1 satellite launch. They come from Beijing, Shanghai, or other cities—all excellent Chinese rocket experts and technical personnel.

It's precisely this team that escorts the designed, developed, and tested Long March 3 rocket by special train from Beijing to Xichang Launch Site, then together with Xichang Satellite Launch Base officers and soldiers, conducts a series of tests and inspections until safe launch into space.

This team travels extensively year-round, going north and south, eating and sleeping outdoors. Deserts, wastelands, mountains, canyons—everywhere bears their arduous footprints. Each launch takes two months at minimum, half a year at most, sometimes even a year. So their families often joke that they're “wild people” wandering the world.

This is their seventh time coming to Xichang Base, with many becoming “old mountain valley hands.” Xichang Base has launched six satellites, five during Spring Festival periods because that's the best time for launching communication satellites. So most have spent five Spring Festivals in this poor mountain valley.

If you pay attention, you'll discover that among this group of strollers, some familiar faces from the past are no longer there. Taking Shanghai Aerospace Test Team as an example, four aerospace experts who participated in launch missions at Xichang Satellite Launch Base have successively passed away.

There was also that girl from Beijing who came here enthusiastically to participate in satellite launches. Every evening she liked walking alone, facing sunset, accompanied by evening wind, treading mountain paths. She loved aerospace work, liked the launch site, was extremely imaginative—the winding mountain path near the launch tower often echoed with her spring-water-like laughter. Especially when mountain winds stirred, her beautiful shoulder-length hair floating gently in the evening wind and sunset appeared particularly touching.

But today, among this group of strollers, her beautiful shoulder-length hair can never be seen again. Due to an accidental incident at the launch site, she suffered misfortune. After the satellite went to space, her twenty-two-year-old life remained forever at the launch site.

Gong Dequan, deputy chief designer of the Long March 3 rocket, has come to Xichang Satellite Launch Base seven consecutive times to participate in satellite launches. When I walked with him, he told me this story:

A rocket expert named Yu Fuliang had his wife in Suzhou and home in Shanghai. He had a fifteen-year-old daughter who suffered a strange disease—her spinal bones grew rapidly, compressing her lungs. Later the daughter had surgery, removing a section of spine and using two thin steel plates for support. Yu Fuliang rode his bike to work every morning, rode home at noon to help his daughter turn over, then rode back to work in the afternoon.

Several years ago, when Yu Fuliang was to come to Xichang Satellite Launch Base for a satellite launch, his bedridden daughter cried and crawled from bed, tightly grasping his legs, refusing to let him go. The daughter had grown up with him with deep affection. But he was chief designer of the rocket platform system, and the platform is the rocket's core component—any problems would cause the rocket to lose balance and fly erratically. After explaining this to his daughter, her hands slowly released.

Last year, to ensure successful launch of the Asia-1 satellite, Yu Fuliang worked continuously day and night. He'd long felt stomach pain but couldn't find time for hospital visits. Later, when pain became unbearable and he went for examination, it was already late-stage rectal cancer.

Yes, launch sites aren't battlefields, but they also have sacrifice and death.

From last winter to this spring, experts and technical personnel from the Ministry of Aerospace Industry work team have been confined in this desolate, lonely mountain valley for nearly half a year. From modern metropolises to primitive mountain valleys, eating, lodging, and physical conditions all face numerous inconveniences and difficulties. Especially many experts are middle-aged or elderly, some over seventy. Coming to the mountain valley, they face water and soil incompatibility, climate inadaptation, plus being far from family without care—getting through this difficult period is truly not easy.

Being away from home long, they naturally have many worries. For instance, some have elderly parents needing care, some have young children urgently needing daycare enrollment, some young lovers waiting to marry, some lonely wives about to give birth, some need to buy and store cabbage for winter, some have gas tanks waiting to be carried from first to sixth floor.

But for Asia-1, they quietly omitted all of this.

Recently one evening, this scene appeared: fathers and mothers from the Ministry of Aerospace Industry work team gathered around the television, excitedly watching a videotape. This wasn't an action film or comedy, but unit leaders gathering their children at home for a tea party, letting children say what they most wanted to tell distant fathers and mothers.

A seven-year-old boy said: “Mom, yesterday I cleaned the entire house, but accidentally tore a hole in my pants, and classmates keep laughing at my bottom. Dad's a big fool who can't mend it properly. Later the teacher helped mend it. Mom, will you call me during launch? I want to lie on the home balcony watching the satellite!”

An eight-year-old girl said: “Dad, Mom's illness is much better. Please Dad, focus on launching satellites peacefully. I promise to make instant noodles for Mom every day!”

Watching this, fathers' eyes reddened while mothers couldn't help secretly sobbing.

Three: Bar—Dialogue Between One Chinese and Three Americans

Time: Evening of April 1, 1990, Sunday

Location: Small bar at Xichang Tengyun Tower Hotel

Translators: Mr. Luo Tao, Miss Yuan Hongling

Night. Hotel. Champagne. Beer. Billiards. Ping-pong. Music. Dance steps. Men. Women. This is the American nightlife world.

Crossing the Pacific. Flying over the Western Hemisphere. Planes, trains, automobiles. Installing, testing, debugging. Working all day, busy all day, tired all day—time to relax.

The Americans' arrival was undoubtedly a powerful shock and forceful impact on Xichang's ancient land. How should we understand these Americans who came from afar? I thought of dialogue.

At 7:30 PM on April 1, 1990, I punctually entered Xichang Satellite Base Tengyun Tower Hotel. Earlier, Miss Yuan Hongling had called telling me she'd arranged meetings with three American friends, all Hughes Satellite Company experts. One named Victor had deep feelings for China, was very responsible, a qualified father. Another named Mark, though having many girlfriends, remained unmarried. Another named Florrick had a bold personality and broad knowledge. According to himself, his two favorite words in this world were: crazy!

When I entered the bar, three American friends were already seated, heads tilted back drinking beer. The translator introduced me, probably saying something about a writer just arriving from Beijing. The three Americans immediately extended hands warmly to shake mine, wrote my name on paper, then asked what I wanted—beer or cola.

I said: “No, no, no—I like drinking tea.”

After sitting down, I went straight to the point. I said: “Three gentlemen, I'm very happy to meet you. The world is so vast, yet we met at Xichang Launch Site—perhaps this is God's arrangement.”

Mark said: “Thank you! We're honored to be interviewed by a Chinese writer and feel very happy.”

I said: “Is this your first time in China?”

Florrick said: “Yes, we're all visiting China for the first time.”

I said: “Please freely share some impressions after arriving here?”

Victor said: “Good, I'll speak first.”

Victor, medium height, bearded, about forty, kind-faced, gentle-natured. When speaking, his emotions were particularly sincere and earnest, his pale blue eyes seemingly holding faint melancholy.

He said: “I've longed for Chinese soil since childhood. Before coming, friends warned me to speak little with people there. But as soon as the plane landed, I felt natural affection for this place. Having seen everything here personally, I seem to have deeply fallen in love with this land. I want to tell my wife, children, and friends that China is good, really good! I want to come a second time, a third time. I hope to bring my wife and children in the future, letting them see China well. Of course, I also hope Chinese people have more opportunities to visit America for comparison.”

Next to speak was Mark. Mark, tall, bearded, high-nosed, extremely humorous and vigorous.

He said: “Xichang's weather is particularly good. Watching the moon at the launch site at night is beautiful, stars are bright, and the sun here is also especially great! The sun rises from the East—that's your China's patent. Before coming, I imagined Xichang was terrifying everywhere, all people working under gunpoint coercion. But what I see here isn't like that. People here happily talk, climb mountains, dance, and freely court. Moreover, I feel they all live and work peacefully, living quite happily.”

Last to speak was Florrick. Florrick, tall, bearded, with “cunning” big eyes, every movement radiating enthusiastic boldness.

He said: “Xichang's weather is good but very closed. People here find our arrival very fresh, even interested in our clothes and bicycles. Some immediately ask how many cars and color TVs we have at home, our monthly salaries. I also discovered people here are very kind, loving this land. Though I've been in Xichang briefly, I've made many friends. Today I went to a teahouse again.”

I said: “Are you accustomed to life here after arriving?”

Mark said: “Accustomed. Before coming, I thought Xichang must be very poor, people certainly couldn't fill their stomachs, also worried about the launch center's food, so I brought loads of food from America—bread, cookies, canned goods, chocolate, etc. Result, after arriving I eat local food, barely touching what I brought.”

I said: “Each of you tell me the happiest story after coming here, or an unpleasant incident.”

As soon as I finished, Mark and Florrick patted their foreheads, stood up saying: “Mr. Li, sorry, we're going to the restroom.”

I guessed these two “cunning” Americans went to the restroom to concoct stories.

So only Victor and I remained in the bar.

Victor said: “Many things here made me happy, but what made me happiest was finally stepping on Chinese soil, realizing my decades-long wish. Moreover, I'm fortunate to work hand-in-hand with Chinese friends, jointly participating in launching the Asia-1 satellite.”

Soon Mark and Florrick returned. Just sitting down, Mark began telling his story like Chinese elders, humorously:

“Long, long ago...” (laughter) “one day I rode to the launch site, passing a village where a Yi child immediately ran away screaming upon seeing me. I thought he must be shouting: 'Mom, come quick look, a big monster's coming!' Soon villagers surrounded me, looking at my hair, eyes, and big nose like viewing a monster. Later we became friends. They showed me farming tools, cattle, sheep, grain in jars, and cooked 'flower meat' for me. I ate happily, wanting more but fearing stomach trouble. Look, my stomach's still bulging.”

Mark finished, patting his belly and laughing heartily.

Florrick said: “One day I went to Xichang for fun, entering a teahouse. Chinese people there were especially good to me, making tea, then the owner cooked noodles. But after just a few bites, I was sweating and yelling—the noodles had lots of chili. Seeing I couldn't eat spicy food, the owner made new egg noodles, very delicious. I ate happily. When leaving, the owner gave me tea bags, refusing payment. I was deeply moved.”

I said: “Please share views on Xichang Satellite Launch Base?”

Victor said: “The Chinese side arranged our living conditions well. All staff here, including translators, made maximum efforts creating conditions for us. Technical personnel are diligent with good work attitudes. We've seen what we should see. I'm very satisfied.”

Mark said: “Launch base technical personnel are excellent in their specialties. Men and women are very equal here, with many female technical personnel. In America, female engineers comprise only 5%, men's status higher than women's. This differs from my original imagination. The shortcoming is Chinese launch site equipment is more backward than America's, but launches here never failed—that's remarkable.”

Florrick said: “Overall, senior experts here are particularly excellent, very proficient in their specialties. But launch site equipment is relatively backward, sometimes information flow between levels is poor. However, I think for launches, regardless of method, as long as you launch successfully, that's good. America has American methods, China has Chinese methods. If China successfully launches our satellite this time, I'll acknowledge your capability. Additionally, I hope that when you pursue human progress, you don't gain one thing and lose another. Indian culture was excellent, but Americans drove away Indians, abandoning their culture. Yi culture here is excellent. As China develops modern scientific civilization here, don't lose Yi culture. In this regard, you should learn from American mistakes.”

I said: “Mr. Florrick, your opinion is very good, thank you! Additionally, in human space history, this is the first Sino-American cooperation. Please share views or feelings about this.”

Florrick said: “Both sides work very hard, cooperation with officials is also good. Of course, we face many difficulties because both sides are doing this for the first time—many technical problems are unprecedented. But situations improve daily, we now have coordination meetings daily, major problems are resolved. My overall feeling is Chinese people are very willing to cooperate.”

I said: “I think this cooperation isn't just space technology cooperation, but also exchange and communication between two peoples, two cultures, two emotions. Not just launching a satellite, but Chinese and American scientists jointly creating space civilization. Because developing the universe and benefiting humanity is all humanity's common mission. Do you agree?”

Mark said: “Yes, Mr. Li spoke wonderfully. Spending money on space technology benefits all nations' people. Though this is our first cooperation, I believe it won't be the last.”

Florrick said: “Since Sino-American cooperation is first-time, we might encounter many obstacles and troubles at the launch site, but I firmly believe Sino-American cooperation can continue. Because we're all pioneers developing the universe—we're jointly creating history!”

I said: “Right, we're jointly creating history! My questions end here, thank you three gentlemen for your cooperation! If you have questions for me, I'm willing to serve.”

Victor said: “After your work is published, could you send us copies? We'd very much like to read your work about this launch.”

I said: “Of course.”

Mark said: “Recently American and French launches failed repeatedly. Is China secretly gloating?”

I said: “Aerospace launches are humanity's most risky and tragic great enterprise. Whether successful or failed, both seem normal to me. Regarding recent American and French failures, I personally have no so-called gloating, only deep sympathy and regret. I believe most compatriots share my feelings.”

Florrick said: “Mr. Li, what do you think is your country's most important current problem?”

I hadn't expected Americans to ask from this angle and was stunned several seconds. I knew this was a sensitive yet necessary question to answer.

I said: “In my personal limited view, our country's most important current issues are how to further enhance Chinese national cohesion and improve all citizens' cultural quality, plus how to strengthen and invigorate national spirit. Also, facing today's great science era, how to seize opportunities raising the 'revitalize the nation through science and education' banner to meet the new century. Our Chinese nation once created brilliant civilization for this world, but in the past three to four hundred years, we've fallen far behind Western advanced nations, losing many precious things—this is fact. However, we haven't lost one thing: the spirit of perseverance and self-improvement, plus the right to choose opportunities again and strive for renewed takeoff! Our Chinese nation is among the world's oldest, but achieving true takeoff still requires a difficult, heavy process. Encouragingly, we now stand at a new starting line, taking crucial steps. For example, this launch of your American satellite is a good beginning.”

Florrick said: “Good, launch is next week. Wish you successful launch!”

Mark said: “God bless, Amen!”

I said: “Thank you! Goodbye!”

Ending the interview, I walked out of the hotel.

Under starry skies, I stood long in contemplation.

“Moon City” slept. In silence, I seemed to hear the ancient land's heavy breathing. Perhaps this was the sound of East and West colliding; perhaps this was a nation's rapid heartbeat before takeoff.

Yes, Florrick spoke well: “We're jointly creating history.” With modern scientific-technological civilization's rapid development, the universe grows smaller. Today, China's rockets and America's satellites finally came together. But how did all this begin?

History comes from yesterday's turning corners.

Four: 20th Century China and America

At noon on July 9, 1971, a Pakistan International Airlines passenger plane slowly touched down at Nanyuan Military Airport in Beijing's suburbs. Six Americans, with shocked and delighted steps, hurried down the gangway. As soon as their feet touched ground, they couldn't help exclaiming: “OK, China! China, OK!”

These six Americans were President Nixon's secret envoys, specially sent to China: Dr. Kissinger's secret China visit negotiation team. These were the first U.S. government officials to step on Chinese soil in twenty-two years.

As is well known, due to historical reasons, China and America had long been enemies. For decades, except for life-and-death struggles on Korean battlefields and face-to-face confrontations at Panmunjom negotiations, the two governments rarely interacted. Obviously, a century of beatings left painful scars in Chinese hearts; especially Yuanmingyuan's broken columns pointing skyward became pillars of shame for the Chinese people.

In the years after 1949, the U.S. Seventh Fleet entered the Taiwan Straits, blockading China's economy and obstructing China's UN entry; the Korean War, Vietnam War, and others cast layers of heavy shadows on Sino-American relations.

Reportedly, this story occurred in the 1950s: During the 1954 Geneva Conference, Chinese Premier Zhou Enlai encountered U.S. Secretary of State Dulles in a bar. Zhou Enlai proactively extended his hand to shake hands with Dulles, but Dulles turned his face away, pretending not to see, refusing Zhou Enlai's handshake. Zhou Enlai's extended hand smoothly beckoned a waitress, gracefully saying: “Miss, please bring this gentleman a cola, put it on my tab.” After speaking, Zhou Enlai smiled slightly and walked away calmly.

Of course, reportedly later Chinese diplomatic officials also refused handshakes with Americans. When Zhou Enlai learned this, he instructed: “First, we don't initiate handshakes with Americans; second, if they extend hands first, we shouldn't refuse. This is reciprocity!”

In 1964, President de Gaulle, who had seriously studied China and its history, recognized the People's Republic of China. When a Western reporter asked why he recognized the PRC, he answered: “Because China is a great nation, an ancient nation, and has always been bullied.”

After Nixon took office, his thinking about China began changing. Both de Gaulle and Adenauer had told him: “It's essential for America to develop some relationship with China. You'd better recognize China early rather than wait until China is strong and you're forced to recognize it.”

In Nixon's inaugural address, there was this passage:

“Let all nations know that during this administration, our lines of communication are open. We seek an open world—open to ideas, open to the exchange of goods and people. A nation, however many its people, cannot live in angry isolation.”

Later, when Nixon was interviewed by Time magazine reporters, he also said: “If there's anything to do before I die, it would be to go to China. If I can't go, I hope my children can.”

On February 21, 1972, Sino-American relations finally turned a new page. This day, U.S. President Nixon formally visited China. This day, Chinese Premier Zhou Enlai, wearing a gray wool coat, facing the howling north wind, waited at Beijing Capital Airport for Nixon's arrival.

In history's instant, when Nixon extended his hand to clasp Zhou Enlai's tightly, Zhou Enlai humorously said: “Mr. President, we haven't had contact for twenty-five years! Today, you've finally extended your hand across the world's vastest ocean.”

Nixon also replied wittily: “Yes, Premier Zhou, I've been dreaming of this day!”

At 3 PM in Zhongnanhai's reception room, Chinese Chairman Mao Zedong and U.S. President Nixon clasped hands tightly together. This epoch-making meeting between Chinese and American leaders lasted sixty-five minutes.

According to later materials, that night Nixon wrote in his diary: “When our hands clasped, one era ended and another began.”

A week later, on February 28, 1972, Zhou Enlai and Nixon met again in Shanghai, with both sides signing the Sino-American Joint Communiqué. In the communiqué, both sides declared: “The normalization of Sino-American relations serves all nations' interests.” This marked the beginning of peaceful Sino-American exchanges.

To commemorate, Zhou Enlai and Nixon personally planted a redwood tree Nixon brought from America in Hangzhou. Reportedly, this redwood was descended from the oldest, tallest redwood in a California park. Later Nixon recalled: “Then, neither of us could be certain this tree would grow in Chinese soil; but facts proved the soil and climate were both friendly.”

In autumn 1987, an American governor named Kean visited China. In Hangzhou, Governor Kean personally saw this redwood tree. The tree was now lush with branches and leaves, green and upright, about twenty-eight meters tall. A Hangzhou official told Governor Kean: “40,000 saplings cultivated from this tree have taken root in seven Chinese provinces!”

In 1979, China finally established formal diplomatic relations with America. On January 29 of that year, Deng Xiaoping, as New China's first national leader to formally visit America, timely stepped through the United States' gates.

U.S. President Carter welcomed Vice Premier Deng Xiaoping at the White House with foreign head-of-state ceremony. America's Stars and Stripes and China's Five-Star Red Flag rose together for the first time over the U.S. Presidential residence.

During his U.S. visit, Deng Xiaoping met former President Nixon, visited the Lincoln Memorial, toured the world's largest aerospace museum—Washington's National Air and Space Museum—and attended signing ceremonies for Sino-American scientific-technological cooperation and cultural exchange agreements.

Houston is America's famous aerospace control center. When Deng Xiaoping flew to Houston aboard the President's “Air Force One,” he specially sat in a space shuttle for a simulated flight from 30,000 meters altitude to ground landing.

Simultaneously, Deng Xiaoping visited Johnson Space Center. His guide was Senator Glenn, the first American to orbit Earth. Reportedly, Deng Xiaoping was extremely interested that day, repeatedly taking out cigarettes then putting them back.

During Deng Xiaoping's eight days in America, the country experienced “China fever.” When reporters asked what Deng Xiaoping and America discussed in talks, Deng Xiaoping shook his cigarette-holding fingers, calmly saying: “From earth to heaven, we discussed everything.”

At the state banquet Carter held welcoming Vice Premier Deng Xiaoping, two different-colored hands clasped tightly, frequently toasting. Carter said: “Let's toast to human happiness!” Deng Xiaoping said: “Let's toast to world peace!”

Ten years later, Nixon wrote in a monograph:

“If China continues Deng Xiaoping's path, our grandchildren's world will have three superpowers, not two—the United States, Soviet Union, and People's Republic of China.

“Today, American and Chinese peoples have become partners in China's development enterprise. If both sides persist on this path, 21st century U.S.-China relations will be among the world's most important, mutually beneficial bilateral relationships. For children and grandchildren living in the next century, we must ensure continued existence and development of bilateral relations.

“Both American and Chinese peoples are among the world's most capable, with enormous inherent potential. Looking toward the 21st century, we see soil and climate suitable for cultivating U.S.-China relations. U.S.-China relations have great potential, capable of pushing world peace and freedom to unprecedented heights.”

Of course, neither Nixon nor Carter, neither Mao Zedong nor Deng Xiaoping, probably imagined that since 1972 when China and America first shook hands on land, eighteen years later today, when Chinese rockets and American satellites dock at Xichang, China and America are having their first “handshake” in space technology.

So does this Sino-American “handshake” also signify the beginning of a new space civilization era?

Five: Raising the Rocket Banner

Historical choices often carry randomness. For China's aerospace community, 1984 was both restlessly disturbing and wildly exciting.

Early that year, relevant departments announced: open bidding to purchase foreign satellites. So America, France, Britain, and West Germany came to bid. Relevant departments decided to purchase needed communication broadcasting satellites from these four countries. But after buying satellites, who would launch them for China?

After repeated research, they decided on France's Ariane rocket and America's space shuttle. Subsequently, China reserved four seats with France and America, prepaying $100,000 and $200,000 respectively in launch reservation fees.

China had its own rockets, satellite development teams, and launch teams, yet wanted to spend heavily buying foreign satellites and using French rockets and American space shuttles for launches—this inevitably made some people very angry, even furious!

But then again, what else could be done? China was then in early reform and opening, with all of China waiting to use communication broadcasting satellites! Relevant departments did this as helpless measures, forced choices!

Coincidentally, just then—April 8, 1984—China's Long March 3 carrier rocket “roared” at Xichang, successfully sending China's first synchronous communication satellite to space!

China was shocked! The world was shocked!

All who held doubtful and wait-and-see attitudes toward Chinese rocket launch capabilities were stunned speechless.

More interestingly, the historical elder played a significant joke just then: on April 30, 1984, when Central Military Commission and State Council leaders and China's aerospace elite held grand celebrations at Beijing's Great Hall of the People for successful Chinese communication satellite launch, Reference News published this: relevant Chinese departments signed contracts with America and France to purchase communication satellites!

Realistically speaking, Chinese departments' decisions based on then-current conditions from different perspectives to purchase foreign satellites and request foreign launches were beyond reproach, without fault. But this exactly illustrated one problem: China then lacked clear, unified understanding of its own carrier rockets' actual capabilities; moreover, never imagined that China, originally needing America to launch satellites, would within just years reverse roles to launch satellites for America.

Then only one fact was certain: after the Long March 3 rocket launched China's first synchronous communication satellite to space, the whole world more or less felt China's weight.

So China's aerospace community's wise and brave visionaries quietly harbored their own dreams: Could China's Long March 3 rocket enter international commercial markets to launch foreign satellites?

Shangguan Is Pure Gold

Beijing. Huangsi Street.

Night was deep, but an orange-yellow light still shone from a small room in the National Defense Science, Technology and Industry Commission building. Under the desk lamp, a middle-aged man faced the wall in deep thought.

This was a night in early summer 1984. Surroundings were quiet, only stars accompanying the moon strolling in the sky.

The middle-aged man wasn't tall but appeared dignified, his face always bearing barely noticeable smiles. His overall impression was gentle, elegant, extraordinary bearing, having both scholarly demeanor and diplomatic grace. Especially under his broad forehead, those eyes full of Eastern masculinity's wisdom and courage, once carefully observed, were hard to erase from memory.

This middle-aged man was named Shangguan Shipan.

Shangguan Shipan was deputy director of China's Satellite Launch and Tracking Control System Department. His greatest characteristic was everyone acknowledged his masculine charm, yet no one could specify what this charm was.

State Councilor Song Jian once evaluated Shangguan Shipan: “Shangguan is pure gold!”

Shangguan Shipan's subordinate Mr. Wang Jianmeng told me: “Shangguan is a novel. He thinks quickly with far-reaching vision. Like playing chess, when you're still considering the first move, he's already thinking of the fourth and fifth moves.”

“Shangguan excels at surviving in cracks, accomplishing things when conditions don't permit accomplishment,” translator Mr. Xu Jianguo also told me. “He's exactly like a gecko on the wall—without any support, he can still climb up and stick there steadily, never swaying with wind.”

Reportedly, Shangguan Shipan had another characteristic: extreme fatigue resistance! When working overtime at night, whenever drowsiness became unbearable, he'd stand against the wall corner, fists clenched, eyes wide open, absolutely not blinking for ten minutes, quickly breaking into forehead sweat with all drowsiness gone. He said: doing careers requires this basic skill—must practice!

This evening, Shangguan Shipan had just finished practicing “basic skills” and sat alone under lamplight, facing the wall in deep thought: How could China's Long March 3 carrier rocket enter international commercial markets?

This question seems both reasonable and logical today six years later, but then seemed like fantasy to some people.

Shangguan Shipan was born in Fujian in 1936, graduating from Xiamen University Physics Department in 1958. After graduation, he went to the Gobi Desert's Jiuquan Satellite Launch Base, consistently engaged in aerospace tracking and control work. During this period, he once served as technical school teacher—his current eloquent speaking ability relates to that teaching experience.

From 1958 to 1990, Shangguan Shipan worked at launch sites for thirty-two years. Over thirty-two years, Shangguan Shipan participated in China's first missile, first artificial satellite, first recoverable satellite, first atomic bomb, first hydrogen bomb, first synchronous communication satellite and other launch test missions, while also participating in organizing “154” tracking measurement project development and “Yuanwang” measurement ship development and demonstration work.

Undoubtedly, with decades of launch site experience, Shangguan Shipan understood China's aerospace technology level and the current state of launch teams very well, and also had relatively clear understanding of this team's past, present, and future.

During interviews, when I asked Shangguan Shipan why the National Defense Science, Technology and Industry Commission and Ministry of Aerospace thought of bringing Chinese rocket launch technology into international commercial markets, he frankly shared his views.

He said:

“First, I feel aerospace enterprise should pioneer and innovate, not follow old routines or walk old paths. Then, National Defense Science Commission leaders and we not only recognized this issue's difficulties but even prepared to pay sacrifices and costs, but China's way out lies in reform and opening. How a person or department embodies this national policy in their industry is the fundamental issue. China has excellent aerospace technology teams, already possessing complete sets of launch and tracking control facilities, plus Long March series rockets. Therefore, if we could bring China's aerospace technology into international commercial markets, wouldn't this perfectly embody reform and opening? Though certainly fraught with difficulties, we believed it completely achievable.

“Second, the National Defense Science Commission has several bases nationwide undertaking different test missions. Overall, each base's tasks aren't very heavy. Some launch at most two satellites annually, leaving tens of thousands in the Gobi Desert or mountain valleys with little urgent work year-round. Simultaneously, the Ministry of Aerospace has many aging experts while the younger generation hasn't yet taken over. Without effective measures, the aerospace enterprise pioneered by older experts might never develop further, even facing termination.

“Therefore, China's aerospace launches inevitably face two choices: first, streamline teams and eliminate some bases, since China's aerospace teams rely entirely on state finances. Without cuts, the nation is poor—how can such a massive scientific-technological team as the National Defense Science Commission be sustained long-term? If cut, the consequent problem is aerospace launch needs are diverse. From our current situation and development trends, no base is dispensable. When new launch missions arise without preserved technical capabilities, what then? The other path is expansion! Using our aerospace technology advantages and surplus capacity to undertake foreign launch missions would benefit humanity, earn foreign exchange for the nation, and preserve, train, and improve technical teams, enabling China's aerospace enterprise to continuously develop and grow.

“Third, the State Council and Central Military Commission repeatedly proposed military-to-civilian conversion, but how should the National Defense Science Commission's launch teams achieve this conversion? Production isn't the fundamental solution for various bases. Focusing solely on production and management with small-scale, quick-profit approaches would not only lack prospects but long-term could weaken technical capabilities, even drag down this team. But if we bring aerospace technology into international markets, carving out a bloody path, we could fundamentally realize military-to-civilian conversion. Otherwise, descendants of the rocket homeland will never stand tall.”

As Shangguan Shipan spoke, he couldn't help standing up, pacing around the room.

Looking at Shangguan Shipan's face full of concern for country and people, I suddenly recalled French great writer Hugo's words: “The broadest thing in the world is the ocean; broader than the ocean is the sky; broader than the sky is the human heart.”

Yes, after history entered the 1980s, what would China rely on to reshape its international image? This question, like eating when hungry, had long been before us.

China was once famous worldwide for the “Four Great Inventions” and renowned as the “rocket homeland,” but this legacy was long exhausted. China's image undoubtedly needed today's rocket descendants to reshape it. Since China had Long March series rockets capable of benefiting humanity, they should naturally go global. Otherwise, they couldn't remain forever in the nation's dusty palaces as offerings to commemorate the “Four Great Inventions.”

I recall Poniatorsky saying in “The Unpredictable Future World”: “Life's only answer is survival. So-called survival means thinking and action.” It seems China currently most needs “thinking” and “action.”

Mongolian Giant and Boss Chen

Heroes think alike.

On almost the same night, National Science Committee Director Song Jian sat under lamplight, adjusting his glasses, earnestly reading a letter from the Ministry of Aerospace. The letter said:

“Using Long March 3 carrier rockets for commercial launches, bringing China's aerospace technology into international commercial markets, we believe completely possible. The reasons are...”

Song Jian later said after reading the letter that night, his emotions couldn't calm for long.

Song Jian had been Ministry of Aerospace Deputy Minister—letting Chinese rockets go global was also his longtime dream. Therefore, after reading the letter, he thought, picked it up again, then slowly unfolded it, taking up his pen to write at the letter's top:

“I completely agree with this suggestion. Hope you'll strive for China's rockets going global!”

The writers of this proposal letter were Wu Keli and Chen Shouchun, now two deputy general managers of China Great Wall Industry Corporation.

China Great Wall Industry Corporation is a nationwide corporation with legal status and independent management rights, combining industry-trade and technology-trade in import-export business. Since China announced entry into international commercial launch markets, Great Wall Industry Corporation became the sole institution approved by China's government for operating carrier rocket launch services and satellite cooperation business.

Since establishment, Great Wall Industry Corporation has maintained extensive trade cooperation relationships with companies and economic organizations in over seventy countries and regions worldwide. Particularly since China's Long March series rockets entered international markets, Great Wall Industry Corporation has successively established business relationships with dozens of companies across five continents, signing multiple satellite launch and satellite ride-sharing agreements, actively developing economic trade and friendly cooperation with various national companies, earning customer praise.

On a hot summer morning in 1990, I met Mr. Wu Keli at China Great Wall Industry Corporation.

Wu Keli is a descendant of Genghis Khan. His father was the famous Ulanhu.

Wu Keli's original name was “Wu Bin.” This was the name his father specially chose when he first came into this world. But after entering Harbin Military Engineering Institute—the Chinese People's Liberation Army Military Engineering Academy—he independently changed his name to “Wu Keli.” “Wu Keli” means “ox” in Mongolian.

Wu Keli indeed resembled an ox—tall stature, robust build, broad chest like a solid wall. When we met, he wore a checkered short-sleeved shirt, full head of white hair, spirited eyes—at first glance quite like a European businessman. Especially the He Long-style mustache above his mouth, both dashing and displaying firmness with pride.

“He Long made me keep this mustache!” Speaking of the mustache, Wu Keli stroked it with chubby fingers, tears glistening in his eyes.

Then Wu Keli was still a twenty-something university student. Once when He Long visited his home to see his father, he'd just opened the door when He Long punched his chest, saying: “Kid, your mustache looks good!”

Wu Keli looked at He Long's mustache, saying: “Uncle He, it's good, but you're a general, a national marshal—you can keep mustaches however you want, while I'm still a student and school won't let me keep mustaches!”

“Really? That's easy!” He Long stroked his own mustache, saying: “Go tell your school leaders your mustache stays like this—say I, He Long, approved it!”

“That's wonderful, Uncle He!” Wu Keli cheered, turning to grab watermelon and stuff it in He Long's mouth.

Wu Keli's mustache thus remained. Later, seeing this mustache was truly beautiful and very like He Long's, people nicknamed it “He Long-style mustache.”

Reportedly, recent years he always liked stroking his mustache before mirrors; when stroking his mustache, he'd always remember He Long and New China's great marshals.

In 1940, Wu Keli left Inner Mongolia's grasslands, following his father to Yan'an, spending a semi-militarized boyhood there. In Yan'an elementary school, Wu Keli was famous as “Wu the Bold.”

Once he alone rolled up trouser legs to cross Yan River. Unexpectedly, just entering water, upstream floods surged relentlessly, about to pour down! Just then, a fine horse galloped along the riverbank toward him. The rider jumped off, waded into the river in several steps, and carried him back to shore. After taking off his pants and scooping river water, he looked back—this person was actually Uncle Zhou Enlai!

Another time, he and classmates were “fighting” roadside when suddenly an American jeep came toward them. He hurriedly led companions forward, standing in the road center, raising his “gun” and shouting: “Stop! Who goes there?”

The car obediently stopped, then a tall, imposing person stepped down, hands raised high but face showing kind smiles. Looking carefully, it was Chairman Mao!

He immediately rushed over, happily calling: “Uncle Mao! Uncle Mao! Tell us a war story!”

Wu Keli was naturally intelligent, plus later environmental influences. Just turning thirteen, he was selected as telegraph operator and cavalry messenger.

During Harbin Military Engineering studies, he and his research group classmates successfully developed artificial rainmaking rockets. His self-developed high-temperature-resistant materials won national patents.

After graduation, he studied aerodynamics at National Defense Science and Technology University for five years, then began aircraft design.

However, his father's position didn't pave Wu Keli's life path with flowers but brought misfortune! In 1967, Wu Keli was imprisoned due to his father's involvement.

But four years of prison life didn't break Wu Keli's eagle-like wings, instead forging his Mongolian warrior's great heart.

During imprisonment, when night deepened and people quieted, he'd often gaze from windows. His lonely heart would gallop freely across Inner Mongolia's vast grasslands with ancestor Genghis Khan's iron cavalry. Each time assigned to bury the dead, he'd consider another question: What should a living person do for his motherland?

In 1982, he transferred to the Ministry of Aerospace as deputy director of the Scientific Technology Pre-research Bureau. During this period, he conducted thorough analysis and scientific predictions of China's and world aerospace situations.

So when the Long March 3 rocket launched successfully on April 8, 1984, he, Chen Shouchun, Huang Zuoyi and others quickly considered how to bring Long March 3 carrier rockets into international commercial markets.

Chen Shouchun is a news figure in this Asia-1 satellite launch. Colleagues and subordinates call him “General Manager Chen,” but foreign friends and Hong Kong businessmen prefer “Boss Chen.”

I met Boss Chen at Xichang Satellite Launch Site. Boss Chen was very busy, extremely so. All reporters visiting Xichang Satellite Launch Site wanted to interview him, but almost none found him.

One evening I cornered him just as he put down his chopsticks.

This was someone who could simultaneously think about three problems with one brain. Entering his room, he held the phone with his chin, making Beijing calls while copying documents and checking copying results; though not neglecting me, he seized every moment for wide-ranging, eloquent conversation.

Boss Chen wore glasses and a brown jacket, speaking and working with “short-fast-efficient” style—clearly a straightforward, impatient person. Without asking much, his accent revealed him as an authentic Guangdong native.

Chen Shouchun graduated from Moscow Mechanical Engineering Institute in 1960. Returning to China, he served as chief designer of the Long March 1 rocket, working in the Ministry of Aerospace Overall Design Department for exactly two seven-year periods.

Chen Shouchun had great ambitions, plus a southerner's natural business acumen, so he eventually abandoned the designer's throne to become the big boss selling Chinese rockets.

Wu Keli, Chen Shouchun and others' suggestions received strong support from Ministry of Aerospace leadership.

On an evening in late April 1984, Ministry of Aerospace Minister Li Xu'e and former Deputy Minister Liu Jiyuan specially convened Wu Keli and others for discussions about China's aerospace technology entering international markets, instructing Wu Keli to fully commit to developing work for Long March 3 rockets entering international markets.

Subsequently, the Ministry of Aerospace allocated 200,000 yuan RMB, organizing the “Aerospace Development Ten-Person Group” headed by Wu Keli, Chen Shouchun, and Huang Zuoyi, beginning China's early space technology globalization activities.

Six: Curtain Rises at Charles de Gaulle Airport

At year-end 1984, a formal report on bringing China's Long March 3 carrier rockets into international commercial markets appeared on National Defense Science Commission leaders' desks.

This report embodied both the National Defense Science Commission and Ministry of Aerospace decision-makers' foresight and expressed aerospace front scientific-technical elites' beautiful wishes to quickly bring Chinese rockets into international commercial markets.

This report received high attention from National Defense Science Commission leadership. Following National Defense Science Commission instructions, Chief of Staff Zhang Min quickly organized Ministry of Aerospace, Xichang Satellite Launch Base, Xi'an Tracking and Control Center, Luoyang Measurement Communications Institute and relevant Science Commission department and bureau heads for full discussion and research.

Simultaneously, National Defense Science Commission leaders reported to General Zhang Aiping.

After hearing this, General Zhang Aiping was extremely excited, jumping up from his rattan chair and repeatedly striking the ground with his yellow rattan walking stick, saying: “Good! Letting Chinese rockets go global strengthens national and military prestige—we must find ways to accomplish this quickly. Since we have this capability, we should dare compete and challenge the world, never falling behind others or being controlled by others!”

Next, National Defense Science Commission and Ministry of Aerospace leaders made special oral reports to Central Military Commission and State Council relevant leadership.

After hearing reports, Central Military Commission and State Council relevant leaders showed great interest, giving full affirmation and encouragement to this vision. State Council leaders finally instructed: “Hope the Science Commission returns to quickly grasp this work, rapidly producing specific plans and opinions.”

So on April 2, 1985, the National Defense Science Commission held a feasibility demonstration meeting about Long March 3 carrier rockets launching foreign satellites in the Defense Ministry compound's fifth-floor conference room.

The meeting concluded that aerospace as an industry was internationally in initial development stages. Aerospace launches were extremely profitable—carrier rockets alone earned Europe and America $500 million annually. Currently Europe and America were fiercely competing for aerospace technology commercialization, with the Soviet Union also actively exploring participation.

From China's aerospace situation perspective, China was among nations simultaneously possessing carrier rockets and satellite tracking networks. To develop aerospace industry and enter international markets; to conduct international cooperation and accelerate aerospace technology improvement; to promote the four modernizations and open new financial sources, China should bring its aerospace technology into international markets.

National Defense Science Commission Director Ding Henggao said: “This work must be done, otherwise we'll be very passive later. China's aerospace must develop through international competition. Once we break through initially, future paths will grow wider.”

National Defense Science Commission Deputy Director Shen Rongjun also said: “Launching foreign satellites is unprecedented work for our predecessors, certain to encounter many difficulties and obstacles, even risks, but we must first establish ambition and dare-to-pioneer, dare-to-innovate spirit. As long as we're determined and work steadily, we'll ultimately succeed. Because this isn't just a major matter for the National Defense Science Commission but for the entire Chinese nation! Once accomplished, it will change China's world image while leaving profound historical influence.”

In June 1985, the International Aerospace Exhibition was held in Paris.

This was an unprecedented gathering, with representatives from nearly 100 countries and over 200 journalists from various nations assembling in France's capital.

China, the rocket homeland, for the first time in history brought its rockets, satellites and other high-tech products to international aerospace exhibitions.

China's delegation leader was Wu Keli.

That day, the aerospace exhibition's opening ceremony was grandly held at Charles de Gaulle Airport. When the Five-Star Red Flag slowly rose over Paris for the first time, Wu Keli and all delegation members couldn't help shedding proud tears.

Yes, Paris is both a heroic city and revolutionary cradle. It not only nurtured brilliant French civilization but profoundly influenced a generation of Chinese revolutionaries. Then, Zhou Enlai, Zhu De, Deng Xiaoping, Nie Rongzhen, Li Fuchun, Chen Yi, Cai Hesen, Wang Ruofei, Xu Teli and many other Chinese students came across oceans to Paris for work-study programs, seeking to study Marxist truth and find paths for transforming China and “saving the nation through science.”

Years passed swiftly, past events like smoke. Now over half a century later, through several generations of Chinese people's unrelenting struggle, there were finally Long March 3 carrier rockets and synchronous communication satellites representing China's strength, with opportunities to display before the world. This was truly joyful and proud.

As descendants of the rocket homeland, Wu Keli wouldn't forget: a century ago, when America held a technological achievement exposition in Philadelphia, America exhibited first-generation generators and Morse's telegraph; Britain exhibited Watt's steam engine; while China exhibited a bound-footed woman's embroidered shoes and handmade ear spoon!

Today, China displayed to the world advanced high-tech achievements—synchronous communication satellites and Long March 3 rockets!

Therefore, when Wu Keli stood beneath fluttering national flags, continuously stroking his proud He Long-style mustache, surging through his heart was endless rolling warmth.

Seven hundred years ago, his ancestor Genghis Khan led iron cavalry across Eurasia, using force to transmit China's ancient rockets to Europe; seven hundred years later today, he, Genghis Khan's descendant, brought China's modern rockets abroad amid flowers and smiles, letting Europeans again witness Chinese rockets' splendor.

Was this historical coincidence?

The second day after opening ceremonies, Wu Keli held a press conference at a private restaurant near Charles de Gaulle Airport.

He stood in the restaurant center, in suit and leather shoes, elegant demeanor, surrounded by over 200 journalists from worldwide countries. When he loudly announced China's Long March 3 rockets would enter international commercial launch markets, the entire venue responded with enthusiastic applause.

The press conference proceeded from 1 PM to 4 PM, with him answering over 100 journalist questions.

The press conference's convening made Chinese rockets immediately create a climax at the exhibition.

Next day, French newspapers reported this news extensively, with Wu Keli's photo appearing on Paris Daily's front page headline position—the He Long-style mustache in the photo particularly eye-catching.

One evening, Wu Keli and Wang Ruofei's son Mr. Wang Xing entered a restaurant run by French Chinese. Just sitting down, the owner and waiters came over, pointing at Wu Keli asking: “Are you Mr. Wu?”

Wu Keli was somewhat puzzled: “Yes! How do you know?”

The owner said: “Oh, we've seen your photo in newspapers. You coming to Paris to promote Chinese rockets makes us so happy! Previously, not only foreigners didn't know China had rockets and satellites, even we Chinese didn't know. Today this meal is my treat!”

Finishing, the owner personally cooked several Chinese dishes and brought out two bottles of world-famous wine, treating them to a free meal.

During the aerospace exhibition, State Council Vice Premier Li Peng passed through Paris on foreign visits. Learning this, Wu Keli hurried to the Chinese Embassy in France, finding Li Peng to report China's international aerospace exhibition participation and worldwide impact, hoping he could visit the aerospace exhibition.

Hearing Wu Keli's introduction, Li Peng was extremely excited. According to Wu Keli later, Li Peng stood at the window momentarily before returning to the sofa, asking Wu Keli about progress in bringing Chinese rockets into international commercial markets.

Finally, Li Peng stated: Tomorrow I'll definitely visit the International Aerospace Exhibition!

Next day, Li Peng found time to visit the International Aerospace Exhibition site. Accompanied by Wu Keli, Li Peng carefully observed China's exhibited rockets and satellites, viewing while asking detailed questions about situations.

When he personally saw colleagues from various nations flocking to China's exhibition hall with heartfelt praise, he happily kept shaking his right hand. Especially seeing many grey-haired overseas Chinese viewing China's rockets and satellites while wiping away tears, he was even more emotionally stirred.

However, when Li Peng saw America's, France's, Japan's, Soviet Union's exhibition halls were luxurious and impressive while China's was pitifully small, he fell silent.

After a moment, Li Peng asked Wu Keli: “How large is your exhibition hall area?”

Wu Keli answered somewhat embarrassedly: “Eighteen square meters.”

“Why not make it larger and more impressive?” Li Peng said.

Wu Keli helplessly shook his head, smiling: “No money!”

Li Peng: “No money?”

“Right. Even this exhibition hall's funding was scraped together with great difficulty,” Wu Keli said. “Of course, China's Long March series rockets and synchronous communication satellites were debuting worldwide—we had no confidence. Fearing if we made it too big and people didn't come to look or buy, we'd be embarrassed.”

“No problem, you can make it larger and more impressive!” Li Peng said. “Remember, this represents our China's image!”

With Vice Premier Li Peng's imperial sword, Wu Keli quickly expanded China's aerospace exhibition area from eighteen to eighty-one square meters.

So China's aerospace exhibition influence grew. Many foreign friends after seeing China's exhibits said: “Previously we only knew China had atomic and hydrogen bombs, never imagining China also had Long March series rockets, recoverable satellites, synchronous communication satellites. Moreover, world-class rockets like Long March 3!”

Paris Aerospace Exhibition opened the curtain for China's space technology going global.

Soon after Paris Aerospace Exhibition ended—June 1985—the International Space Technology Conference jointly hosted by Soviet Union, America, Japan, Australia and other nations was held in Geneva.

At this conference, Chen Shouchun represented China's delegation, making reports about “China's Possibility of Providing Launch Services to Foreign Countries” and formally announcing to the world: Long March 3 rocket launch service prices would be 15% lower than similar international markets. Because China didn't seek high profits from this, and China's raw materials and labor were relatively cheap.

This report caused strong reactions among various national representatives. The meeting moderator immediately solemnly announced: Space conferences without China's participation are incomplete.

That October, China again successfully launched a scientific exploration satellite and technology test satellite. National Defense Science Commission Deputy Director Shen Rongjun timely organized relevant personnel for meetings, believing that facing rapidly changing world situations, China could no longer remain silent—China's aerospace had reached decision time.

So on October 27, Ministry of Aerospace Minister Li Xu'e, in answering Xinhua News Agency reporters, formally announced solemnly to the world:

China's self-developed Long March 2 and Long March 3 carrier rockets would enter international markets, undertaking foreign satellite launch services at preferential prices while training technical personnel. Moreover, China People's Insurance Company would provide economic insurance for foreign merchants requesting satellite launches at international market preferential prices.

This was a nation's voice, a nation's heart, a nation's boldness!

China, the rocket homeland, after thousands of years of ignorant suffering, today finally opened space technology's gates, facing the challenging world, raising rocket banners for the first time.

Seven: Favorable Timing, Geography, and People

As soon as China's rocket undertaking foreign satellite launch services was announced, powerful “Chinese rocket fever” quickly spread globally. So opportunity's footsteps approached China; fair sunlight began shining on this ancient civilized nation's land.

Just then, America's and France's aerospace launches repeatedly failed disastrously. World aerospace situations suddenly changed dramatically.

On the morning of January 28, 1986, tens of thousands of Americans crowded at America's Kennedy Space Center, waiting to witness humanity's most magnificent flight. With a thunderous roar, a behemoth slowly rose skyward amid rolling flames.

However, just seventy-three seconds after this behemoth lifted off, suddenly a muffled thunder-like explosion occurred. Thousands of fragments trailed blazing flames through fire and smoke, scattering toward the Pacific Ocean ten kilometers from the launch point, lasting an entire hour.

This was manned spaceflight history's most tragic scene: America's Challenger space shuttle explosion!

Challenger's explosion shocked the White House. Vice President Bush immediately rushed to the launch site consoling victims' families. That afternoon and evening, President Reagan delivered nationwide radio and television addresses, praising seven astronauts as aerospace pioneers and heroes while emphasizing America would continue space exploration.

Two days later, Reagan personally attended the ten-thousand-person memorial service at Houston's Johnson Space Center.

Over two months later—April 18—America's Titan-34D rocket at Vandenberg Air Force Base carried a $50 million military reconnaissance satellite for launch, unexpectedly exploding seconds later. This was Titan-34D's second explosion after August 28, 1985.

On May 3, America used Delta rockets to launch a weather satellite. Due to rocket engine failure, it lost control and was destroyed by ground command just ninety-one seconds after launch.

Next, on May 31, France's Ariane rocket, after its fifteenth flight explosion in 1985, unfortunately suffered another explosion during its eighteenth flight! Launches were forced to stop sixteen months.

Later someone summarized: 1986 was world aerospace history's “great disaster year.”

These four consecutive rare major failures in aerospace history quickly changed world commercial satellite launch market conditions, creating very embarrassing situations for Western European nations.

From America's situation, three consecutive major failures disrupted original aerospace launch plans. Because space shuttles and Titan rockets were America's only tools then for transporting large satellites. Two failures within eighty days nearly paralyzed aerospace activities.

So America was forced to announce: space shuttle flight plans would be delayed at least one to two years.

NASA Administrator James Fletcher said: “Space shuttles may only resume flights in 1988's first quarter, with only three space shuttles possibly providing satellite launch services over the following three to four years.”

The resulting consequence was chaos in various nations' satellite launch plans. Satellite users already scheduled for launches beat their chests, crying bitterly. Dozens of satellites worldwide urgently awaiting space launch could only helplessly lie in cold, empty warehouses or production lines.

Some commercial satellites originally scheduled for U.S. space shuttle launches had to delay launches, while some satellite users simply canceled space shuttle launch contracts, seeking new rockets for launches.

But finding alternative rockets was easier said than done!

Because in past years, the U.S. government gave space shuttle launch services special policies that domestic rockets couldn't compete with, causing Titan, Delta, and Atlas rockets to suffer defeats with most production lines closed.

So despite the Reagan administration announcing after space shuttle failures that Titan and other rockets would make every effort to resume production to undertake U.S. and foreign commercial satellite launches and compete with foreign carrier rockets, unfortunately Martin Company's Titan rockets needed at least two years before flying; McDonnell Douglas's Delta rockets needed fastest one and a half to two years to resume production; while General Dynamics' Atlas rockets, mostly providing military services for the Defense Department, currently had only one remaining in inventory.

So America's attempt to make a comeback in international satellite launch markets with rockets was unrealistic and uncompetitive short-term.

Looking at France's situation, Ariane rockets were jointly developed by the European Space Agency comprising France, West Germany, Britain and eight other nations. Before America's Challenger explosion, Ariane rockets were the world's only carrier tools capable of competing with U.S. space shuttles.

In 1984, Ariane rockets first undertook commercial satellite launches, launching nine satellites the first year, instantly becoming that year's world's best commercial launch rockets.

By end-1985, Ariane rockets had captured 42% of the world's commercial satellite launch market while secretly working to capture 50% of international commercial satellite launch markets between 1986-1990.

Therefore, Ariane company spent $1.2 billion in 1985 building a second launch site at Kourou for international satellite launches. Its modernized launch capability could reach one satellite per month.

Moreover, to stabilize commercial launch missions and improve competitiveness, from January 1986, Ariane company's insurance subsidiary began official operations with insurance rates of only 11%-13%.

However, due to Ariane rocket's consecutive failures in 1985 and 1986, people questioned its reliability. Plus Ariane company's decision to substantially raise launch prices for new foreign satellite users to compensate for dollar devaluation would necessarily greatly reduce prestige and weaken international market competitiveness.

What about aerospace superpower Soviet Union?

Soviet Union's Proton rockets had considerable carrying capacity, actively seeking foreign satellite launch users while striving to enter international markets. But because the Soviet Union hadn't practiced open policies for years, the Western world worried that using Soviet rockets for satellite launches would leak satellite technology to the Soviet Union, so strictly limited domestic satellites entering the Soviet Union.

On the other hand, the Soviet Union kept Proton rocket technical data highly classified, making it difficult for foreign users to understand Proton rockets' true reliability. Despite the Soviet Union using television to broadcast fifty-one seconds of Proton rocket introduction two years prior, the Western world maintained doubtful and wait-and-see attitudes toward Soviet launch service policies.

Therefore, despite Soviet Proton rockets' quite low satellite launch prices—even lower than China's—Soviet rockets weren't popular among European and American users, so hadn't entered international commercial markets and couldn't form strong competitiveness.

Thus, 1986's international aerospace situation left European nations in passive, disadvantageous positions while being very favorable for Chinese rockets entering international commercial markets.

So after analyzing that year's world aerospace situation, people confidently declared: “1986 was truly favorable timing, geography, and people for Chinese rockets going global.”

But could China, making its debut, seize this opportunity?

Eight: Chinese Experts Touring Nations

On an early April 1986 day, China's Commercial Satellite Launch Service Delegation flew from Beijing aboard Boeing 747 to America for satellite launch business contacts.

Delegation leader Wu Keli, deputy leader Shangguan Shipan.

Since China announced undertaking external launch services, especially after America's Challenger space shuttle explosion, China's Long March 3 rockets suddenly became worldwide focus objects.

Two months earlier, a Swedish company had first signed a ride-sharing agreement with China for launching a postal satellite. Subsequently, many national companies also expressed intentions for contact, consultation, and negotiations with China.

These early successes brought China an unexpected sense of encouragement.

At the same time, Chinese aerospace personnel clearly understood that such momentum would not go unnoticed by the world’s major aerospace powers.

For example, NASA quickly adopted various compensatory measures, urgently improving competitiveness. France solicited business everywhere, seizing opportunities to expand international market territory. The Soviet Union wouldn't abandon ambitions for entering international markets, hastily announcing Proton rockets would enter international commercial launch markets, organizing satellite launch service institutions within just three months.

The island nation Japan, always shrewd, was no ordinary opponent—they'd long targeted this opportunity, decisively canceling certain rocket launch plans with 800-kilogram launch capability while directly accelerating development of H-2 large carrier rockets with 2-ton capability. At amazing speed, they established satellite launch service offices in Washington with obvious purposes—opportunistically squeezing into international commercial launch markets!

Under these circumstances, China faced a narrow window of opportunity that could not be missed.

The first attack target was the world-shaking aerospace superpower United States of America.

This was a Washington Sunday.

At 8 AM sharp, China's Commercial Satellite Launch Service Delegation held a “China Commercial Satellite Launch Service” briefing in a meeting hall at the Chinese Embassy in America.

That day, over 100 listeners packed the meeting hall. Audiences included nearly thirty officials from U.S. State Department, Defense Department, Transportation Department, Commerce Department, NASA and other government departments, plus media reporters, celebrities, friendly persons, and Chinese Americans.

They came with enthusiasm and curiosity to hear Chinese people from across oceans discuss Chinese rockets for the first time.

First, Wu Keli gave opening remarks. As soon as he stepped onto the platform, the venue erupted in enthusiastic applause. He scanned the audience below, stroked his neatly trimmed He Long-style mustache, then began speaking.

In his brief thirty-minute speech, Wu Keli discussed both China's aerospace enterprise's difficult journey over thirty years and China's aerospace development's bright prospects, plus China's Long March rockets' performance, characteristics, and various preferential policies.

Speaking emotionally, this expressive Mongolian man's eyes welled with tears.

Wu Keli later said at that moment, he felt not standing on an international platform but kneeling on the grassland paradise “Mongol Sacred Land” of ancestral legends.

Next, Shangguan Shipan, as a Chinese government official, made reports on “China Commercial Satellite Launch Services.”

Shangguan Shipan's report similarly aroused audience applause waves. People heard seemingly not Shangguan Shipan's personal speech but long-silent China's voice to the world.

Indeed, China couldn't remain closed or silent. Millennia of closure and silence led to technological decay and productivity shrinkage. Today, dusty national gates had opened, yesterday's secrets were no longer secrets. China should speak about itself and had long needed to speak.

Because China not only developed atomic and hydrogen bombs but also rockets and satellites. China not only qualified to display itself to the world but also bore responsibility for the world to know it.

Without speaking, how would others know you? Without talking, how would others understand you? Without knowing or understanding you, how could they approach or come near you?

Indeed, as soon as Shangguan Shipan's report ended, dozens of reporters flocked to his side, asking various questions about Chinese rockets undertaking foreign satellite launches.

Afterward, all overseas Chinese came to the front platform, greeting and congratulating all delegation members!

An elderly overseas Chinese held Wu Keli's hand saying: “Your delegation coming to America to promote Chinese rockets makes us so happy! But do you know what Americans say?”

Wu Keli asked: “What do they say?”

“They say Chinese people in America can only open restaurants!” the elder said, tears flowing.

Wu Keli's heart also felt a pang of bitterness.

The elder continued: “After hearing this, we could only swallow our tears!”

Then another white-haired overseas Chinese approached, holding delegation members' hands with tears, saying: “China is the rocket homeland. Today, people from the rocket homeland finally came. I've lived seventy years, finally seeing rockets return to the rocket homeland!”

Several young Chinese Americans held delegation members' hands, insisting on inviting them to Chinese restaurants for drinks!

That evening, several prominent Chinese Americans came to the delegation's accommodations, enthusiastically and sincerely introducing international satellite market conditions and background.

They told the delegation: “You've come to America unfamiliar with people and places—you absolutely cannot act rashly. The commercial satellite launch market is a world where businessmen compete, with very complex affairs! If you encounter companies you don't know asking you to sign contracts, you must first investigate the situation clearly before deciding, not agreeing to anyone or signing any contract. This is like a beggar coming to your door asking for food, but you treat him as an honored guest. This would ruin China's rocket reputation, making future business very difficult!”

Next day, New York Daily, Washington Daily and others featured front-page headlines: “China Commercial Satellite Launch Service Delegation Lobbies America, Attempting to Compete with America for Satellite Launch Markets.”

Yes, since this is an international commercial market, business should be done by everyone, competition should be equal for all. No country or individual can monopolize markets. This is market economy law.

To expand influence, China's Commercial Satellite Launch Service Delegation divided into four groups, separately promoting Chinese rockets in Washington, New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco and other places, conducting extensive contact and exchanges with over ten satellite companies.

However, for distant Eastern China, just starting out, coming to aerospace superpowers to “steal rice bowls” wasn't easy.

China's Commercial Satellite Launch Service Delegation first contacted America's Hughes Satellite Company. Since Chinese rocket experts were first entering world commercial launch markets—lacking foundation, capital, or connections, relying only on wrinkled rocket blueprints and words—the delegation first felt looked down upon at Hughes Satellite Company.

Americans didn't take these yellow-skinned Chinese seriously at all. When Hughes Satellite Company people shook hands with Chinese delegation experts, their extended hands had no strength, warmth, or sincerity—purely ceremonial gestures. Some Americans even crossed their arms, indifferent, eyes showing disdain.

When China's Commercial Satellite Launch Service Delegation contacted the second American satellite company, the situation was equally bad. When the Chinese delegation arrived at this American satellite company according to prior arrangements, they were treated as briefcase company solicitors and rudely refused entry.

China's Commercial Satellite Launch Service Delegation found a third American satellite company. This company was somewhat better, finally giving face by letting them enter company gates. But when a vice president received them, he wasn't enthusiastic and showed little sincerity.

Especially when the Chinese side proposed discussing certain launch matters, this vice president's attitude was very arrogant. Looking at Chinese experts, he immediately said: “Discussion? Discussion is certainly possible. But according to our Western rules, you must first pay consultation fees!”

“Consultation fees? What consultation fees?” Wu Keli was completely puzzled.

“That is, pay money first.”

Hearing about money, Wu Keli found it incredible.

Afterward, Wu Keli took out a three-to-four-page opinion paper, tentatively saying to this vice president: “We prepared an opinion paper. Please look and see if there's basis for cooperation?”

The vice president took the opinion paper, flipped through it, and said: “Come back when you can produce opinion papers one foot thick.”

“Why?” Wu Keli asked.

The vice president looked at his watch: “Sir, sorry, our appointed time is up.”

After setbacks at three companies consecutively, China's Commercial Satellite Launch Service Delegation felt quite frustrated.

Then some Chinese Americans advised them: “Dealing with American companies, just talking won't work—you need something like tender documents.”

But what these Chinese Americans called “tender documents”—the Chinese Commercial Satellite Launch Service Delegation didn't understand. Some members were even hearing this for the first time.

For example, what role tender documents played in business, how large a role, how they operated—they couldn't figure out at all, having only general concepts. As for how to specifically write tender documents, they knew nothing.

So they found a fourth American company, wanting them to help draft tender documents.

In their concept, asking Americans to help draft tender documents was like casually finding someone domestically to help draft a planning document—a small matter, nothing significant.

“We'd like you to draft tender documents,” they said openly to a company, explaining their purpose.

The company head listened and said: “Help you draft tender documents? Of course possible.”

Wu Keli was very happy—this worry from several days finally had resolution.

“However,” this head said, “you must pay deposits first.”

Hearing about money again, Wu Keli wanted to leave immediately. But before leaving, he still carefully and tentatively asked: “How much deposit is required?”

“One million dollars!”

“What? One million dollars!?”

Wu Keli and delegation members were all stunned speechless.

After recovering, the first thing was hastily shaking hands and immediately saying “bye-bye.”

Next they found another American company. But just meeting this company's people, they were asked to introduce their professional backgrounds, meaning to see if they were qualified to discuss rocket launch issues.

After introducing their professional backgrounds, the other side raised a strange question: “Your Xichang Launch Site is surrounded by mountains. When launching satellites, what if rocket flames knock down mountains, and mountains flip over and topple rockets?”

Wu Keli hearing this felt very angry and lost his temper, responding unceremoniously: “The problem you mentioned isn't a problem at all. Our Xichang Launch Site has launched so many satellites without ever encountering situations like you describe. Obviously your question has no basis. If you don't believe it, I can invite you to visit Xichang Launch Site and watch our launches, seeing whether it's really like you said.”

Actually, these unpleasant incidents weren't significant.

Wu Keli told me what truly angered the Chinese delegation was an incident dealing with America's Terre Satellite Company later.

That day, according to prior arrangements, Wu Keli met with Terre Satellite Company General Manager Mr. Schulz.

After meeting, as Wu Keli sat down, Mr. Schulz handed him a pictorial magazine, saying: “Look here!”

Wu Keli took the magazine and was shocked!

On page nine was a cartoon: four beer bottles forming a “launch platform,” with a thick, long firecracker hanging on the “platform,” labeled: China Long March 3.

Wu Keli snapped the magazine shut, saying: “Yes, coming to America this time, some people even asked me whether China has running water?”

“What? Such things happen?” Schulz was surprised instead.

“I answered them saying China not only has running water but also atomic bombs, hydrogen bombs, billion-calculation computers! Also synchronous communication satellites and Long March rockets!” Wu Keli said this all at once, very excited, face flushed red.

Mr. Schulz looked at angry Wu Keli, feeling very apologetic, unable to say anything.

After a moment, Wu Keli turned around saying: “Mr. Schulz, thank you for letting me see this cartoon today! But I have a small request—I wonder if it can be fulfilled?”

“What request? Please speak, I'll certainly try my best,” Mr. Schulz said.

Wu Keli shook the magazine in his hand, saying very calmly: “Can you give me this magazine?”

Mr. Schulz said: “What do you want it for?”

Wu Keli said: “I want to take it back to my motherland, letting all my compatriots see it well! Then put it in a museum as permanent 'commemoration'!”

“Since that's the case, take it as you wish,” Mr. Schulz said.

Wu Keli grabbed the magazine and left.

China's delegation's “lobbying” trip to America lasted half a month.

During this half month, despite encountering many obstacles, setbacks, and even some unspeakable bitterness, later when a Hughes Company chief scientist seriously listened to Chinese introductions about Long March series rockets' detailed situations, he concluded that using China's Long March 3 carrier rockets to launch American satellites was technically feasible and credible.

This made some American satellite companies' trust in Chinese rockets obviously increase, with both sides ultimately entering business negotiation stages.

Therefore, regarding the first expedition, China's delegation's “lobbying” of America, though not completely successful, was still noteworthy. Not only did they sign six ride-sharing agreements with companies like America's Pan Am Pacific and Domsat, they also preliminarily signed two launch contracts with America's Terre Satellite Company.

Nine: Great Orbital Transfer

China's unprecedented undertaking of foreign satellite launch services not only caused great shock abroad but also strong reactions domestically. From central to local levels, from aerospace experts to ordinary people, all expressed deep concern and great worry.

As is well known, since modern times China has been a poor, backward country, the Chinese nation long suffering humiliation. Until October 1949, in Mao Zedong's words, the Chinese people stood up.

But standing up didn't necessarily mean being able to continue forward. Any country or nation wanting survival, development, prestige, and status in this world, avoiding foreign invasion and bullying, besides needing perfect social systems, must possess highly developed economics, military, and science-technology.

Especially with history developing into today's great science era, whether science-technology is developed matters greatly, carrying enormous weight.

Therefore, in today's great science era, “science socialization, society scientificization” has become an increasingly developing new trend. Scientific-technological development has not only profoundly influenced chain reforms in social production, social life, and military fields, but also significantly impacted social economics.

As is well known, the “hot weapons” era's birth made the “cold weapons” era history. Ships, aircraft, cannons, tanks, and strategic missiles' appearance and application created naval, air, mechanized, and missile forces on humanity's war stages.

October 4, 1957, when the Soviet Union sent humanity's first artificial satellite skyward, brought humanity into the magical aerospace era.

This contrast in history was striking. China, the country that invented the world’s first rocket over a millennium ago but once could not manufacture bicycles, automobiles, or aircraft, successfully sent its first artificial satellite Dongfanghong-1 into space on April 24, 1970.

Subsequently, China began to move steadily toward modern rocket technology. After decades of arduous effort, the country not only successfully developed short-, medium-, and long-range rockets, but also achieved three major breakthroughs in aerospace technology: entering outer space, safely returning to Earth, and launching synchronous communication satellites.

Today, China’s rockets are stepping onto the global stage. They now launch commercial satellites for foreign countries, marking a major shift from domestic test orbits to international commercial orbits. This represents a profound transformation in China’s aerospace launch system and a new leap forward for the nation.

Following the reform and opening-up period, the focus of the entire country shifted toward socialist modernization. At the expanded meeting of the Central Military Commission in May 1985, it was also made clear that the defense science and technology industry must carry out corresponding strategic transformations.

Yet how this industry was to accomplish such a transformation remained a major and unresolved question.

Making refrigerators and color televisions was certainly one path; manufacturing tires and light bulbs was also one method; opening companies, establishing factories, plus technology exports were equally beyond reproach. The problem was: continuing this way, where was the ultimate way out?

Previously, all China's launches were scientific research experimental in nature. That is, whether rockets or satellites were all scientific research experimental products, unable to be taken to market for sale like salt, soy sauce, sweet potatoes, or potatoes. All development expenses relied on state special allocations; moreover, high-tech necessarily meant high investment.

However, if foreign satellites could be launched, this belonged to commercial launches—high-tech services without leaving the country. In other words, China's high-tech could transfer from original scientific research experimental orbits to commodity economy orbits.

Besides strengthening national and military prestige and boosting morale, this could create economic value and earn substantial foreign exchange. After China's reform and opening, introducing large amounts of advanced technology and equipment urgently needed exactly foreign exchange!

Simultaneously, launching foreign satellites was commercial international technical exchange and cooperation. Through such exchange and cooperation, China's launch and tracking control teams could broaden horizons, gaining practice and business improvement opportunities, learning valuable experiences to improve shortcomings and promote technical development.

Additionally, since launching foreign satellites was commercial, foreign manufacturers would necessarily have strict, even harsh launch quality requirements, forcing China's science-technology teams to improve themselves to adapt and satisfy foreign market demands.

Of course, since launching foreign satellites was commercial, economic benefits had to be considered, forcing China to completely change from ideological concepts to thinking methods, from technical innovation to team management.

Therefore, launching foreign satellites was not only a technical revolution for China but also an ideological revolution!

On the morning of July 17, 1986, National Defense Science Commission and Ministry of Aerospace leaders made detailed reports about launching foreign satellites to the Central Financial Leadership Group in State Council Conference Room 13.

Soon the State Council and Central Military Commission issued formal documents, listing foreign satellite launches among national key projects. So preparations for foreign satellite launch projects, technology, and living conditions quickly unfolded nationwide. Just Xichang Satellite Launch Base's urgent construction projects numbered over ten!

Ten: Facing World Challenges

When Misfortune Struck

In summer 1986, the International Space Technology Business Conference was held in Washington, America. China's delegation entered this venue for the first time with uneasy hearts.

At this conference, China's Long March 3 carrier rockets formally debuted before representatives from dozens of countries including America, Britain, France, Japan, and Australia, enduring various tests and some difficulties.

Over the following months, four American and Canadian insurance companies and seventeen space technology companies successively developed business relationships with China, with over twenty different satellite types beginning to approach China with smiles.

By end-1986, China signed launch reservation agreements with America's Western Union Satellite Company for launching “Western Union 6” satellites using Long March 3 rockets. Additionally, Indonesia, Australia, Canada, West Germany, and Thailand were in negotiations with China, while other companies expressed intentions for China to launch satellites.

China's foreign commercial satellite launches had excellent prospects with bright futures.

However, the intensely competitive international aerospace launch market wasn't accessible to just anyone, much less entirely under Chinese control. Just as China was confidently making its way toward international commercial satellite launch markets and energetically pushing inward, a seemingly predetermined business crisis quietly arrived.

Due to subtle reasons in international commercial markets, mysterious hands first reached toward America's Western Union Satellite Company, which had already signed launch reservation agreements with China. Not only did banks refuse loans, but all “green lights” suddenly closed completely. Finally, under brutal commercial competition and invisible external pressure, Western Union Satellite Company was forced to close!

After Western Union Satellite Company closed, America's Terre Satellite Company President Mr. Schwartz took over Western Union's satellite No. 6 reservation agreement, personally leading several experts to China, insisting on continuing to use Chinese rockets for satellite launches.

Mr. Schwartz was a Chinese American with deep feelings for China. His willingness to step forward despite difficulties stemmed partly from commercial ethics considerations and partly from deep emotions toward China.

When he came to Beijing from thousands of miles away, Chinese representatives reminded him: “America's Western Union Satellite Company has closed—please be very cautious.”

But he said: “Precisely because Western Union Satellite Company failed, I must continue. My final wish in life is establishing a massive professional satellite communication network in Asia, letting Asian peoples fully enjoy the happiness Chinese rockets bring them. I want to prove to the world through my actions that Chinese rockets can completely launch American satellites, that Chinese rockets can definitely enter international commercial launch markets!”

So with Terre Company's strong support, Mr. Schwartz began touring nations and lobbying everywhere, finally obtaining funding from Canadian, Australian and other financial groups, quickly preliminarily signing agreements with China and prepaying first installments.

Soon after, at Beijing's Shangri-La Hotel, Mr. Schwartz sat in the same position where Western Union Satellite Company's president had signed a month earlier, signing formal contracts with China.

This was China's first formal foreign satellite launch contract.

Unfortunately, Terre Satellite Company ultimately suffered the same bankruptcy fate as Western Union. Reportedly, when Mr. Schwartz received legal documents terminating contracts, this sixty-year-old president actually shed tears.

Thus China's two hard-won formal launch contracts were voided.

Worse still, within less than a year, except for one Swedish company, all foreign companies' launch contracts and reservation agreements with China were completely withdrawn. Even some foreign merchants who previously courted China also retreated.

What was happening?

Since China's government announced undertaking foreign satellite launch services, satellite companies from various nations successively came to China, conducting series of visits, tours, and negotiations at Beijing Wanyuan Company, Xichang Satellite Launch Base, and Xi'an Satellite Tracking and Control Center.

Though they had to acknowledge that China's rocket design and development levels, plus launch and tracking control technologies, were quite good, foreign experts and bosses weren't idealists. They rejected empty talk, only recognizing facts. Without absolute certainty, they couldn't casually tie a company's fate to China's belt.

So what exactly caused China to fall into such embarrassing circumstances?

First, Chinese rocket launches were too few. Though Long March rockets had successfully launched several satellites, compared to foreign counterparts, launch numbers were too few—only two or three times. Due to few launches, rocket technology lacked fully convincing evidence. Reliability was questionable and unpredictable.

Second, China's Xichang Launch Site hadn't reached international standards. Though Xichang Launch Site was China's most modernized launch site, when originally planning this launch site, everything might have been considered except that someday Chinese rockets would launch foreign satellites.

Therefore, though foreigners acknowledged China's launch site had foreign satellite launch capabilities, from practical situations, facilities, transportation, communications, and living conditions hadn't yet reached international standards. For example, there were no satellite testing facilities meeting international standards, no direct flights from America to Xichang—very important for efficiency-conscious Americans—not even a decent hotel.

Though foreigners personally saw Xichang Launch Site was indeed under rushed construction, they couldn't believe such complex, massive projects could be rush-built by China within one year.

Third, international insurance circles lacked trust in Chinese rockets. Launching commercial satellites belonged to high-investment, high-difficulty, high-risk industries. Whether rocket flight stages or satellite separation from rockets to synchronous orbit positioning, every stage could fail anytime. So internationally, specialized insurance companies provided guarantees.

But after recent American and French launch failures, many world insurance companies suffered serious losses, ultimately forced to withdraw from space insurance markets, some even completely bankrupt.

Under these circumstances, international space launch insurance rates sharply rose from original 15% to nearly 40%. Even so, insurers still wouldn't provide guarantees.

On the other hand, international insurance companies originally lacked understanding of Chinese rocket reliability. Encountering consecutive American and French failures, they were even less willing to insure Chinese rockets. Chinese insurance companies had never undertaken space insurance, plus China lacked complete insurance institutions, making insurance a major problem.

Commercial satellite launches required insurance company coverage; without insurance coverage, who would pay if launches failed?

Fourth, financial circles wouldn't provide loans. Chinese people's approach was: much money, much business; little money, little business; no money, no business. Foreigners differed: with money do business, without money also do business, and big business—through loans.

Foreign merchants buying satellites for launches needed at least hundreds of millions of dollars. Such enormous sums had no choice but loans. However, international financial circles then lacked understanding or trust in Chinese rockets, so wouldn't easily provide loans.

Fifth, American satellite export difficulties. In America, satellites were high-tech products. High-tech product exports required approval from State Department, Defense Department, Weapons Export Control Committee and other relevant departments, plus restrictions from the International Paris Coordinating Committee.

The Paris Coordinating Committee was an international organization comprising Britain, America, France, Germany, Japan and other nations managing high-tech exports. Worldwide high-tech product exports required registration there; those without approval were forbidden from export.

So foreign merchants held doubtful, wait-and-see attitudes about whether China could navigate these hurdles to obtain satellite export permits.

Sixth, some Western European countries secretly resisted and obstructed. Objectively speaking, not all Western countries welcomed China entering international commercial markets—some opposed China from the start. So during negotiations, they created difficulties regarding clauses, technology, and prices; some spread unfavorable rumors about Chinese rockets behind the scenes, occasionally making small moves.

Based on these six points, foreign merchants' departures became understandable.

China Rocket Research Institute Director Shen Xinsu deeply understood this, saying: “Foreign companies didn't want our Chinese rockets entering international markets as their competitors. I remember visiting France's Kourou Launch Site in 1988 to observe Ariane rocket's twenty-fifth launch.

“Before leaving, leadership told me to work more in France, explaining more to foreign merchants that we only provided two rockets annually for foreign satellite launches, serving as international commercial market supplements—we mainly satisfied domestic satellite launches.

“With this mission, I promoted this wherever I went, but reactions were very strong and consistent. They excitedly said: 'You speak lightly—China only provides two rocket launches annually, while we only have eight rockets yearly!'

“This visit impressed me that entering international markets, they didn't welcome us—absolutely not!”

Now the problem was: facing such difficulties, what would China do?

The whole world knew China would launch American satellites. Not only did overseas Chinese and Hong Kong-Macau compatriots eagerly anticipate, hundreds of millions of Chinese people also looked forward anxiously. Now in such embarrassing straits, how to report to central leadership? How to explain to the nation?

More severely, projects for launching foreign satellites, funded with hundreds of millions of yuan, were in heated atmospheres of racing against time, competing for speed, working desperately hard. But now business suddenly couldn't be done—should these projects continue or halt abruptly?

“This was the most heartbreaking and painful period!” someone later recalled. “During this time, we couldn't eat properly or sleep soundly.”

Launch Tracking Control System Department and Great Wall Company personnel, wherever they went, were asked: “What happened? Heard everything's cancelled?” “How did you handle this? Without certainty, why randomly sign contracts?” “What next? Advance or retreat? Continue or stop?”

Offices, launch sites, dinner tables, elevators—everywhere buzzed with discussions:

“I said long ago this wouldn't work!”

“Spent so much money, now ruined everything—this is simply criminal!”

“If we'd known today, why begin? Staying put honestly—wouldn't that be better? I think everyone was too full and restless!”

Some inquired, some sighed, some complained, some criticized, even some pointed fingers cursing.

Yes, using Chinese rockets to launch foreign satellites was a major matter for Chinese people. As descendants of the rocket homeland, who didn't care? Who wasn't anxious? Expressing complaints and harsh words was understandable and normal.

The problem was: facing kind people, what could aerospace experts with unspeakable difficulties say?

1988: Hope and Crisis Together

In early 1985, a European aerospace authority said: Chinese rockets entering international commercial markets would need at least five years.

This speaker was Gibson.

Gibson was European Space Agency's first director and International Astronautical Federation vice president. The European Space Community was established under his advocacy. This Briton had made positive contributions to China's aerospace enterprise.

In spring 1984, at the International Astronautical Federation meeting in Tokyo, Japan, China officially joined the International Astronautical Federation with his support, forcing Taiwan's withdrawal.

In early 1985, when Deputy Minister Sun Jiadong and Wu Keli went to European countries for satellite launch market research, they first privately visited him.

That was a beautiful Paris night. Gibson welcomed Sun Jiadong and Wu Keli into his small villa. After brief pleasantries, he brought out over ten world-famous wines from his cellar, inviting two Chinese old friends to dine.

Gibson's wife was a pianist who specially played Beethoven's “Fate Symphony” for the two Chinese friends.

Gibson could hold his liquor well and loved collecting famous wines, storing thousands of bottles in his cellar. Sun Jiadong wasn't much of a drinker, but Wu Keli had good capacity, so they drank quite happily.

During dinner, Sun Jiadong mentioned Chinese rockets entering international markets.

Gibson listened excitedly, saying: “Chinese rockets entering international markets would certainly be good. But I must remind you that rocket launches entering international commercial markets is extremely difficult. Because rocket launches involve high insurance, high investment—user selection conditions are very harsh.”

Sun Jiadong said: “We indeed still lack understanding in this area.”

Gibson said: “Our Ariane rockets initially faced American space shuttle competition, so we started with free launch methods, then used low prices for two launches, finally entering international markets. This is like selling things—letting you first taste how it is, then discussing prices and transactions.”

Wu Keli said: “Do you think Chinese rockets entering international markets have hope?”

Gibson said: “I believe Chinese rockets entering international markets can be achieved; but now your problem is lacking experience while facing two very strong competitors—America and France. Therefore you need long-term plans.”

“About how many years?” Wu Keli raised his wine glass, impatiently asking.

Gibson also raised his glass but paused, saying: “In my opinion, probably at least five years!”

Later facts proved Gibson's prediction correct.

Yes, launching foreign satellites wasn't easy.

By end-1990, only America and France had entered international commercial satellite launch markets worldwide, with France entering through eleven nations' combined efforts. Its Ariane rockets took eight years entering international markets. Even the Soviet Union, such an aerospace superpower, still bore aggrieved expressions, coldly left outside.

Moreover, commercial satellite launch markets had been monopolized by American and other aerospace powers for over twenty years. The benefits were indescribably sweet—they naturally wanted continued monopoly, absolutely not wanting third parties stealing rice bowls. So roads toward Western-guarded international commercial markets hid gentle swords and beautiful traps—China could hardly defend against everything.

Additionally, China was first entering Western-dominated territories, lacking not only experience but even lessons. Plus national gates were closed too long. Just opened, they rushed to squeeze into international commercial launch markets. This rush naturally caused stumbles.

So China wanting to immediately squeeze into international satellite launch markets was unrealistic.

But facing such difficulties, China's aerospace decision-makers unanimously believed foreign satellite launch projects absolutely couldn't stop. Regardless of difficulties and obstacles, they must persist!

Because China faced an open world. Launching foreign satellites was both a great reform and opening undertaking and a major revolution in China's science-technology history.

Historical experience repeatedly proved opportunities were extremely important—like Venus's broken arms, once lost, forever irreparable. So at crucial moments of major scientific-technological transformations, nations could only achieve takeoff by utilizing advanced scientific-technological achievements and seizing opportunities.

China's falling behind the world in recent centuries had one important reason: missing several takeoff opportunities in science and technology.

For example: During late Ming and early Qing periods, China experienced its first scientific-technological revolution. Then, Jiangnan's commodity economy vigorously arose, with capitalist sprouts appearing in handicrafts—almost simultaneously with Europe's earliest capitalist countries.

Just then, Western missionaries headed by Italian Matteo Ricci came to China, bringing Western modern science and technology like astronomy, geography, and firearms. So Eastern and Western science and technology had enormous contact and collision, making China's long-stagnant science and technology show revival signs for the first time.

Unfortunately, due to feudal society's oppression, China's science-technology wings ultimately couldn't spread. Meanwhile, distant European Britain seized this historically granted opportunity, quickly surpassing Italy and Holland to become the world's number one industrial power.

During the 1860s-1890s, when China's Westernization Movement arose, the world's second scientific-technological revolution was exploding. Then China's science and technology, after over 100 years of decline, burst with new vitality. But ultimately due to internal and external troubles and national weakness, takeoff wings remained powerless.

In late nineteenth century, the West experienced a scientific revolution marked by relativity and mechanics, followed by the third technological revolution wave in the 1940s-50s. Originally, China's national capitalism had developed considerably then, but unfortunately due to war-torn social environments and impoverished, backward economics, great opportunities were ultimately lost.

After 1949, 1956-1966 should have been China's science-technology “golden age.” Then, regarding aerospace technology alone, China's gap with the West wasn't distant; Japan lagged behind China in some areas. But the “Cultural Revolution” catastrophe lasted ten years!

When China awoke from nightmares, the world science-technology wheels had rolled far forward. Even Japan, starting from almost the same point as China, leaped up, launching its first artificial satellite one month before China!

So today, when world scientific-technological revolution tides again push China to era's crossroads, can China fight with backs to the wall, seizing this great opportunity?

History is a master magician, always elusive.

When calendar pages turned to 1988, world aerospace situations changed wonderfully again.

This year, world aerospace enterprise made comebacks, regaining vigor—125 different satellites were launched worldwide. Among these: Soviet Union 100, America 11, European Space Agency 7, China 4, Japan 2, Israel 1.

Additionally, American space shuttles resumed launch functions; Soviet Buran space shuttle successfully launched for the first time; France's Ariane rockets regrouped and conducted seven consecutive launches, sending fourteen different nations' communication satellites to space.

Moreover, on June 15, 1988, Ariane-4 rockets successfully launched for the first time, providing France another carrier tool for competing in international satellite launch markets.

Surprisingly, under European Space Agency's frequent activities, by 1990 Ariane rockets had captured 50% of international satellite launch markets, with various nations' launch reservations booked until 1991, earning fifteen billion francs.

Moreover, to improve international market competitiveness, France also lowered Ariane rocket launch prices.

This aggressive world aerospace situation was not only a challenge but a threat to China!

However, “natural selection, survival of the fittest.”

Though foreign companies' withdrawals struck China hard, Chinese aerospace personnel seriously reflected, learning lessons and continuously improving. For example, foreign experts visiting China's launch sites offered many constructive opinions; foreign merchants' negotiation demands for launches; China gained much knowledge through overseas visits and studies.

Thus Chinese aerospace personnel gradually understood: for Chinese rockets to enter international commercial launch markets, what international standard conditions were needed in technology, living facilities and other areas.

So China continued intensifying business relationships with relevant foreign manufacturers while focusing on launch site technical and living facility construction.

Simultaneously, relevant departments adopted many positive measures. For instance, China People's Insurance Company risked providing economic insurance for foreign merchants at international market preferential prices; China Customs decided implementing inspection-free policies for entering foreign satellites; People's Bank of China expressed efforts to guarantee loans needed for launching foreign satellites; design departments and construction units responsible for launch facility renovations and project construction also willingly cooperated fully, working desperately to ensure timely task completion.

On March 7, 1988, Long March 3 rockets again successfully sent a communication satellite to space. World attention returned to China.

Reportedly, a year earlier, when foreign merchants withdrew from China, a Western journalist made a comparison, saying China's Long March 3 rockets were like big, fat crabs. When first placed on international dining tables, satellite company bosses from various nations stretched their noses forward, competing to smell the aroma. Though everyone drooled, none dared take the first bite.

Unexpectedly, a year later, someone finally came forward to taste the first bite of “crab.”

This first “crab” taster was today's globally renowned Asian Satellite Company.

Asian Satellite Company was a satellite company registered in Hong Kong, jointly invested by Britain's Cable & Wireless, China International Trust and Investment Corporation, and Hong Kong's Hutchison Whampoa, each holding equal shares.

Since all three companies had abundant funds and technical expertise, they spared no expense, risking greatly to purchase America's Hughes Company's Asia-1 satellite, becoming the first to have China's Long March 3 rockets send it to space.

On September 9, 1988, through China's multi-faceted efforts, America's State Department formally approved plans for Chinese rockets to launch three American communication satellites.

This was the first time in history the U.S. government approved a socialist country's satellite launch plans.

For this, China's Foreign Ministry spokesman issued statements that day: “American satellites transported to China for launch have guaranteed safety,” and when answering reporters, again stated: “China appreciates the U.S. government's support for China providing satellite launch services to foreign countries.”

But this was merely the beginning.

Eleven: Diplomatic Storms

On November 24, 1988, China's negotiation delegation went to America for second-round talks about commercial satellite launch services issues.

Delegation leader Sun Jiadong.

That day, Ministry of Aerospace Industry Minister Lin Zongtang and Deputy Minister Liu Jiyuan personally came to the airport to see them off. Before boarding the plane, Liu Jiyuan grasped Sun Jiadong's hand, repeatedly urging: “This negotiation, regardless of difficulties and obstacles encountered, can only succeed, cannot fail!”

When the plane took off, morning sunlight filled Beijing Capital Airport. At the airport, seeing-off crowds vigorously waved farewell arms; among them two ladies had tears in their eyes.

Launching foreign satellites seemed merely an international commercial activity, but actually besides contracts between companies, the two governments also had to sign formal agreement documents. This required negotiations.

If this negotiation succeeded, Asia-1 satellite export permits could be issued; if it failed, everything would end!

Therefore, China's delegation on this expedition, whether negotiation representatives on the plane or seeing-off personnel below, all felt deep worry and concern.

In early October, China's Ministry of Aerospace Industry drafted a letter, transmitted through Chinese Ambassador to America Mr. Han Xu to the U.S. Congress. This letter mainly explained China's reasons for satellite launches entering international commercial markets.

After receiving the Chinese letter, the U.S. Congress had Space Committee Chairman Robert Roe convene relevant Congressional personnel to discuss Chinese opinions, then submitted Congressional views to the Reagan government.

Reagan agreed in principle but required Sino-American discussions on three issues:

First, satellites were high-tech exports—how would China guarantee their technical security;

Second, China wasn't party to UN Space Liability Convention treaties—if rocket launches failed, endangering third countries, how would responsibilities be assumed;

Third, satellite launch commercial issues must be implemented in specific clauses.

So in mid-October, Sino-American government delegations held first-round talks at Beijing's Diaoyutai about satellite technology security and satellite launch responsibility issues.

During talks, both sides had negotiation drafts. After several negotiation rounds, Chinese and American governments finally reached consensus, signing two agreement memoranda on “Satellite Technology Security” and “Satellite Launch Responsibility.”

Simultaneously, the National People's Congress Standing Committee passed resolutions for China joining three “outer space” treaties, establishing mutual trust foundations for Asia-1 satellite launches with reliable legal guarantees.

Unfortunately, this negotiation ultimately didn't reach consensus agreements, so government negotiation tables moved from Beijing to America.

The plane broke through clouds, soaring at 12,000 meters altitude. Below the plane lay the rolling Pacific Ocean, but no Chinese delegation members had time to look.

Originally, when October Beijing negotiations ended, both sides agreed this American negotiation would have the American side first produce negotiation opinion drafts as negotiation foundations. But for unknown reasons, Americans delayed sending opinion drafts.

After repeated urging, Chinese sides only received American negotiation drafts on the afternoon of November 22. But opening the drafts, Chinese opinions differed greatly. Though wanting to postpone negotiations, tickets were booked, so they hurriedly departed.

To gain initiative in negotiations, once boarding, China's delegation divided into three groups, revising American-submitted negotiation drafts. After group revisions, they were handed to Sun Jiadong.

Sun Jiadong was this American delegation's leader. At that moment, leaning against the porthole, he was word-by-word, sentence-by-sentence deliberating American-drafted negotiation texts.

Sun Jiadong was from Northeast Liaoning. In 1950, before graduating from Harbin Military Engineering Institute, he enlisted, becoming an Air Force Volunteer Army young, excellent translator.

In 1952, he went to Soviet Union's Zhukovsky Air Force Engineering Academy for advanced studies. During six years of study, his excellent grades earned him the Soviet Zhukovsky Air Force Engineering Academy gold medal.

In 1958, Sun Jiadong returned to China. Due to his excellent Russian, he often served as senior translator accompanying Chinese delegations to the Soviet Union for relevant negotiations.

In 1982, he served as Chinese delegation deputy leader at the UN Space Representative Congress; in 1984, as Chinese delegation deputy leader, he successively conducted space cooperation negotiations with Britain, France, West Germany, and Italy; in 1986, he conducted China-Brazil resource satellite cooperation negotiations.

Therefore, at international negotiation tables, he was an experienced expert.

Sun Jiadong had a broad forehead, chubby face, and crew cut. He was eloquent with excellent speaking ability, especially good at telling stories. His stomach seemed to contain a story company—once started, it became a series. Regardless of how major and complex matters were, he could make things crystal clear by telling small stories.

Moreover, when speaking, Sun Jiadong's face always radiated wise, benevolent smiles. These smiles could bring trust, relaxation, and hard-to-erase impressions.

But at that moment, Sun Jiadong's face showed no smiles, only worry.

When he closed negotiation drafts and raised his head, casting weary gazes outside, San Francisco was already nearby.

Washington. U.S. Presidential Trade Representative Office.

This was a simple small building full of commercial atmosphere.

The day after China's delegation reached Washington, both sides arranged negotiation formations there.

The U.S. Presidential Trade Representative Office was a commercial institution under the Presidential residence. All world nations' various trade activities with America had to be negotiated with the U.S. Presidential Trade Representative Office, which then reported directly to the President.

After China's delegation arrived in San Francisco on November 25, immediately upon disembarking, they spent an afternoon and evening re-deliberating and revising American negotiation drafts, translating revised Chinese drafts into English.

Next afternoon, they rushed from San Francisco to Washington. Arriving in Washington, they immediately found Chinese Ambassador to America Mr. Han Xu, making special reports about these negotiations.

Han Xu was China's first Ambassador to America, enjoying high prestige in American political circles.

As early as the fifties and sixties, as Premier Zhou Enlai's government delegation accompanying personnel, he participated in the 1954 and 1961 Geneva Conferences, 1955 Bandung Conference, visited eleven European and Asian countries; participated in receiving numerous visiting foreign heads of state or government, such as Kissinger's 1971 China visit, Nixon's 1972 China visit, participating in later negotiations of the 1982 Sino-American “August 17 Communiqué” and 1984 mutual visits between two nations' leaders.

In 1982, he became People's Republic of China Foreign Ministry Deputy Minister; in 1985, became Chinese Ambassador to America.

After hearing the delegation's situation report, Ambassador Han Xu discussed with the delegation, deciding to begin American negotiations the next day.

That evening, the delegation again discussed next day's negotiation strategies at the embassy.

Among delegation members was a lady named Wang Xiuting who, due to constant rushing and working day and night, couldn't attend to her disheveled hair.

Embassy hairdresser Xiao Wang discovered this and proactively offered to perm Wang Xiuting's hair. Xiao Wang said: “Tomorrow's negotiations are coming—you should dress beautifully. Let Americans see our Chinese female negotiator's image!”

So Xiao Wang worked all night giving Wang Xiuting a beautiful “Oriental style” perm.

Next morning, Sino-American sides opened negotiation curtains.

The American delegation was truly powerful. Leader was Eugene McAllister, chief negotiator was Wickson.

Wickson was an experienced negotiation veteran with many years of diplomatic work experience. Almost all American foreign commercial contacts were conducted with his lead negotiations, thus earning fame throughout Western Europe.

Americans seemed naturally humorous. That day, when Sino-American representatives first shook hands at negotiation tables, Wickson pointed to downstairs rooms, telling Chinese representatives:

“Respected Chinese friends, you've come from afar—please allow me to express sincere welcome! However, before negotiations, I want to remind you: do you know what this downstairs used to be?”

Chinese representatives looked around, puzzled.

“Let me tell you,” Wickson said. “During America's Civil War, this was specifically for holding prisoners!”

“Holding prisoners?” Chinese representatives were more confused.

“Yes,” Wickson said. “If you lose these negotiations, I'll keep you downstairs!”

After speaking, Wickson laughed. Chinese representatives then understood.

“Respected Mr. Wickson,” Sun Jiadong said with a smile, “What if we win these negotiations?”

“Then... then keep me downstairs!” Wickson said, laughing heartily.

“I think,” Shangguan Shipan interjected, “the best outcome is nobody being kept downstairs.”

“Right, right, right—sleeping on Simmons beds is better than lying on floors!” Wickson finished, and both sides' representatives laughed.

Wickson's opening remarks seemed like jokes, but Chinese representatives clearly sensed this was intentionally sent challenge signals—these negotiations would definitely not be easy.

Indeed, after the first round, Americans gained upper hand.

Americans said in negotiations: Chinese rockets shouldn't enter international markets because of state power support; while American rocket companies were commercial private companies. This violated equal competition commercial principles, not conforming to general commercial laws.

Americans also said in negotiations: Chinese rocket launch prices were too low, using dumping prices to enter international markets, thus disrupting international market prices. Additionally, China's methods while squeezing into international satellite launch markets didn't conform to commercial rules.

These negotiations, since they initially used American negotiation texts as foundations, plus Chinese delegations were first encountering such issues, when involving international trade issues in foreign launch services, China's delegation felt very unfamiliar, immediately falling into passive situations.

Chinese sides started poorly—some felt embarrassed, some anxious. Just then, the Chinese chief negotiator unfortunately fell ill.

What to do next? Who would replace the original chief negotiator?

That evening, China's delegation experienced collective insomnia for the first time.

As leader, Sun Jiadong naturally couldn't sleep either. His already graying hair seemed to whiten much more overnight.

He deeply understood this negotiation's importance, clearly knowing the consequences if negotiations failed.

China's rockets launching American satellites had increasingly high calls both domestically and abroad.

Two days ago, just arriving in America, he'd received many phone calls from Chinese Americans, inquiring about China's delegation's negotiation situations while expressing encouragement and wishes.

Some immediately stated on phones: “We'll definitely fully support China's negotiation delegation!”

Some said emotionally on phones: “Only when Chinese rockets successfully go global can we overseas Chinese truly raise our heads and straighten our backs!”

Sun Jiadong could no longer fall asleep. He assembled all delegation members, once again carefully studying American negotiation texts, then specifically formulating next day's negotiation strategies.

Given the original chief negotiator's illness, he also decisively decided: Shangguan Shipan would serve as chief negotiator.

Next day, Shangguan Shipan's speeches were polite and principled, not only emotionally sincere but also perfectly balanced in diplomatic proportions, handling situations with ease.

So situations began improving. The second round ended in a draw.

Negotiations continued, becoming increasingly difficult. Twenty days flashed by. Negotiations went from first to tenth drafts.

On December 17, 1988, Sun Jiadong finally represented China's delegation in preliminarily signing the final agreement document between Chinese and American governments: “Memorandum of Agreement on International Trade Issues in Commercial Launch Services.”

The day China's delegation left America, American delegation leader Eugene McAllister went to the airport to see them off.

McAllister grasped Sun Jiadong's hand, saying: “Mr. Sun, I thought of everything in these negotiations except one thing.”

Sun Jiadong asked: “What didn't you think of?”

McAllister said: “You actually revised negotiation texts once on the plane!”

Sun Jiadong couldn't help laughing: “Mr. McAllister, you forced us up Liangshan Mountain!”

McAllister said: “China's delegation was not only efficient but also had high negotiation levels. I congratulate you!”

Sun Jiadong said: “Wishing our next cooperation proceeds smoothly!”

McAllister said: “Good, hope so.”

Beijing. Capital Airport.

That day, the welcoming team for China's triumphant negotiation delegation, led by Liu Jiyuan, had waited at the airport for long.

As soon as China's negotiation delegation's plane landed, cheers arose from crowds.

Sun Jiadong was first out of the cabin. While waving to welcoming crowds, he hurriedly walked down the gangway, then quickly grasped Liu Jiyuan's hand, saying first: “Old Liu, negotiations succeeded!”

Looking at Sun Jiadong's obviously thinner face, Deputy Minister Liu Jiyuan smiled: “Of course they succeeded—don't forget, behind you stands a strong People's Republic of China!”

Twelve: Bush—Unwilling to Offend One Billion Chinese

January 23, 1989, Beijing Great Hall of the People's Jiangsu Hall.

At 4 PM, China Great Wall Industry Corporation Deputy General Manager Wu Keli represented China, Asian Satellite Company Executive President Xue Dong represented users, signing formal contracts for launching Asia-1 satellites using China's Long March 3 carrier rockets.

National People's Congress Standing Committee Vice Chairman Rong Yiren, State Councilor Zou Jiahua, and National Defense Science Commission and Ministry of Aerospace Industry leaders attended the grand signing ceremony.

That evening a celebration banquet was held in the Great Hall of the People's banquet hall. Over 300 Chinese and foreign guests and reporters gathered, frequently toasting.

Charming lights, successful smiling faces, pleasant music, fragrant Moutai—the entire Great Hall of the People's banquet hall overflowed with thick celebratory atmosphere.

Wu Keli, holding wine glasses, shuttled between seats, frequently clinking glasses with foreign guests.

Wu Keli was not only a negotiation expert in diplomatic venues but also often overwhelming opponents at banquets. When young, he could down two jin of liquor in one gulp; now, one jin of liquor remained easy.

Reportedly, once during negotiations in West Germany, West German satellite experts heard Wu Keli was a Mongolian who could really drink, so they brought out several bottles of 84-proof alcohol, wanting to drink with him.

Wu Keli wasn't polite, picking up wine glasses, repeatedly clinking with him. Result: this West German expert, called “massive capacity,” put down wine glasses after just three cups, surrendering with clasped hands: “Mr. Wu is not only excellent at negotiations (thumbs up) but also at drinking (thumbs up)—admirable, admirable!”

But today, Wu Keli became somewhat bleary-eyed after just the eighth cup of Moutai, with waves of fatigue frequently attacking.

He was really too tired.

From proposing foreign satellite launches to today's formal launch contract signing—exactly five years.

Over five years, to bring Chinese rockets into international commercial markets, Wu Keli's footprints covered almost the entire globe. From Asia to America, America to Europe, he visited over thirty countries and regions, with flight times alone exceeding 4,200 hours, totaling over 900,000 kilometers of travel!

In 1988, for satellite negotiation matters, once he flew from China to Los Angeles, then Los Angeles to Brazil; Brazil to West Germany, West Germany to Iraq; Iraq to Brazil, then Brazil back to China. For an entire week continuously, almost all time was spent at altitudes over 10,000 meters.

Of course, there were things more painful than tiredness.

In 1986, he led China's delegation to Canada for inspections, negotiating with certain satellite companies about launch issues. According to national regulations, overseas inspection personnel had only $52 daily allowances each, obviously unable to stay in four or five-star hotels. Because such hotels cost $250 per night.

So he and delegation members stayed in Canada's most ordinary, cheapest “Coach Inn.”

One day, Wu Keli called that satellite company, hoping they'd send cars to pick them up for company negotiations. The satellite company asked where they were staying. After Wu Keli gave the address, the company didn't send people but sent two taxis.

More infuriating, after reaching the company, not only did company chairmen not receive them, even deputy managers didn't appear—only clerks came out, said a few perfunctory words, then showed them out.

On the return journey, Wu Keli said nothing, sulking inwardly. The taxi driver was an overseas Chinese who, seeing Wu Keli's worried expression, asked: “Sir, what do you do?”

Hearing the driver speak Chinese, Wu Keli felt more familiar, saying: “We're China's satellite launch delegation. Coming to Canada this time is for satellite launch business negotiations.”

“What?! You're from the satellite launch delegation?” The taxi driver suddenly braked hard, showing surprise and confusion.

“What's wrong?” Wu Keli said.

The taxi driver said: “Terrible—this company treated you as fraudsters!”

Wu Keli was stunned: “What? Fraudsters? Impossible—we're really China's satellite launch delegation. How could we be fraudsters?”

The taxi driver then said: “Do you know what your Coach Inn is about?”

Wu Keli said: “No idea. We only know it's cheap.”

The taxi driver said: “Canada's Coach Inn is where carriage drivers used to stay. Think about it—which dignified China satellite launch delegation would stay in such places? Looking at your shabby appearance, how could they not treat you as fraudsters?”

After hearing the taxi driver's analysis, Wu Keli suddenly understood. Though wanting to vent, he couldn't say a word.

That evening, Wu Keli came to the Chinese Embassy in Canada, finding the ambassador: “Have your embassy issue invitations—tomorrow I'm hosting!”

The ambassador saw Wu Keli's expression was wrong, hastily asking: “What happened? What kind of hosting?”

Wu Keli said: “I want to invite all major Canadian satellite company presidents, letting them see whether China's satellite launch delegation is genuine authentic goods or marketplace fraudsters!”

Next day, all major Canadian satellite company presidents punctually came to the embassy. The Chinese Ambassador to Canada, Wu Keli and others stood at the embassy entrance, shaking hands with attending big bosses one by one.

During the banquet, Wu Keli held wine glasses, deliberately walking to the president of the company that had snubbed him. The translator hastily introduced to that president: “This is China Commercial Satellite Launch Service Delegation Deputy Leader Mr. Wu Keli!”

Wu Keli raised wine glasses, stroked his He Long-style mustache, saying: “Mr. President, we meet for the first time today—come, let's drink!”

After speaking, Wu Keli tilted his neck back, gulp-gulp-gulp, continuously downing three large cups.

Later someone said, just Wu Keli's drinking momentum stunned the opponent!

Next day, that company's president called Wu Keli, wanting to reciprocally invite China's Commercial Satellite Launch Service Delegation, simply stating on the phone his willingness to use Chinese rockets to launch their satellites.

Yes, five years of struggle, five years of bitterness, five years of storms, five years of ups and downs.

Today, China finally signed its first formal launch contract—Wu Keli was naturally extremely gratified.

So Wu Keli again raised wine glasses, walking to Asian Satellite Company Executive President Mr. Xue Dong, saying with emotion: “Come, Mr. Xue, for today's contract, for successful future cooperation, let's drink again!”

“Good!” Mr. Xue Dong raised wine glasses, drinking completely.

Then Mr. Xue Dong filled a cup of Moutai, raised it high, excitedly announcing to all present guests and news reporters:

“Ladies and gentlemen, China is the rocket homeland. Long March series rockets have strong reliability and high credibility. I'm pleased to announce here: our Asia-1 satellite purchased from America's Hughes Company will be launched into predetermined orbit by China's Long March 3 carrier rocket early next year!”

As soon as Mr. Xue Dong finished speaking, the entire venue immediately erupted in applause.

However, just as Asia-1 satellite launch work gradually progressed, that fiery summer of 1989 saw China's world-shocking political upheaval!

So America's government, which had already agreed to issue satellite export permits, immediately froze them. Without permits, American satellites couldn't fly to China—undoubtedly canceling this launch.

Just then, some foreign satellite launch service providers took advantage, wanting to steal Asia-1 satellite launch business; France's Ariane rockets again lowered launch prices; some clients even clearly stated they'd spare no costs to seize this satellite from Chinese hands, finding other launch providers!

This was undoubtedly another heavy blow to China!

Over several years, to obtain Asia-1 satellite launch permits, China's Foreign Ministry, Chinese Embassy in America, China's Ministry of Aerospace Industry, and China's satellite launch tracking control systems, through various channels and methods, did massive indescribable work with the U.S. government and International Paris Coordinating Committee.

Over several years, to obtain Asia-1 satellite launch permits, Ministry of Aerospace Industry Minister Lin Zongtang traveled across oceans, finding ambassadors from Britain, America, West Germany, Italy and other nations, having them reflect China's situations to their governments, then having various governments reflect China's situations to the Paris Coordinating Committee, finally barely forming international opinion, prompting the U.S. government and Paris Coordinating Committee to agree to issue Asia-1 satellite permits.

But unexpectedly, everything was ready except the east wind. Just one step from success, it would slip by again.

Westerners consider thirteen an unlucky number. But December 13, 1989, was a joyful day for Chinese people.

That day, after Chinese Embassy in America contacted relevant American authorities, Deputy Minister Sun Jiadong specially went to America for Asia-1 satellite permit matters, meeting with U.S. Congressmen, U.S. Space Committee Chairman Robert Roe, and State Department Acting Assistant Christopher Hankin.

On October 5, 1989, Minister Lin Zongtang had held special talks with the American Ambassador and American Science and Technology Counselor at Beijing's Diaoyutai State Guesthouse Building No. 3 about satellite permit matters. Americans then expressed understanding of China's feelings and willingness to timely convey China's wishes to the U.S. government.

However, since the contract-signed launch date approached while Asia-1 satellite permits were time-limited, to prevent long nights and many dreams or complications, Deputy Minister Sun Jiadong decided to personally go to America again, prompting Asia-1 satellite permits to be implemented quickly.

Sun Jiadong's talks with Americans proceeded in relatively calm atmospheres, with both sides appearing sincere and frank.

At the meeting's start, Mr. Robert Roe said frankly: “China dealing with America cannot only deal with administrative authorities but also with Congress. America expects signals of Chinese actions—this will be extremely important, the sooner the better. Eliminating misunderstandings between the two peoples will help increase understanding between governments and Congress.”

After a moment, Robert Roe continued: “The new year is coming soon. When old years nearly end, people like reflecting, like making compromises. If certain actions could be taken, it would be extremely important for restoring Sino-American friendship. We look forward to visiting China.”

Next, State Department Acting Assistant Hankin said: “We're very clear about Asia-1 satellite permit deadlines. High levels are currently making decisions. We know time is limited, but specific permit issuance dates remain unclear. Issuing Asia-1 satellite permits by the 15th this month is an approximate deadline. We're considering, highest levels are also actively considering—we specially request China's government attention.”

After hearing American statements, Sun Jiadong first expressed thanks, then emphasized: “Asia-1 satellite permit issuance involves launch site specific preparation work arrangements and implementation. To ensure April launches next year, satellites must be transported to Xichang Launch Site in February. Time is already quite urgent.”

After speaking, Sun Jiadong paused, continuing: “Regarding China's incidents, our government leaders have clearly introduced them to American friends. To gain American people's and Congress's understanding and support, we've repeatedly made clarifications. Recently America sent special envoys to visit China, meeting Chinese leaders including Deng Xiaoping—this benefits resolving certain issues. I hope we can proceed step by step according to their discussed opinions.”

Finally, Mr. Robert Roe expressed that Asia-1 satellite permit matters would definitely receive quick responses.

After talks ended, Mr. Robert Roe immediately reported to U.S. Congress.

Reportedly, when the U.S. government finally decided whether to issue Asia-1 satellite permits to China, the meeting saw two different opinions.

At this crucial moment, President Bush rose, walked to windows, contemplated briefly, then looked eastward, turned around and softly said:

“I'm unwilling to offend one billion Chinese people!”

So on December 16, 1989, White House spokesman Fitzwater formally announced:

“President Bush today approved export licenses for Asia-1 satellite (and two other satellites). This decision was made based on American national interests because it will win $300 million in business for American companies!”

Epilogue: Toward New Continents

A month later.

Long Beach, Los Angeles, America. Hughes Company headquarters building.

This was a mild sunny morning. Sun Jiadong and Wu Keli walked into Hughes Company Vice Chairman Mr. Bowman's office.

Mr. Bowman hastily came out, opening enthusiastic arms to tightly embrace two Chinese friends.

Bowman: “Mr. Sun Jiadong, congratulations!”

Sun Jiadong: “Mr. Bowman, congratulations to you too!”

Bowman: “The satellite you launched works very well now!”

Sun Jiadong: “Really? That's wonderful! Mr. Bowman, what's your evaluation of China's launch?”

“Excellent!” Bowman extended his thumb, saying: “I personally think China did three things very beautifully this time.”

“Oh, which three things?” Sun Jiadong asked.

Bowman said: “First, accurate weather forecasting; second, precise launch timing—saying 9:30 launch means 9:30 launch; third, high satellite orbital precision. Moreover, after successful launch, reporting orbital parameters to us was very timely!”

Sun Jiadong asked: “Have satellite orbital deviation numbers been calculated?”

Bowman said: “Calculated. Originally according to our requirements, it couldn't exceed 100 kilometers, but our measurement results showed only fifty-four kilometers deviation. Later we did further calculations—actually only nine kilometers deviation! This data represents the highest orbital precision among over eighty satellites launched by our Hughes Company!”

After speaking, Bowman excitedly stood up, pacing back and forth.

Then Hughes Company's another senior assistant managing satellite work also excitedly said: “Since Hughes Company began launching its first satellite in 1962 until today, I've been a participant. Over so many years, we've never launched such high-precision satellites. The three aspects the chairman just mentioned have become celebrated stories in our company!”

“Really?” Sun Jiadong stood up.

“Yes, yes!” Mr. Bowman continued: “These days we've been excitedly discussing China's launch. Some say China is a mysterious country and also a very magical country. Some seemingly easy things just can't be done well; but some very complex things, like this Asia-1 satellite launch, with such poor conditions and rushed time, were done so beautifully! Moreover, the speed and efficiency were amazing! Even surpassing Americans in planning, forcing Americans to advance schedules. Previously we gave one thumbs up; now we give two thumbs up!”

After speaking, Mr. Bowman extended thumbs with both hands, gesturing as he walked to the twenty-story-high window, pulling open sky-blue curtains with a whoosh.

Outside, crowds flowed like tides, clouds layered like seas. Sun Jiadong seemed to see a vibrant sun slowly rising from eastern horizons.

Yes, history remembered April 7, 1990.

At the moment China's Long March 3 rocket took off, the entire world felt China's weight and humanity's wisdom and power's greatness.

At the end of the twentieth century, China again demonstrated its existence with its own strength; China again attracted world attention with its new image!

Asia-1 satellite's shock waves quickly spread throughout Earth's small village.

A Hughes Company official said: “This successful launch is the beginning of long-term U.S.-China space cooperation and will become the foundation for continuing to improve U.S.-China people's relationships.”

West Germany's DPA Beijing correspondent reported: “This satellite launch signifies China's breakthrough efforts to enter international satellite commercial markets with its tested carrier rockets, competing with Americans and Europeans. China's satellite launch technology is considered reliable by foreign experts. China's pockets already contain other foreign satellite launch contracts.”

Thailand's China Daily published editorials: “Facts prove China's satellite launch technology is excellent, while charges are cheaper than Western nations—it will have stronger competitiveness.”

Britain's Times reported: “Chinese rockets sending American satellites into space orbits shows China has become an important commercial competitor in international aerospace industry.”

America's Christian Science Monitor reported: “For China, Asia-1 satellite's successful launch is not only a technical achievement but also a great diplomatic achievement.”

Tokyo messages said: “China's launched Asia-1 satellite, as a satellite transcending political barriers between Asian countries and regions, attracted attention as a symbol of information internationalization.”

Soviet Union's Izvestia published commentary: “China's first sending American satellites into orbit shows China Great Wall Company finally pioneered this difficult road to international commercial service markets, opening new stages in Asian long-distance communication and communication development. Asian issue experts believe Asia-1 will influence various aspects of Asian nations' lives—social, industrial, and economic.”

A Hong Kong person said: “This launch is unforgettable for life. This isn't just a technical launch—it enhanced China's prestige, letting people see China's high-tech image. With such good domestic technology, we should study investment feasibility issues. For instance, developing satellite manufacturing in Hong Kong, utilizing mainland technical talent and Hong Kong's position and funds for cooperation.”

However, Chinese rockets launching foreign commercial satellites, East and West joining hands to build space bridges—this was still the first time.

Strictly speaking, on the road toward international commercial launch markets, China had only taken a small step. Everything was just beginning, merely beginning.

America letting China launch satellites, besides trusting Chinese aerospace technology, had many factors, such as cheap prices. If we therefore close doors, becoming complacently arrogant, only seeing the Great Wall without seeing the world, even using this as national showing off, satisfying national vanity, that would be too shallow!

At that time, ten years remained until the twenty-first century!

The late modern aerospace father Braun boldly predicted: “The 21st century will be a century of scientific and commercial activities in outer space, a century of manned interstellar flight and beginning to establish permanent human footholds beyond mother Earth.”

Looking back, it was clear that technology had already reshaped human life itself.

Atomic bombs long ago tightly bound humanity's fate together; communication satellites' ascension had transformed the vast Earth into a small village; when the first mighty rocket smashed open gates to the universe, humanity discovered that this planet we depend on for survival was actually so lonely, tiny, and pitiful!

Earth, humanity's mother planet, was now covered in wounds, critically endangered. Population, resources, environment, food, energy and other issues were like five thick ropes, tightly strangling humanity's throat.

Survival and development would be future themes. War was no longer people's focus. People's attention concerned how humanity would harmoniously coexist, survive, and develop in new worlds and new living spaces during future historical processes.

So, pioneering space and benefiting humanity became world resounding slogans, became sacred, great missions history assigned to humanity. Though we have only one Earth, the five billion of the same species living on this Earth have a common future!

Because cosmic space will be humanity's another beautiful homeland. As aerospace technology continuously develops, humanity entering the cosmic mother's embrace will come closer and closer.

Space conquest and space pioneering strategies had long attracted world attention, especially high attention from the U.S. government. As early as early 1984, President Reagan first listed space pioneering among national strategic goals in his State of the Union address, planning to establish permanent manned space stations for launch into space in 1992.

In 1985, President Reagan also declared: pioneering and utilizing space was America's second revolution, a revolution pushing knowledge and space frontiers backward, enabling us to reach progress and new heights, and even more a revolution bringing beautiful hopes of world peace and human freedom beyond Earth.

Of course, the great enterprise of exploring the universe and pioneering space was definitely not one nation's or country's affair, nor one day's, one year's, or one century's problem, but required all humanity's generations of common cooperation and struggle!

Today, China and America, East and West, successfully built a space civilization bridge for the first time above 2.5 billion Asian heads.

Believing in tomorrow's world, all humanity will also join hands, walking up sunlight's stairs, marching majestically toward the universe! Everything in the universe, everything in space-time, will gradually reveal itself to humanity after Earth Calendar Year 2000.

Then, the sun will no longer be red, the moon palace no longer cold. What humanity boldly strides into will definitely be a world of great harmony far more beautiful than Earth!

(Originally published in Contemporary, Issue 1, 1991)

Spring Arrives on the Eastern Wind: A Documentary of Comrade Deng Xiaoping's Visit to Shenzhen

Chen Xitian

Spring comes early in the south. In January, Pengcheng is lush with flowers and trees, alive with the spirit of spring. As the new year begins, Shenzhen strides forward on the path of reform and opening with vigorous bearing. At this crucial moment, our nation's chief architect of reform and opening, Comrade Deng Xiaoping, beloved by people of all ethnicities, has come to Shenzhen.

During this pivotal period in socialist modernization, Comrade Xiaoping's arrival represents the greatest care and support for Shenzhen Special Zone, and the greatest encouragement and inspiration for its people.

One

At about eight o'clock on the morning of January 19, several provincial and municipal leaders waited on the platform of Shenzhen train station, pacing back and forth, conversing with one another, their hearts stirred with excitement. They came! The distant rumble of engines approached, and then a long train slowly entered the station. The clock pointed to exactly nine as the train stopped beside the platform. A car door opened, and station personnel nimbly placed a long wooden plank covered with red carpet at the doorway.

Soon, Comrade Deng Xiaoping appeared. All eyes and camera flashes focused on this great man who leads generational change. He was in excellent health—bright eyes, kind smile, dark gray jacket and black trousers—stepping spiritedly from the car. His footsteps, after eight years, once again touched the soil of Shenzhen at the forefront of reform and opening.

After disembarking, Comrade Deng Xiaoping smiled broadly as he shook hands with those who had come to welcome him: Guangdong Provincial Party Secretary Xie Fei, Shenzhen Municipal Party Secretary Li Hao, and Mayor Zheng Liangyu. Xie Fei said, “We've missed you very much.” Li Hao said, “All our city's people welcome you.” Zheng Liangyu said, “The people of Shenzhen have been hoping for your return for eight years.” These simple words expressed the longing and reverence felt throughout the province and city.

Comrade Deng Xiaoping boarded a minibus with provincial and municipal leaders and drove directly to the Municipal Guest House Guiyuan, where he would stay. Municipal Party Deputy Secretary Li Youwei and Standing Committee member Li Haidong, waiting there, stepped forward to greet him. After his long journey, municipal leaders urged him to rest. But he showed no sign of weariness. “Now that I've arrived in Shenzhen,” he said, “I can't sit still—I want to look around everywhere.”

As is well known, Comrade Deng Xiaoping was the principal architect of the Special Economic Zones. As early as April 1979, after hearing reports from the then-leaders of the Guangdong Provincial Party Committee, he said, “We can designate some areas as special zones and implement special policies there. The Shaanxi-Gansu-Ningxia Border Region was a special zone too. The central government has no money—you'll have to develop your own methods and carve out a bloody path.” Under his advocacy and decisive support, Shenzhen transformed from a small border town into today's modern city.

After settling at the guest house, accompanied by municipal leaders, he went to the garden to walk and talk. Though eighty-seven years old, his spirits were excellent. He spoke loudly and clearly, walked steadily and vigorously. As municipal leaders reported Shenzhen's development achievements over recent years, his face lit up with gratified smiles. When he heard that Shenzhen's gross domestic product reached 17.1 billion yuan in 1991, with foreign trade totaling $7.9 billion, his eyes sparkled with satisfaction. When told that Shenzhen had built the nation's first stock exchange and hosted over 3,000 foreign-invested enterprises with $2.7 billion in actual investment, he nodded approvingly. When he learned that Shenzhen had pioneered comprehensive reforms in housing, labor, personnel, and social security ahead of the entire nation, he said with deep emotion, “You've played an excellent pioneering role.”

After resting about ten minutes at Guiyuan, he strolled within the guest house with Comrade Xie Fei and others. While walking, Deng Nan mentioned his inscription for Shenzhen Special Zone on January 26, 1984. Comrade Deng Xiaoping then recited it word by word: “Shenzhen's development and experience prove that our policy of establishing Special Economic Zones is correct.” Not a single word was missing or wrong. Everyone present marveled at his remarkable memory.

In 1984, Special Zone construction encountered many difficulties, and some people held doubtful, wait-and-see attitudes. On January 24 that year, Comrade Deng Xiaoping—then member of the CCP Central Committee Political Bureau Standing Committee and Central Advisory Commission Chairman—along with Comrades Wang Zhen and Yang Shangkun, and accompanied by Central Advisory Commission member Liu Tianfu and Guangdong Governor Liang Lingguang, visited Shenzhen for inspection. His inscription affirmed the construction achievements and confirmed the correctness of establishing the zones, giving decisive support to the enterprise, strengthening people's determination and confidence, and enabling construction to continue advancing.

After the walk, accompanied by provincial and municipal leaders, he toured Shenzhen's cityscape by car. The vehicle traveled slowly through the urban area. Eight years ago, some of these areas were still paddy fields, fishponds, winding paths, and low houses. Now, broad roads crisscrossed the city, clusters of high-rises soared into the clouds, and everywhere breathed modernization. He was delighted to see this prosperous, vigorous scene. As he later said, “Eight years have passed. Coming to see this time, Shenzhen, Zhuhai, and other places have developed so fast—I hadn't expected it. After seeing this, my confidence increased.”

While touring, he chatted cordially with provincial and municipal leaders. When discussing the establishment of Special Economic Zones, he noted that from the beginning there were different opinions, with some worrying whether this meant pursuing capitalism. Shenzhen's construction achievements clearly answered those concerns. Special Zones are “socialist,” not “capitalist.” In Shenzhen's case, public ownership is the mainstay, and foreign investment accounts for only one-quarter. Even the foreign investment brings benefits through taxation, labor services, and more. We shouldn't fear establishing more “three-capital” enterprises. As long as we keep clear heads, there's nothing to fear. We have advantages—state-owned enterprises, township enterprises, and most importantly, political power is in our hands. Some people think more foreign investment means more capitalism, that more “three-capital” enterprises means more capitalist elements, means developing capitalism. These people lack basic common sense.

When the car reached the train station, Deng Lin pointed to the bold “Shenzhen” characters on the station building. “Look,” she said, “this is your inscription—people all say it's beautifully written.” Deng Nan joked, “This is your patent, also an intellectual property issue.” He laughed.

When discussing economic development, he said Asia's “Four Little Dragons” developed quickly, and so are you. Guangdong should strive to catch up with them within twenty years. After pausing, he added that not only must the economy improve, but social order and conduct must also be good. Both civilizations must surpass theirs—this is socialism with Chinese characteristics. Singapore's social order is considered good—they manage strictly. We should learn from their experience and manage even better.

The car arrived at Huanggang Port. Leaders from Huanggang Border Inspection Station, Customs, and Animal and Plant Quarantine Office warmly welcomed him. He stood at the head of the Shenzhen River Bridge, gazing affectionately across the water at Hong Kong, then inspected the port.

Huanggang Border Station Director Xiong Changgen briefed him: Huanggang Port was planned in early 1987 and opened on December 29, 1989. Covering one square kilometer with 180 channels, it has a maximum capacity of 50,000 vehicles and 50,000 people daily—Asia's largest land port. Recently, about 7,000 vehicles and 2,000 people pass through each day. He was very pleased, nodding with satisfaction.

The International Trade Center Building towers high, piercing the clouds. This is Shenzhen's pride. Builders here once created the record of “one floor every three days,” making it a symbol of “Shenzhen Speed.” Chinese and foreign visitors to Shenzhen always climb to the rooftop revolving restaurant to overlook the city.

At 9:35 on the morning of January 20, accompanied by provincial and municipal leaders, he visited the International Trade Building. Female employees stood neatly on both sides, applauding and shouting in unison, “Hello, Grandpa Deng!” He happily waved and applauded in response.

In the revolving restaurant on the 53rd floor, he overlooked Shenzhen's cityscape. Seeing high-rises standing like forests in orderly rows, a scene of prosperity, he was clearly pleased. After sitting down, he first examined a master plan of Shenzhen Special Economic Zone. Then Li Hao reported on Shenzhen's reform, opening, and economic construction.

Li Hao explained that economic construction developed rapidly, and living standards greatly improved. In 1984, per capita income was 600 yuan; now it's 2,000 yuan. Reform and opening also made great progress. Over these years, he said, spiritual and material civilization construction developed in tandem. The people of Shenzhen are unwavering and confident about building socialism with Chinese characteristics.

After hearing the report, Comrade Xiaoping had lengthy conversations with provincial and municipal leaders. He fully affirmed Shenzhen's achievements in reform, opening, and construction. Then he said we must persist in the Party's line, principles, and policies since the Third Plenum of the Eleventh Central Committee. The key is persisting in “one center, two basic points.” Without persisting in socialism, without reform and opening, without developing the economy, without improving people's lives, there's only a dead end. The basic line must guide us for a hundred years and cannot waver.

He also said we must persist in grasping with both hands—one hand grasping reform and opening, one hand striking various criminal activities. Both hands must be firm. In striking criminal activities and eliminating social ills, we cannot be soft.

His thinking was clear, his memory strong. He spoke eloquently, sometimes with humorous remarks that made everyone burst into laughter. Provincial and municipal leaders listened attentively, occasionally interjecting, creating a relaxed, lively atmosphere.

He spoke at length about China maintaining stability, about cadres and Party members treating clean government as a priority, about cultivating next-generation successors, and other important issues. In conversation, he emphasized doing more practical work and less empty talk. Too many meetings and overly long articles won't work, he said. He pointed to the high-rises outside the window. “Shenzhen developed so fast through hard work, not through speeches or written articles.”

He was vigorous and enthusiastic. In the International Trade Building's revolving restaurant, he talked for over thirty minutes, deeply educating and encouraging everyone present.

When he left the revolving restaurant and descended to the first-floor lobby, the musical fountain shot varied patterns of water columns and sprays to beautiful music—a magnificent sight. From first to third floors, crowds stood in orderly fashion—a dense sea of people. Everyone beamed with joy. What an unforgettable moment! People were thrilled to glimpse him and overjoyed at his good health and full spirits.

The crowd applauded enthusiastically, thunderous applause echoing throughout the building. This applause expressed people's love and reverence for the man who advocated reform and opening, and reflected their firm belief in and support for policies that benefited them. He was very happy, smiling broadly while frequently waving to the crowd. The scene was warm and moving—an older generation revolutionary harmoniously connecting with the people.

After leaving the International Trade Building, he went by car to Shenzhen Xianke Laser Company, a high-tech enterprise that introduced advanced production technology from Holland's Philips Company. It is currently China's only company producing laser discs, videodiscs, and optical disc players.

When cars carrying central, State Council, and Central Military Commission leaders—including Deng Xiaoping, Jiang Zemin, Li Peng, Wang Zhong, Tian Jiyun, and Liu Huaqing—arrived at Xianke Laser Company, Chairman Ye Huaming and others stepped forward to greet him warmly. Someone introduced Ye Huaming as General Ye Ting's son. He grasped his hand and asked kindly, “You're Ye's second son?”

“No, I'm the fourth,” Ye Huaming replied, holding up four fingers.

“Oh, we haven't met for almost forty years,” he said affectionately.

“Yes, I was a child then; now I'm over fifty.”

“Where does your brother Ye Zhengguang work?” He cared greatly about revolutionaries' descendants.

“On Hainan Island,” Ye Huaming said.

After General Ye Ting died in a plane crash in 1946, Ye Huaming lived in Marshal Nie Rongzhen's home from May of that year until 1953, and Ye Zhengguang from 1952 to 1960. Since Comrade Xiaoping often visited Marshal Nie, he had seen the two brothers then.

In the company's VIP hall, he heard introductions about the company. Xianke Laser Company officially began production on October 12 last year, making China the fourth country after Holland, Japan, and America capable of producing laser videodiscs and music discs. The company can annually produce 5 million laser music discs, 1.5 million videodiscs, and 50,000 players.

Deng Nan picked up a gleaming laser videodisc for him to examine. This mirror-like disc could store 108,000 frames of vivid, clear images for permanent preservation without damage. He was intrigued. “What material is this?”

“Plastic with a silver coating,” company staff answered.

He then watched with great interest demonstrations of the disc's characteristics, audio effects, functions, and search capabilities. When he saw the biographical documentary “Our Sister Deng,” he turned to Guangdong Party Secretary Xie Fei. “I'm eighty-eight this year. Comrade Deng Yingchao and I are the same age, both born in 1904. I was born in August—she's half a year older.” He was born on August 22, 1904, in Paifang Village, Xiexing Township, Guang'an County, Sichuan Province.

He continued, “Comrade Deng Yingchao is from Henan.”

His daughter Deng Nan said, “No, she's from Guangxi.”

He corrected, “Her ancestral home is Henan. Guangxi is where she was born and raised.” He knew Sister Deng very well.

Next, a Sichuan amateur singer named Zhao Min performed a karaoke version of “On Fields of Hope.” He greatly appreciated this fellow townsman's voice and the audio effects, and led the applause. While standing up, he said, “Very good. I heard it clearly—no off-key notes, good sound effects.”

From the VIP hall to the laser videodisc production workshop, passing through a thirty-meter corridor, many workers applauded warmly to welcome him. He asked, “How old are these workers?”

“Most are twenty-five to thirty,” Ye Huaming answered, “recruited from across the country, mostly technical personnel.”

He said happily, “Very good. High-tech projects should be handled by young people—hope lies with the young.”

In the production workshop, when Ye Huaming mentioned they produce some foreign film laser videodiscs annually, he asked, “How is the copyright issue resolved?”

“We purchase copyrights from foreign film companies according to international regulations,” Ye Huaming replied.

He was satisfied. “It should be this way—we must observe international intellectual property regulations.”

While walking, he asked detailed questions, inquiring thoroughly about whether raw materials were imported, whether our country could currently produce them, how product quality was guaranteed, and more. Company leaders answered each question.

When he saw several female workers polishing newly produced discs, he stopped. “Where are you from?”

“Shantou,” the women answered.

He smiled. “I could tell at a glance you're Guangdong people.” Everyone laughed.

Before leaving the workshop, he asked about production targets for the year. Ye Huaming said, “This year we plan to produce 500,000 laser videodiscs and 250 laser videodisc films—half domestic, half foreign, including educational films and some karaoke. Total output value can reach over 300 million yuan, with profits of 80 million yuan.”

“Very good,” he said. “I hope you work hard to achieve this target.”

His visit greatly encouraged company employees. Chairman Ye Huaming told reporters, “I grew up under the care of Party veteran comrades. Seeing Comrade Deng Xiaoping in such good health makes me especially happy. I'm determined in Shenzhen's second decade to work even harder and not disappoint his earnest hopes.”

Two

January 21 was an unforgettable day for the builders of Overseas Chinese Town. That day, he toured China Folk Culture Village and Splendid China miniature scenic area. Splendid China is the world's largest miniature scenic area, integrating China's famous sites and monuments. China Folk Culture Village is a gathering place of Chinese folk arts, integrating ethnic customs and residences in one expansive garden.

At 9:50 in the morning, accompanied by provincial and municipal leaders, he arrived by car at the east gate plaza of China Folk Culture Village. The village immediately came alive. The plaza thundered with cheers and music as young men and women of various ethnicities in bright ethnic costumes sang and danced to welcome him.

On the plaza's west side, he boarded an electric cart and headed west from Huizhou Street, slowly passing various ethnic villages. Everywhere they went, performers from minority ethnicities danced, sang, beat drums, and played music joyfully, filling the air with happy, peaceful energy. His group experienced diverse ethnic customs and appreciated ancient, pure folk songs and dances. The distinctive Huizhou stone archways, ethnically characteristic Guizhou drum towers and wind-rain bridges, Yunnan rattan bridges, and magnificent Tibetan lamaseries brought the group into the long cultural river of the Chinese nation.

Tourists, Hong Kong and Macao compatriots, and foreign friends stopped along the roadside to applaud and salute him. He frequently waved back.

At the Xinjiang Uygur residence, he got off the cart and sat down to watch Uygur dances with great interest. His little grandson came over, and Deng Nan hugged him. “Kiss Grandpa.” The boy affectionately kissed his cheek, delighting him.

He then toured Splendid China miniature scenic area. At “Tiananmen,” he got off the cart to admire the “Forbidden City” scenery. Then he walked to a small shop beside the scenic spot and examined souvenirs in glass cases with interest.

At the “Potala Palace,” he took commemorative photos with family members, relatives, and accompanying leaders. On the way back to the guest house, he had cordial conversations with those accompanying him.

He said that taking the socialist path means gradually achieving common prosperity. The concept was proposed this way: some regions have conditions to develop first, while others develop more slowly. First-developed regions drive later-developed regions, ultimately achieving common prosperity. If the rich get richer and the poor get poorer, polarization will occur, but socialist systems should and can avoid this. One solution is having first-enriched regions pay more taxes to support poor regions' development. Of course, doing this too early won't work. Now we won't weaken developed regions' vitality or encourage dependency. He continued, noting that underdeveloped regions mostly have abundant resources, so development potential exists. Overall, nationally speaking, we can definitely solve the gap between coastal and inland areas smoothly.

When Mayor Zheng Liangyu reported on developing the economy while improving socialist spiritual civilization, he said that as long as productive forces develop and maintain certain growth rates, spiritual civilization can also improve. We have the complete ability to develop it well.

He also discussed grasping economic construction quickly. Places with conditions should move as fast as possible, he said. As long as we emphasize efficiency, quality, and an export-oriented economy, there's nothing to worry about.

Three

On January 22, Shenzhen's sunshine was bright, and Fairy Lake Botanical Garden was full of spring. That day, he and President Yang Shangkun led three generations from both families to plant trees and tour the garden, bringing endless joy.

At 9:45 in the morning, accompanied by provincial and municipal leaders, he arrived at Fairy Lake Botanical Garden. With him were his wife Zhuo Lin, daughters Deng Lin and Deng Ge, and little grandson. Later, Comrade Deng Pufang also came.

President Yang Shangkun, who arrived first, warmly shook hands with him. They entered the exhibition hall to view a model of the botanical garden. After hearing about the garden, he said happily, “Botanical gardens have great potential.”

President Yang came to inspect Shenzhen on January 21. When the two old comrades-in-arms met at Fairy Lake Botanical Garden, they were naturally overjoyed. “We've been together for decades,” he said affectionately.

“We met in 1932,” President Yang said, counting on his fingers. “Forty-two, fifty-two, sixty-two... ninety-two—sixty years!”

Then Yang Shaoming, carrying three cameras, came over and grasped his hand. “Uncle Deng, Happy New Year!”

“He's Vice President of the National Photography Association!” Deng Nan said.

He said humorously, “The Yang family has two presidents!” Everyone burst into laughter.

Next, they entered the indoor plant viewing area together—a large greenhouse cultivating numerous rare plants in dazzling varieties. They first viewed tree ferns, reportedly from the dinosaur era 150 million years ago. He said, “There's another ancient tree species called metasequoia—now found throughout the country. There's a very large one near the Three Gorges.” He gestured with his hands.

Botanical garden director Chen Danqing said, “Yes. The metasequoia is about 75 million years old, discovered in Hubei Province near the Three Gorges.” Everyone present greatly admired his rich knowledge and memory.

The large metasequoia he mentioned was discovered by Mr. Xue Jiru in 1946, who collected specimens. In 1948, Mr. Hu Xiansu and Zheng Wanjun named it metasequoia and published their findings, shocking the international botanical community. People called this tree a living fossil. It has a 2.4-meter diameter and stands 35 meters tall, located in Moudao, Lichuan County, Hubei Province, near the Three Gorges.

Next, they carefully observed other plants with great interest. Seeing a plant called “fortune tree,” Deng Nan said humorously, “We should plant one at home later.”

He pointed at the “bachelor tree.” “Why is it called that?”

“Because it doesn't grow leaves,” the director answered.

At Xiangfei bamboo, Buddha's face bamboo, and square bamboo, he stood observing. The director explained that the “spotted bamboo” in Chairman Mao's poem line “spotted bamboo branch with a thousand teardrops” refers to this Xiangfei bamboo. Legend says that long ago, a concubine fled to Jiuyi Mountain, crying bitterly. Her teardrops fell on bamboo, creating today's Xiangfei bamboo.

He said, “Chengdu has many bamboos—red, black, purple, yellow, and square ones too.”

“Chengdu's Wangjiang Park has all kinds of bamboo,” the director said.

Someone present mentioned that some bamboos here were quietly “taken” from Chengdu. He joked, “This is also an intellectual property issue—I'm from Sichuan, so you should compensate me!” Everyone laughed. The viewing area filled with laughter.

He was captivated by these rare plants, observing carefully, listening attentively, and constantly asking questions. He pointed to a velvet bamboo shoot. “Does it grow bamboo shoots?”

“No, only for viewing,” the director answered.

“Dad really likes eating bamboo shoots,” Deng Nan added.

Staff explained that this bamboo shoot's leaves feel like velvet. Hearing this, he curiously touched them. President Yang picked up a leaf. “I'll take this as a keepsake,” he said humorously.

President Yang also observed various exotic flowers and plants with great interest. When viewing pitcher plants and bird's nest ferns, the nest-like appearance made him very happy. He asked whether the plant flowers and how it reproduces, and staff answered each question.

There was a very unique orchid called “dancing orchid.” The director pointed to it and explained: “This orchid looks like a girl. This is the head, body, skirt, and legs. It's dancing disco.”

He smiled. “Yes, very much like a girl dancing.”

Leaving the viewing area, they walked toward the large lawn. Immersed in beautiful nature with green mountains, clear waters, and lush bamboo forests everywhere, he felt refreshed and delighted. He happily took commemorative photos with his family.

Here, green dominated nature's scenery, inviting people to linger. “The environment here is truly beautiful,” he said.

“Truly heavenly on earth, a paradise,” President Yang exclaimed.

At 10:10, he and President Yang planted an evergreen alpine banyan on the open grassland. They wielded shovels to add soil. Then family members also picked up shovels, vigorously adding soil to the tree roots. With others' help, Deng Pufang also added several shovelfuls. Then he and his little grandson together carried a small red water bucket to water the tree.

After planting with his family, President Yang led his own family to plant another alpine banyan nearby. He and his family worked together cultivating and watering with agile movements.

The alpine banyan is a subtropical plant, genus Ficus of the mulberry family, and one of Guangdong Province's representative tree species. It grows fast with a large crown and stays green year-round.

Planting evergreen trees here added boundless spring to Shenzhen and will provide shade for future generations. The people of Shenzhen will remember this day—remember their outstanding contributions to establishing New China and to reform and opening, remember their care and support for Shenzhen Special Zone, and remember their long, deep friendship.

After planting trees, he and his family strolled by the lake, enjoying harmonious togetherness, warm sunshine, fresh air, and the poetic lakeside scenery. He walked spiritedly, showing his confidence in the motherland's future. Photographers captured these joyful scenes.

Four

At 3:10 in the afternoon on January 22, he and President Yang Shangkun received leaders from Shenzhen Party Committee, municipal government, People's Congress, Political Consultative Conference, and Discipline Inspection Committee at the guest house, cordially shaking hands with each one.

Next, they took group photos with leaders of Shenzhen's five leadership teams. In the front row sat Comrade Xiaoping, President Yang Shangkun, Central Military Commission Vice Chairman Liu Huaqing, Guangzhou Military Region Commander Zhu Dunfa, Guangdong Party Secretary Xie Fei, Xinhua News Agency Hong Kong Branch Director Zhou Nan, Guangdong Party Deputy Secretary Guo Rongchang, Shenzhen Party Secretary Li Hao, Mayor Zheng Liangyu, and Party Deputy Secretary Li Youwei.

After the photos, people gathered to shake hands with him, and he chatted cordially with everyone. Xinhua News Agency Hong Kong Branch Director Zhou Nan greeted him and invited him to visit Hong Kong in 1997. “Good, good,” he said repeatedly.

Guangzhou Military Region Commander Lieutenant General Zhu Dunfa saluted and greeted him. Central Military Commission Vice Chairman General Liu Huaqing made the introduction: “Comrade Zhu Dunfa was a company commander in the Huai-Hai Campaign.”

He smiled. “He was still a young lad then.” In the magnificent people's war of the Huai-Hai Campaign, the General Front Committee responsible for all front matters and unified command of the Central Plains and East China Field Armies had Deng Xiaoping as secretary.

That day, he had important conversations with provincial and municipal leaders. He said reform and opening should be bolder, daring to experiment, not timid. When we see things clearly, we should boldly try, boldly venture. Shenzhen's important experience is daring to venture. Without some venturing spirit, some risk-taking spirit, without drive and energy, we can't forge a good path, can't forge a new path, can't create new enterprises. Without taking risks, having absolute certainty in everything, being completely foolproof—who dares say such things? Starting by thinking you're absolutely correct—that's nonsense. I never thought that way.

Li Hao said, “Shenzhen Special Zone could only be built and developed under your advocacy, care, and support. We ventured and explored according to your instructions.”

“The work was mainly done by you,” he said. “I helped and supported you, contributing a bit in determining the direction.”

He also pointed out that socialism's essence is liberating productive forces, developing productive forces, eliminating exploitation, eliminating polarization, and ultimately achieving common prosperity. Securities and stock markets—are these things good or not? Are they dangerous? Are they uniquely capitalist? Can socialism use them? Allow observation, but test them decisively. If they prove right after one or two years, liberalize them. If wrong, correct them, shut them down. Shutting down can be fast or slow, can leave some loose ends. What's to fear? Maintaining this attitude is fine and won't cause big mistakes.

In conversation, he also discussed how experience in building Chinese-style socialism grows richer daily; how in rural and urban reforms we don't engage in debates but boldly try and venture; how our policy is to allow observation—allowing observation is much better than coercion; and other topics.

Five

Time passed quickly—his days in Shenzhen flashed by. On January 23, accompanied by Guangdong Party Secretary Xie Fei, he left for Zhuhai Special Zone.

At 8:30 in the morning, Shenzhen municipal leaders plus security and service personnel warmly saw him off at the guest house. Everyone was reluctant to part, hoping he could stay a few more days. He shook hands farewell with municipal leaders one by one.

Riding in the same car to Shekou for the farewell were Li Hao, Zheng Liangyu, Li Youwei, and others. The car drove toward Shekou along broad Sungang Road. In the car, he chatted cordially with provincial and municipal leaders. Li Hao briefly reported several reform and opening measures: adjusting industrial structure; opening the first line while managing the second line well, building Shenzhen into a second customs zone; strengthening the legal system and governing the city by law; converting Bao'an County into three suburban districts of Shenzhen; and more.

After listening, he said he agreed with everything—be bold in doing it. Leadership should summarize experience annually—persist in what's right, quickly change what's wrong, and promptly solve new problems. Constantly summarizing experience will help avoid big mistakes.

“What you said is very important,” Li Hao said. “We must strive to make fewer mistakes, no big mistakes.”

“As I just said,” he replied, “first, don't fear making mistakes; second, quickly correct problems when discovered.”

While talking, the car reached Shekou. Li Hao said Nanshan District manages this area. Nanshan's development momentum is very good. Nanshan lychees are famous. The world's best lychees are in China, China's best are in Guangdong, and Guangdong's best are in places like Dongguan, Zengcheng, and Shenzhen.

Then Deng Nan interjected, “So where are the world's best oranges?” The car burst into laughter. At home, he often boasted to the children that Sichuan oranges were best. The children all disagreed, preferring Shatian oranges. After the laughter, he said, “Sichuan oranges are best, but we can't reach consensus.”

“More people say Shatian oranges are good; fewer say Sichuan oranges are good,” Deng Nan said.

The car stopped briefly in Shekou. Deng Ge pointed to the distant “Sea World.” “This is 'Sea World'—you inscribed the name.” The car then went to Chiwan Port, driving slowly as he observed the docks.

Li Hao introduced the ports: “Chiwan Port is inside Shekou and can dock 35,000-ton ships. We're preparing to build docks for 50,000-ton ships. Mawan Port is outside Shekou and can dock 50,000-ton ships. Shenzhen has ports in both east and west. Last year's throughput reached 14 million tons, and we're aiming for over 100 million in the future.”

The car reached Shekou Port dock. Before getting out, Li Hao said, “Your visit makes Shenzhen people very happy. We hope you'll come again soon—come spend Spring Festival here next winter.”

After getting out, he shook hands with Zhuhai Party Secretary and Mayor Liang Guangda, who came to greet him. Then he shook farewell hands with Li Hao, Zheng Liangyu, and Li Youwei one by one. He walked a few steps toward the dock, then suddenly turned back. “You must move faster!” he said to Li Hao.

Seizing opportunities and speeding up economic construction—this was his expectation for Shenzhen and a matter constantly on his mind.

“Your words are very important,” Li Hao said. “We'll definitely move faster.”

At 9:40 in the morning, the ship carrying him left Shekou Port.

January 19–23, 1992—his days in Shenzhen were extraordinarily significant, days that will forever be recorded in Shenzhen's annals and forever remembered in its people's hearts.

“Spring arrives on the eastern wind.” His arrival in Shenzhen further stirred the spring tides of reform and opening. The many important speeches he made here have major, far-reaching significance for Shenzhen's reform, opening, and construction, and for the entire socialist modernization enterprise.

Beloved Comrade Xiaoping, we sincerely wish you health and longevity! The people of Shenzhen will forge ahead courageously along the path of socialism with Chinese characteristics that you advocated!

(Originally published in Shenzhen Special Zone Daily, March 26, 1992)

When Good Dreams Come True: A Glimpse of Military Modernization in the Early 1990s

Jiang Yonghong

A modern army, a modern national defense—this Chinese dream first stirred in the minds of late Qing visionaries like Wei Yuan. “Learn the barbarians' superior techniques to control the barbarians”—this brilliant idea streaked across the sky like a meteor, casting a ray of hope through millennia of darkness. Yet time and again, seeds of hope were sown only to yield harvests of tears.

Li Hongzhang launched the Westernization Movement and built what was then considered a modern Beiyang Fleet. Tragically, in the Sino-Japanese War, ships sank and forces perished. Yuan Shikai's military training at Xiaozhan pioneered China's modern army, yet it spawned Beiyang warlords who usurped the nation, fawned on foreigners, and waged endless civil wars—a legacy too painful to recall. Sun Yat-sen, the revolutionary pioneer, launched the Xinhai Revolution, expelled the imperial house, championed republicanism, established Whampoa Military Academy, and trained new armies. Yet when he died, military power fell to traitors, and guns turned on the people. Taken together, Modern Chinese history is written in the tears of hundreds of millions.

In 1949, Mao Zedong ascended Tiananmen's rostrum, bringing the nation fresh opportunities and new hopes. Millet and rifles could win the country, but standing among world nations demanded modernization. In the early 1950s, Mao inscribed dedications to each of the three services, never abandoning his vision of building a strong army, a strong navy, a strong air force. The launch of the “Two Bombs and One Satellite,” along with nuclear submarines plunging into the depths, all embodied his efforts. Yet the modernization he championed was dragged backward by the Cultural Revolution he launched. When class struggle reigned supreme, good dreams could not come true.

The man who restarted the modernization engine was our “Chief Architect,” Deng Xiaoping. Sixteen years earlier, on May 13, 1978, while meeting with General Staff leadership, he posed a question: “In wartime, would we still rely solely on telephones?” The question was shocking then and remains a warning today.

At that time, most military commanders remained trapped in “leftist” thinking, knowing almost nothing about modern command systems. General Yang Chengwu, then Deputy Chief of General Staff, had just returned from France. The French military's computer-centered automated command system had opened his eyes—its speed and accuracy of information transmission, its timely and comprehensive situational awareness, surpassed anything he had imagined. Commanders could watch unit movements and individual combat actions unfold on screens.

In that very conversation, the “Chief Architect” ranged from French command automation to America's long process of computerization, precisely locating our military's position on the global modernization map. His conclusion was definitive: “Our guiding ideology must be clear; we must solve modernization problems.”

His words sketched the initial blueprint for three-service modernization, including massive troop reductions. From then on, our military set forth on the path of modernization-centered transformation.

By the early 1990s, after massive troop reductions and sweeping reforms, officers and soldiers across all three services found themselves dancing with modernization—this once-unfamiliar partner. Would they perform graceful waltzes? Steady blues? Passionate tangos? How did they find their rhythm? How did they progress from stumbling to seamless unity?

Army Chapter: Heroic Soldiers Who Left Laughing and Returned Crying

This was a heroic army unit. Its lineage was impeccable: “standing guard on Jinggangshan, blazing trails on the Long March, pissing on devils’ heads, plucking hair from American and Nationalist heads”—glorious achievements etched into history. In Korea especially, it routed American forces so thoroughly they fled in panic. It was a true iron fist.

The unit's equipment was already enviably excellent, a source of pride. In the late 1980s and early 1990s, superiors ordered one of its tank regiments to prepare for new equipment. The mission was described as glorious and arduous: twelve personnel with high education and strong military skills would travel directly to manufacturers for pickup.

Artillery Company Four Commander Zhao Guogen led eleven elite soldiers aboard the train. Their spirits soared like drought-stricken crops meeting rain, like confirmed bachelors finally finding brides—hearts sweet as honey, spines straight with pride. They seemed to stand several centimeters taller. Being first to use new equipment was the unit's glory; being first to collect it was glory upon glory. All twelve faces beamed.

But the moment they stepped off the train, they hit a wall. Factory personnel asked skeptically: “Just you coming to collect new equipment?”

“Why not?” The young men bristled.

“Don't rush. What are your education levels?”

“All high school graduates, training elites!” The answer came confident and loud, but the receiving engineer shook his head. “You can't handle this equipment.”

The reason was simple: education levels too low. “A university graduate studies four years, then needs additional training to understand the principles and structure. This equipment represents the collective effort of thousands of engineers over many years. Letting you handle it—we're not confident.”

Zhao Guogen and his soldiers nearly cursed aloud. This was insulting! Since the 1927 Pingjiang Uprising, when had their unit ever flinched at fierce battles? When had they retreated from hardship? They couldn't accept this.

“If we don't understand, we'll learn from scratch. Starting today, please organize training classes—we must complete this mission!”

Admirable determination. The factory agreed to try, sending engineers to teach. After three days, the instructors discovered that despite their simplified explanations, nothing was getting through.

“Do you understand?” Blank stares.

“Who can answer?” They glanced at each other helplessly.

The engineers grew anxious. “Tell us honestly—how many are genuine high school graduates?”

The truth would expose everything. They weren't real high school students. To compete for this glorious duty, they had used counterfeit diplomas. Without genuine foundations in mathematics, physics, and chemistry, classes couldn't continue. Even the most skilled teachers couldn't explain computer-controlled fire control systems, radar, and communications technology to someone who might not qualify as a competent middle school student.

But since they'd come this far, they might as well look. If not for the cannon that could be raised and adjusted at will, the equipment hardly seemed like a weapon—more like vehicle-mounted electronic instruments. Panels covered every surface, dense with switches, digital displays, and screens. What was this? What did that do? No one could say. When they reached out to touch something, engineers stopped them immediately: “Only look, don't touch!”

For a soldier, perhaps nothing cuts deeper. This was defeat—not on the battlefield, but before new equipment.

Lu Zhixin, the technical ace from Artillery Company Two, wished the ground would swallow him. How would he explain this? Before departure, the company commander and instructor had patted his shoulders: “You represent our company. Train hard, seek instruction humbly. When you return, you'll be our first person to master new equipment—everyone's counting on you to teach!” Now, forget teaching—they hadn't even been allowed to touch anything.

“Don't blame heaven, don't blame earth—blame ourselves for too little education!” Artillery Company Four's Zhao Guoliang and Liu Mingsheng tried to console their comrades while consoling themselves: “Accept it, buddies! We middle school types can only be cooks or assistants. Who told us to study so little?” (Later, when new equipment arrived at Artillery Company Four, Zhao Guoliang was indeed transferred to the cooking squad, while Liu Mingsheng worked in ammunition supply.)

Commander Zhao Guogen heard the chatter and erupted: “When have soldiers of our army ever been so pathetic? Revolutionary soldiers must withstand setbacks!” But somehow, as he spoke, tears welled in his eyes.

Tears seemed contagious—all twelve men's eyes glistened. Through his tears, Zhao Guogen drafted his first telegram since enlisting, admitting failure, plus a long report. In it he wrote these thought-provoking words:

“Previous equipment changes moved from simple machinery to complex machinery, from low performance to high performance, rising through incremental improvements, 'changing dynasties' without 'changing generations.' Now we must leap into the information age, truly changing generations and entering the high-tech era. We must admit that when this era arrives, our ideological, knowledge, and talent prep