The Shuikuan Commune where we were "sent down" (to settle in the countryside) was located on the western side of Xuefeng Mountain, at the edge of the Yunnan-Guizhou Plateau. It wasn’t wealthy, but it wasn’t a desolate wasteland either. By 1975, the Cultural Revolution had been going on for nine years. The era of "storm-like" movements had passed, and while the peasants still lacked food and clothing, life had become relatively peaceful.
The small commune town sat on a slope beside a stream. On the walls along the street—actually just a gravel highway—slogans painted in white lime were everywhere: "In Agriculture, Learn from Dazhai," "Take Grain as the Key Link for All-around Development," "The Line is the Key Link; Once it is Grasped, Everything Falls into Place," and "More Pigs, More Fertilizer, More Grain." These slogans were also painted on high terrace walls, visible from a great distance.
Most of the area consisted of hills, with some small mountains and flat plains. Near the border of the neighboring county, there were high mountains that produced timber and coal. Qingwan, within Shuikuan Commune, had a coal mine with high-quality coal and shallow seams. The road beside the mine led directly to the county seat.
The highway cut through the commune town. On either side of the road sat a small restaurant, a two-story red-brick department store, a small hardware store, and a company for agricultural means of production. The Commune Headquarters was on the north side of the road; to its west and rear was the Commune Health Clinic, a two-story wooden building. To the right of the headquarters entrance, up a slope, was the Supply and Marketing Cooperative—the only new building made of brick and stone, which primarily handled banking business.
After climbing a few steps, you would find a very bright room. Behind a counter that stood waist-high, there was always a young woman, about twenty-five or twenty-six years old and roughly 1.6 meters tall. She had large, bright, watery eyes that held an unconstrained gaze. With a full, upright figure and slightly dark, reddish skin that radiated health, she brimmed with youthful vitality. However, people noticed she wasn't particularly approachable; there was a slight, constant furrow in her brow.
She was Juan, a rare sight in a commune workplace. She was like the azaleas that bloomed wildly across the mountains in spring—vivid red, full of energy, and possessing a wild, expressive beauty that stood out remarkably in the dead atmosphere of the government office.
Juan was born in the nearby countryside, but it was said her father was a regimental-level officer in the military. As a child, she had traveled to many places with him and had read many books; she possessed a more "scholarly" aura than the local village girls.
As a teller at this savings office, she was a state worker who "ate state grain" (received state-allocated rations and a salary). It was an enviable job—easy, respectable, and stable. People assumed she got the position because of her father’s military rank.
As the saying goes, "When a man grows up, he marries; when a woman grows up, she weds." Although late marriage was encouraged then, a woman of twenty-five was certainly eligible. Yet, Juan didn't even have a boyfriend. In a small town like Shuikuan, her "credentials" were beyond reproach: looks, temperament, an enviable job, and a good father. Naturally, she wanted a partner who was also a state worker—someone educated, cultured, and reasonably handsome. But in this remote town of only two or three hundred people, there were only a few dozen state workers—mostly commune officials and middle school teachers. The number of unmarried young men of the right age was minuscule. Some came to propose through matchmakers; others introduced themselves. But they were either too short, uneducated, or possessed incompatible personalities. None moved her heart. Over time, people began to say her standards were too high and that she was too proud.
On the surface, Juan was calm, but inside she was anxious. It wasn't that she feared the gossip—there was no stopping that anyway. She believed she couldn't just "settle" for someone for her life’s most important decision; she had to truly like him. But as she grew older and no satisfactory person appeared, she felt stifled. This gloom showed on her face, making her appear arrogant and cold to others.
Then, one early summer—just as the commune’s film projection team was touring the brigades to show the movie Chunmiao, and the song "Green bamboo covered in the morning glow, young sprouts emerge to meet the sun" was echoing everywhere—a university graduate from the provincial medical college was assigned to the Shuikuan Commune Health Clinic.
The young man was Dr. Wen. He was about 1.78 meters tall, in his late twenties, tall and thin, with a fair complexion. He wore white-rimmed glasses and had a strong scholarly air. If he took off his glasses, gained a bit more confidence, and got a tan, he would have been a carbon copy of Da Shichang—the lead actor in the then-popular movie The Unforgettable Battle.
Dr. Wen had a gentle personality and spoke elegantly. He had read many books and traveled widely. Shuikuan had never seen such a handsome and refined young man. Combined with his broad knowledge, humility, and decent manner of speaking, he quickly won everyone’s affection—and caught Juan’s attention.
After Dr. Wen arrived, Juan, who rarely visited the health clinic, suddenly developed a fondness for going there. Whether she was actually sick or not, she would always find different excuses to chat with him for hours whenever he was in. Both were people who had seen the world and loved books; in this remote mountain village, it was rare to find a kindred spirit with so many shared interests. Naturally, they had endless things to talk about.
From then on, a smile always hung on Juan’s face, her cheeks flushed like a blooming azalea. She began to greet people proactively and became very friendly.
People often saw Juan's silhouette at the health clinic. If there were patients, she would sit quietly, watching intently as Dr. Wen treated them. If there were no patients, she would talk to him incessantly. Dr. Wen would lean forward from time to time, listening closely. Their heartfelt laughter could be heard even outside the clinic. It was a silent announcement to everyone: "We are in love."
In those days, romance between men and women was criticized as "bourgeois decadent thought." The heroes in "Model Operas" never fell in love. Their uninhibited romance was a bold challenge to the mainstream moral norms of the time.
But they seemed unaware of—or simply didn't care about—the opinions and gossip of others.
In this remote mountain village, far from the center of power, people were generally kind. Most felt that being so high-profile wasn't great, but they also thought the two were a perfect match and that falling in love was normal. Many who cared for her were happy she had finally found someone she liked. However, some felt uncomfortable—those who had pursued her and lost out felt a bit bitter. Others simply couldn't stand how "flashy" they were being.
The rice seedlings in the fields around the commune grew day by day—budding, filling, and ripening. After the late rice harvest, the "slack season" of the agricultural year began. Aside from building reservoirs, this was the time officials held meetings. There were many: from the commune level down to the production teams. They covered everything from studying central government documents to discussing year-end distribution, work-point evaluations, and cadre elections. In December, all brigade cadres received notice to go to the commune for a week of "Party Rectification."
I was "sent down" to the tea farm of Shuikuan Commune at the time, but I was designated as a representative of the "Educated Youth" (Zhiqing) to attend the rectification meetings. I was one of the few non-Party representatives and the youngest. Since it meant no manual labor, no need to speak, and better food than at the tea farm, I went. Every morning, I woke up early and walked 30 minutes to the commune for the meeting. I ate lunch there; if the meeting ended early, I went back to the farm for dinner; if it ran late or into the evening, I ate dinner at the commune.
In addition to the peasant Party members from the villages, all commune staff were required to attend, including medical staff from the clinic and employees from the Supply and Marketing Cooperative.
Party Rectification happened every year. Usually, it was hosted by the Commune Secretary. We would listen to reports and read documents. There might be some "criticism of the matter, not the person," and generally, nothing happened. We would summarize work, express our determination, kill a few days, have a few group meals, and it would be over. Many saw it as a break—a time to chat and have a "feast" without having to work or worry.
But everyone soon realized this rectification was different. Vice-Secretary Y of the County Party Committee had personally brought several county officials to oversee it.
"He who comes is not friendly; he who is friendly does not come." It was the first time county officials had come to Shuikuan for rectification. Something big was happening; otherwise, why would a County Vice-Secretary stay for a whole week? It seemed this wouldn't be a "walk-through" where we just studied documents.
On the first afternoon of registration, everyone looked solemn; no one dared to speak much.
The small meeting room directly facing the main gate of the commune courtyard was kept tightly shut. County Vice-Secretary Y and the commune secretaries were inside. Occasionally, someone would come out to use the restroom, walking in a great hurry. The hundred or so brigade cadres were arranged in the auditorium on the right to study documents and discuss in small groups.
The attendees were grassroots cadres, and at first, they weren't entirely sure why the county had sent people. As they cautiously exchanged news, the reason for the rectification became clear.
The county had come because the Shuikuan Commune leadership had disagreed for years with the county leadership regarding coal mining in Qingwan. This had angered the county, so they came to "rectify" the Commune Party Committee.
As it turned out, Shuikuan produced coal, and people had been mining in Qingwan for a long time. Later, the commune set up its own mine to make money for the local area. But eventually, the county seized the mining rights, arguing that mineral resources belonged to the state. The commune mine became a county mine, though a small portion of the profits was given back to Shuikuan. Although the commune wasn't happy, they didn't do much about it.
At that time, a "Chen Yonggui-style" cadre named Z emerged in the neighboring Q Commune. His deeds were frequently reported, and his fame spread. He was promoted to Secretary of Q Commune and later to Vice-Secretary of the County Party Committee. Shortly after Z took office, Q Commune proposed coming to Qingwan to dig for "humus"—organic matter from rotted trees used for fertilizer, which is also a precursor to coal. It is usually found near coal mines.
The Shuikuan leaders disagreed: "How can you come onto our turf to dig things up?" But the county said, "This stuff isn't worth much, and you can’t dig it all yourself anyway. What does it matter if others take some?" Under heavy pressure, Shuikuan had no choice. Q Commune sent people to Qingwan to set up a site.
Unexpectedly, after a year of digging, Q Commune found coal beneath the humus. They were thrilled and prepared to pivot from digging fertilizer to digging coal. Shuikuan wouldn't have it: "How can you just dig coal as you please? If there’s coal on our land, we should be the ones digging it!"
The dispute went to the county. The county backed Q Commune. Their reasoning: "Underground coal resources belong to the state. Since they belong to the state, Q Commune has the right to mine in Shuikuan."
Shuikuan couldn't mine on its own land, yet Q Commune could. This was hard for the locals to swallow. Many believed it was only because Z was the County Vice-Secretary and Shuikuan had no "connections" in the county, so the county was bullying them into accepting Q Commune’s encroachment.
"The arm cannot twist the thigh" (The weak cannot win against the strong). Under high pressure from the county, Q Commune’s people marched into Qingwan to build a mine. From officials to the common people, everyone in Shuikuan was furious but powerless.
The resentment simmered from top to bottom. Vice-Secretary Li of the commune was the angriest and most outspoken. In his early 50s, he had joined the underground Party in the 1940s and was one of the most senior cadres in the county. Most county officials were younger and less experienced than him. But because he was blunt and outspoken, he was always offending his superiors and had never been promoted. He criticized the county committee for its "patriarchal" style of one-man rule, trampling on internal Party democracy, and ignoring the opinions of the masses. He even mocked the county leaders for their "airs," saying they wouldn't go to the countryside without a Jeep. He noted that in the 1950s, county leaders walked or, at most, rode bicycles to the villages.
While Vice-Secretary Li stood up to his superiors, he cared deeply for the common people. He often rode a bicycle or walked (where there were no roads) to the brigades to understand the situation and help solve problems. Grassroots cadres and the public loved him.
Besides Shuikuan's resentment, the county’s own mine in Qingwan was also unhappy. Suddenly, a second mine had popped up right next to them. Two mines operating at the same location—how was that supposed to work?
So, the two mines locked horns. Normally, mining requires unified planning. If it were one mine, it would be easy to manage. But with two, and the original mine feeling Q Commune’s presence was illegitimate, coordination was impossible.
Both sides raced to reach the coal seams first, ignoring the other. As a result, they dug closer and closer to each other, reaching dangerous proximity. Mining often requires blasting; because they were so close, one side had to notify the other to evacuate before a blast. As the conflict escalated, they would frequently notify the other: "I'm about to blast, get out," only to wait a long time before actually blasting, or not blast at all. This ensured the other side couldn't get any work done.
In addition to the friction with the county mine, the Q Commune mine received no support from the local villagers. They soon found themselves restricted at every turn. Buying supplies or finding someone to repair equipment locally became extremely difficult. Q Commune complained to the county, and the county ordered Shuikuan to support the mine. Shuikuan leaders replied: "That is just the sentiment of the local people; we didn't tell them to do that. It’s hard for us to control their actions, but of course, we will try our best to educate them."
However, over the next few years, the situation never improved. Q Commune workers often complained that tools vanished or equipment mysteriously broke down. Eventually, they couldn't continue. Q Commune complained to the county again. Seeing the situation worsening, the county—already annoyed by Shuikuan—finally decided to "rectify" the Shuikuan leadership. They specifically sent the senior Vice-Secretary Y to lead the team.
Secretary Y was not much younger than Vice-Secretary Li. Although his seniority didn't match Li's, he had started working around 1949.
Party Rectification was supposed to be an internal Party matter, but this time, all cadres and staff—regardless of Party membership—were required to attend. Thus, employees from the Supply and Marketing Cooperative and the Health Clinic had to attend unless they were on duty. Even the "Educated Youth" had to send representatives. Clearly, the county committee wanted to maximize the impact of this rectification.
Every time Vice-Secretary Y and the other county officials sat on the stage, the first row of the audience was occupied by Shuikuan’s Secretary Gong, Vice-Secretary Li, and the head of the Armed Forces Department. Though they weren't wearing placards or "dunce caps," everyone knew they were the targets of the rectification.
While reports were being given on stage, people in the audience would whisper. This was usually common, but the county leaders on stage felt the local cadres were being passive because they felt the commune leaders were being wronged. Partly aimed at the leaders, and partly out of frustration with those drifting off, Vice-Secretary Y would suddenly slam his hand on the table with a thunderous BAM!
"Secretary Gong! Why do you pay lip service to the county's instructions while secretly defying them? Is this still under the leadership of the Communist Party? Do you still have the principle of subordinates obeying superiors?!" After a pause, he added, "Your indulgence of the people below in sabotaging the Q Commune mine—if we don't handle this, it is our dereliction of duty, a crime!" THUMP! His fist hit the table again.
The commune leaders didn't dare breathe, hanging their heads low. Those whispering or daydreaming quickly shut their mouths in fear.
The audience sat by unit. Thus, Juan and Dr. Wen were separated by seven or eight rows. Sitting in the front, Dr. Wen couldn't contain his passionate love and frequently turned his head to look back at Juan. Juan boldly met his burning gaze. They looked at each other with deep affection, feeling utterly sweet.
They were immersed in their own world of love, completely oblivious to the shifting political winds around them.
This oblivious behavior and the intense eye contact were easily noticed by those around them—and didn't escape the eyes of busybodies. Whether accidentally or intentionally, the news soon reached the ears of Vice-Secretary Y. Of course, the version he heard was much uglier: "During the rectification meeting, they don't listen to the leaders' speeches; the man and woman are making eyes at each other, and they are even openly turning their backs to the county leaders."
Over the next few days, the meetings continued. The commune leaders spent all day with their heads down, listening to Vice-Secretary Y’s criticism. Those who weren't paying close attention to Juan and Dr. Wen didn't notice anything unusual. But those who had been watching them noticed they were no longer attending the meetings, and they weren't at work at the clinic or the cooperative either.
The rectification continued, and the atmosphere grew even more severe.
In the days that followed, Secretary Y’s fury was focused almost entirely on Vice-Secretary Li. He accused him of disregarding Party discipline, leading the opposition against the county, and being so arrogant about his seniority that he thought he was a "tiger whose backside no one dared touch." Y said, "I came here specifically to touch that tiger's backside."
Vice-Secretary Li and the others were in the first row, their backs to the crowd, heads bowed. No one knew what he was feeling. The people below sympathized with the commune leaders, knowing they had offended the county to protect Shuikuan’s interests.
As the week drew to a close, whispers circulated: the county was determined, and it seemed unlikely the commune leaders—especially Vice-Secretary Li—would keep their positions. At the same time, rumors spread that Juan and Dr. Wen had been suspended for "disrespecting the leadership."
The final morning was the summary meeting, followed by a group lunch, after which everyone could go home. Early that morning, at the entrance of the commune courtyard, a dozen people were gathered around someone speaking excitedly. It was a commune cadre in his thirties, of medium build.
Squatting on the ground, he said: "We made them confess separately. They had to write self-criticisms in great detail, and their stories had to match, or they wouldn't pass."
Someone asked, "How detailed?"
He replied, "For example, asking who was the initiator? What was said? When was the first kiss?"
"Oh!" An exclamation rose from the crowd.
He continued, "The woman took everything upon herself. She said she was the initiator and it had nothing to do with the man." He showed a hint of admiration as he spoke.
He paused, then said, "We also asked about the entire development of the relationship and made them write it down. For example, when was the first kiss, who started it, when was the first time they 'did it,' and how many times in one night?"
"Really? You asked that too?" someone asked in shock.
"Of course. That guy is really something—six times! Six times in one night!" The speaker’s face was filled with immense surprise. The onlookers were dumbstruck. I and the other unmarried young men were at a loss, our faces turning beet red with shame.
Seeing many young people present, he explained: "Usually, twice for a man is very impressive." He paused and sighed to himself, "Six times!"
Everyone asked what their punishment would be. He said their mistake came at the wrong time. Normally, it would just be a "lifestyle issue" or a "matter of male-female relations"—a warning or a minor demerit. After all, they were both unmarried and in a relationship. But now, they had an additional charge: "contempt of leadership during the Party Rectification." This was very heavy, and no one dared to plead for them. Since the woman took all the blame, she would likely be fired and sent back to her rural hometown. The man might get off easier but would likely receive a major demerit.
Everyone felt sorry for them. Their futures were ruined at such a young age. Someone couldn't help but sigh, "What a shame!"
At the summary meeting, Vice-Secretary Y announced the county's decision: Secretary Gong was given a major demerit; Vice-Secretary Li was expelled from the Party, dismissed from public office, and sent back to his ancestral home. Other cadres were given demerits or warnings. The entire leadership of Shuikuan Commune had fallen.
Shortly after, another document arrived. Juan was dismissed from her job, expelled from the Youth League, and sent back to her village. It seemed her regimental-officer father hadn't been able to help at all. Dr. Wen was dismissed from his job but kept on "probationary status" for one year. He was transferred away from Shuikuan to a health post at a remote reservoir construction site.
The vigorous Party Rectification ended, and the equally vigorous romance between Juan and Dr. Wen came to a sudden halt.
The hills remained lush, and the stream continued to flow slowly. By the time the Q Commune mine was flourishing, Vice-Secretary Li was gone, and Juan and Dr. Wen had vanished. Shuikuan was no longer the Shuikuan it once was.
People whispered behind their backs. Dr. Wen had talent and looks; in a year, his official status would be restored. By then, there would be plenty of matchmakers, and he’d have no trouble finding a beauty. But Juan, now a peasant woman, would likely be ignored, destined to marry a farmer and spend her life in the fields.
A year later, Dr. Wen indeed had his status restored and worked at another commune’s health clinic. Juan remained a peasant in her hometown. Life went on; everyone was busy with their own work and lives. Gradually, the memory of them faded.
Three years later, on a Sunday, it happened to be market day at Q Commune. This was the most important market within twenty miles, a place people from Shuikuan often visited—usually held once every ten days. I happened to be passing through Q Commune on business and went to the market, though I didn't buy anything.
It was summer, and in the morning, people swarmed the market from all directions. Some carried vegetables they had grown, chickens, ducks, puppies, or local specialties to sell; others carried empty baskets to buy goods. Some brought eggs to trade for a bit of money for salt, soy sauce, vinegar, needles, or even grain and cloth coupons.
Shuikuan was only a dozen or so miles away. Every market day, many Shuikuan peasants and workers came. In the bustling crowd, one could always spot a few familiar faces.
After 4:00 PM, the crowd began to disperse. I started heading back to the tea farm. Suddenly, about a hundred meters ahead, a familiar figure caught my eye. It was a young woman who looked like a peasant, dressed simply and carrying bags. Her posture and manner looked exactly like Juan, though she looked much older and more "earthy." Because she was far away, I couldn't see clearly.
Then I saw a tall, thin man not far behind her. He looked refined, wore glasses, and was carrying a shoulder pole with two baskets. In one basket, several chickens poked their heads out; in the other were vegetables. His build and gait were identical to Dr. Wen's. She stopped from time to time to talk to him. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear—that was absolutely Juan. The way he lowered his head to listen—it left no doubt it was Dr. Wen. And those glasses—in this remote countryside, who else but Dr. Wen would be wearing them?
The fact that they came to this commune market showed they were not afraid to return to the place where their reputations had been ruined. They were immersed in their own world, seemingly uncaring if anyone noticed them. They talked incessantly, as if they would never run out of things to say.
June 22, 2008
Revised January 22, 2018
Postscript:
Shortly after the rectification, Secretary Li fell ill and passed away a few years later. Secretary Gong was not even 40 at the time, but he later developed cancer and died before reaching 50.
Because it was a small-scale operation, the Qingwan mine was completely closed in late of 1990s.
Juan and Dr. Wen eventually married and have lived together ever since.
