Lu lived in a rear-courtyard compound of the commune complex, and he went in through the side gate opposite the river embankment. The yard was clean, paved with cobblestones, and there was a small well. At the time when that powerful landlord was executed, the man's mistress was living in this small, secluded, peaceful compound. Lu was lounging on a bamboo couch cushioned with a piece of deerskin. A pot of meat with a delicious pungent aroma was stewing on the brazier that stood on the brick floor.
"It's dog meat with chili. Old Zhang at the police station brought it, he said he had trapped a wild dog. Who can tell if it's a wild dog or a domestic dog, anyway, that's what he told me." Lu didn't get up. "Get a bowl and a pair of chopsticks, and pour some liquor. My back is no good, it's an old gunshot wound and it gives me trouble whenever it rains. At the time, we were fighting a war, and no doctors were around, so just to stay alive counted as being lucky."
He poured himself some liquor, then sat on the little stool by the brazier to eat and drink. Lu talked a lot as he lay on the bamboo couch.
"I've killed people, shot them dead myself, it was war, but I won't go into all that. More people died at my hands than can be counted, and not all of them deserved to die. Instead, those who deserved to die didn't."
Lu suddenly reverted to his normal silence and indifference. He didn't know what Lu was getting at, and this intrigued him.
"That old bastard, Lin Biao, plunged to his death, it's been reported, hasn't it?"
He nodded. The deputy chairman of the Party was trying to flee the country, and his plane had crashed in Mongolia. Well, that was how it was reported in official documents. The villagers were not particularly surprised, and they all said that by looking at Lin Biao's monkey face, one could tell he would come to a nasty end. What if he had been handsome? In that case, the villagers would have thought he should be emperor.
"There are some people who didn't plunge to death." Lu came out with this statement, then put down his drink. He could tell, Lu was angry and frustrated, but this statement was non-committal. Lu was experienced, and had been through political upheavals; it was not likely that he would tell him what was really on his mind. As for him, it would be unwise to jeopardize their relationship, because as long as Secretary Lu kept out of trouble, he, too, would be able to survive under his protective umbrella. Come on, drink some liquor to go with the dog meat. And stop worrying about whether it's wild or domestic.
Lu got up and gave him a sheet of paper with a classical poem written on it. It followed the lüshi pattern for five-character lines, and expressed Lu's joy over a certain person, Lin, plunging to his death. "Could you check if I've chosen words with the correct tones?"
This was probably why he had been asked to come. He thought about it for a while, suggested changing one or two words, then said he could find no other problems. He said he had a book on the patterns for liishi poems and that he would have it sent over, so that Lu could use it as a reference.
"I grew up herding calves," Lu said. "My family was poor and couldn't afford to send me to school. I used to climb the tree by the village teacher's window to listen to the young students reading their lessons aloud, and that was how I learned to recite Tang poetry. The old teacher saw that I was eager to learn, so he didn't charge me tuition fees. From time to time, I would bring him a load of firewood, and whenever I had free time, I attended classes and learned to read. When I was fifteen, I shouldered a musket and went off to join the guerrillas."
This whole stretch of mountains used to be the territory of Lu's guerrilla band in those times, and, although now it was where he had been sent, without his being appointed, he was regarded as the secretary of all the newly reinstated Party secretaries by the communes all around. Lu lived here as a recluse. Lu told him he had enemies – of course, not the local armies belonging to landlords, rich peasants, and local tyrants; they were all suppressed a long time ago. They were "some people up there." He did not know where "up there" was, or who the "some people" he referred to were, but, clearly, the cadres in the county town wouldn't be able to get rid of Lu. Lu could defend himself any time, the grass matting under his pillow concealed a bayonet, and, in a wooden box under the bed, was a light machine gun, which was in good condition and polished to a shine. There was also an unopened crate of ammunition. All this was commune militia equipment, yet he was storing it in his room with impunity.
Was Lu waiting for an opportunity to win back political power? Whether he had taken these precautions in case troubles should erupt, it was hard to tell.
"In times of peace, the people who live on these mountains cultivate the land, but in times of chaos, they are bandits. Beheadings used to be common, and I grew up watching them. Back in those times, the bandits were bound, but they held their heads high as they stood waiting for the ax, and they wouldn't so much as flinch. It's done differently nowadays. Those to be shot have to kneel, and their necks are tied. The guerrillas were bandits!" Another startling statement came from Lu's lips: "But we had the political objective of overthrowing the powerful tyrants and dividing up the land."
Lu did not say that the land divided up now all belonged to the state, and that, while a small amount of grain was allocated to each person, any surplus had to be handed over to the state.
"What the guerrillas wanted was money and grain. They kidnapped for ransom and tore their victims apart. If, at the designated time and place, a ransom was not delivered, they carried out the same acts of cruelty as the bandits. Two young bamboo saplings, the size of a rice bowl in girth, were held down, as a leg of the victim was tied to each sapling. With a cheer, they would let go of the saplings, and the victim would be catapulted up and torn apart!"
Lu had never done this, but he had obviously seen it done, and he was educating this bookish person, him.
"You're a bookish outsider. Don't make the mistake of thinking that it's easy to get by and that it's peaceful here, in these mountains! If you don't put down roots, you won't survive!"
Lu didn't talk the bureaucratic talk of the petty cadres who were doing their best to get promoted, and he completely swept away any lingering childhood fantasies he had about the revolution. Could it be that Lu would someday need him, and had to make him equally cruel and ruthless so that he could serve as a helper when this mountain king made his comeback to power? Lu also talked about the pale-complexioned intellectuals from town, who joined the guerrillas.
"What do students know about revolution? What the old man said was right." The "old man" he was referring to was Mao. "Political power comes from the barrel of a gun! Which of those generals and political commissars doesn't have blood on his hands?"
He told Lu he could never be a general, he was terrified of fighting. He wanted to make this quite clear in advance.
Lu said, "If that was not the case, why else would you have fled to these mountains? But you must be on guard against being butchered."
This was the law of survival and this was based on Lu's experiences in life.
"Go to the town and do a social survey, say that I sent you. You won't need an official letter, just say it's a job I've given you. I want you to write up historical materials on the class struggle in this town. Just listen to what people say, but, of course, don't completely believe what anyone tells you. You don't need to ask about what's currently happening because you won't get any answers. Let people prattle on, it will be just like listening to a story, and everything will become clear to you. Earlier on, there was no motor-vehicle access into this area, it was a bandits' hideout. Don't think that because the metal worker kowtowed to you he will obey you. He was let off and he was grateful, but, put under pressure, he would chop you down in the dark from behind! That old woman with the limp, operating the hot-water urn on the street, did you think she had bound feet? Having bound feet was never the done thing in these mountains. After being kidnapped by guerrillas, the woman had her shoes stolen in the middle of winter, so all her toes froze off. But she was a woman, and, at least, her life was spared. This house belonged to her family. Her father was executed, and her eldest brother died on a prison farm. They say that her other sibling escaped overseas."