THE WHITE FILES: THE MANY
LIVES OF LU HERUO, TAIWANS
FIRST LITERARY TALENT

Chapter Eighteen: Lü Heruo Hides Under an Assumed Name in Lukeng Village

66

The schoolhouse in Lower Lukeng Village was a simple structure built of bamboo and wood. A hand-drawn blackboard hung on the wall, while sunlight filtered through the window, casting mottled patterns of light and tree shadows across the room. Outside, the sounds of clucking chickens and barking dogs mingled, creating the familiar atmosphere of rural life.

Inside the classroom, some twenty barefoot children sat on low wooden stools, following the clear, resonant voice of a young man standing at the front. He wore glasses and a simple cloth shirt as he led them in reciting their lesson.

"Alone in a foreign land, a stranger among strangers; whenever a festival comes, I miss my family all the more..."

The childrens voices were somewhat childish, yet filled with earnestness. Zhang Haiqing stood before the teachers desk, his expression gentle. He moved his hand lightly in rhythm with their recitation, as though conducting a small musical performance of poetry.

At the back of the classroom, a young woman wearing a blue cotton qipao sat upright beside a desk, gazing intently at the man at the front. She was Chen Ruyu, the village chiefs younger sister. Her eyes revealed both admiration and curiosity.

After class, Zhang Haiqing gathered several worn textbooks. Ruyu approached him and asked softly, "May I walk with you for a while?"

Zhang Haiqing nodded and smiled. "Of course."

The two left the schoolhouse, one following the other, and slowly made their way along a narrow mountain path. Sunlight streamed through the treetops, falling across the dirt trail. The air carried the scent of grass and a faint earthy smell. Smoke rose from distant cooking fires, and occasional calls from mountain birds mingled with the sound of their footsteps.

Ruyu turned her head toward him and asked gently, "Haiqing, my older brother told me that you used to teach at National Taiwan University. Thats a job everyone would envy. Why were you willing to leave and come all the way to a remote mountain village like ours to endure such hardship?"

Zhang Haiqing lowered his gaze toward the stone steps beneath his feet. He slowed his pace slightly, and his tone became more measured.

"Actually... the predicament Im in today is entirely of my own making. I published several articles in the newspapers criticizing government policies, which angered the authorities. As a result, I not only lost my job but was also driven into a situation where I had nowhere left to turn."

Ruyu looked at him in surprise, raising her eyebrows slightly. Her voice carried a note of disbelief.

"Oh? Just writing a few articles could lead to such serious consequences? Was it really necessary for them to pursue you so relentlessly?"

Zhang Haiqing gave a faint, bitter smile and looked toward the distant mountain ridges. His voice carried a note of resignation.

"Thats right. Our government authorities cant tolerate even the slightest criticism. Perhaps they think there are already too many people willing to speak the truth."

Ruyu brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen over her face. A playful yet questioning look appeared in her eyes.

"Then how come my older brother spends all day loudly criticizing the Chen Yi administration in front of his friends, and nothing ever happens to him?"

Zhang Haiqing glanced back at her, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. His voice was gentle.

"Thats not the same as having something printed in a newspaper! Publishing it openly is like slapping the government in the face in public. Of course theyll keep an eye on you."

She burst out laughing, then quickly became serious again.

"But I think youre very brave! Youre willing to speak out on matters of national importance. Unlike young people nowadays, who care only about buying Western-style dresses and listening to gramophones. Who still cares about social justice?"

At her words, Zhang Haiqing looked slightly embarrassed. He scratched the back of his neck and replied modestly.

"Youre giving me too much credit, Ruyu. Im not nearly that noble. Im just a man of letters. The more I read, the harder it becomes to accept certain things about the way things are... I wanted to speak my mind, and ended up getting myself into a whole lot of trouble."

Ruyu gazed at him, her eyes now filled with greater sympathy and respect. Suddenly, she stopped walking, picked up a withered leaf, and played with it in her fingers as she spoke softly.

"But I think the world needs people like you. Thats where hope comes from."

Zhang Haiqing stopped as well. He gently took the leaf from her hand, as though accepting the feelings behind her words. They looked at each other for a moment. The forest breeze stirred, the shadows of the trees swayed, and dappled sunlight fell across their faces.

In the distance, a yellow dog emerged from the woods, wagging its tail as it circled around them, as though unwilling to let their peaceful moment be interrupted.

As the number of members in the base organization grew, young men dressed in dark, coarse cloth clothing could frequently be seen in groups of two or three along the mountain trails of the Lukeng region. They bent low as they made their way through thorny bushes and wild grass, exchanging words in hushed voices.

Many were liaison operatives who had made their way through various routes from the outskirts of Taipei the previous night. Guided by trusted informants, they were gradually assigned to newly established cells.

Each cell consisted of three to five people. In addition to their regular labor training, they were required to hold meetings periodically to discuss international and domestic current affairs and study and practice Communist Party theory.

67

The morning mist had not yet lifted. A damp mountain breeze swept across the thatched roofs of the huts, while faint voices could be heard through the walls woven from bamboo branches.

On a slightly elevated hillside at the center of the base stood a thatched hut designated as the "Political Department." Several kerosene lamps flickered weakly inside. The air was warm and heavy, and three men sat around a bamboo table covered with a blanket, speaking in low but animated voices.

Lü Heruo, now operating under the assumed name "Wang Wenbo," wore a simple long gown. His face was clean-shaven, and his expression was composed as he leafed through a stack of handwritten drafts written in Chinese brush ink.

He looked up and turned his gaze toward the two young cadres beside him—Zhang Haiqing and Liao Xueli. Both appeared attentive and had clearly studied the materials thoroughly.

"Director," Zhang Haiqing began, his voice tinged with excitement. "After putting your publicity strategy into practice over this period, weve found that it really hits the mark. The members all say that the political messages adapted into songs are not only catchy and easy to remember, but also allow them to hum along while working. The short plays and comic dialogues have been especially popular. Everyone gathers to watch them, and they can laugh while learning. Morale has also been much higher than before."

As he spoke, he brushed aside his sweat-dampened bangs, leaning forward slightly. His tone was sincere.

Wang Wenbo nodded gently and smiled.

"The principle is actually very simple. The villagers were working with, as well as the comrades whove come here to join us, include some who can barely even write their own names. How can we expect them to sit there and memorize rigid theoretical material word for word? Rather than simply reciting from books, its better to turn those ideas into the language of everyday life, write them into songs, and perform them as plays. That way, they can understand them as soon as they hear them and remember them as soon as they see them."

After hearing this, Liao Xueli lightly slapped his knee and interjected with a smile.

"Director, youre absolutely right. It reminds me of when I was involved in student activism at the normal school. We also liked using short plays and rhythmic storytelling performances to explain our ideas. They worked reasonably well, but I never imagined that someone could turn all the theory into such catchy rhyming chants the way you have. That conversational yet entertaining rhythm is truly something I admire beyond words!"

As soon as he finished speaking, he jokingly clasped his hands together and performed an exaggerated traditional martial-arts-style salute to Wang Wenbo, making all three men burst into laughter.

Zhang Haiqing shook his head and laughed.

"Director, youve been around in society and know how things work. All those years of experience at the newspaper editorial desk certainly werent wasted. Your mind works faster than a mountain stream. Those of us in the younger generation really need to learn more from you and make fewer foolish mistakes."

Liao Xueli nodded in agreement.

"With your background in music, Director, its no wonder you think differently. Youve got the melodies just right, and the lyrics are so closely connected to ordinary peoples lives. It doesnt matter how difficult the theory may be. Once people hum a few lines, the ideas seem to settle naturally into their minds."

Wang Wenbo looked at the two men, his eyes smiling. He reached out and gently patted each of them on the shoulder.

"Theres no need for either of you to be so modest. Without the two of you performing songs and telling jokes onstage, this show of mine wouldnt be able to go on at all! Youre my two most capable right-hand men."

With that, he lightly made a traditional clasped-hands gesture with his fingers. The three exchanged smiles, and their laughter drifted into the mist outside. It was as though this little thatched hut in the mountain village could contain both the undercurrents of a turbulent era and the hope that lay within it.

The area around Lukeng Village consisted of rolling, undulating hills. Dense stands of mixed woodland covered the hilltops, where mountain birds occasionally took flight in alarm, beating their wings through the air.

The middle slopes were covered with expansive stretches of lush bamboo forest. When the wind blew, the rustling bamboo leaves sounded like whispers exchanged in secret.

At the foot of the hills, the land had been cleared and cultivated into layers of terraced fields, resembling pages of a book unfolding one after another into spring.

Neatly planted, low-growing tea bushes filled the fields. Dewdrops from the previous night still clung to their branches and leaves, sparkling in the morning sunlight.