Years later, I will remember that cold winter, where the grass and trees were covered in frost, and the setting sun seemed to drip blood. Every tree on the escape route looked like an execution squad carrying long spears.
It's been a long time since I wrote on my public account. A few days ago, a reader asked me: "How is Fang Fang, who is in her sixties, doing with her husband and children while writing her 60th diary entry about the lockdown?" This question struck me. Firstly, I am not doing well. I often suffer from insomnia and wake up from sad dreams. Secondly, I have not forgotten the conscience of a writer and will not pretend to be blind in the face of this great disaster.
On January 20, 2020, a rainy day, I woke up near noon. Originally, we were supposed to drive back to Nanning from Changsha on that day, but my wife got drunk at her company's annual meeting the night before, and I needed her to take turns driving during the more than 10-hour journey. So I suggested postponing our return by a day.
This was not the first time our travel plans were delayed due to her getting drunk. A few years ago, a friend returned from California to Nanning, and we drank XO with pig intestines. We got drunk, and the next day when I woke up and prepared to drive back to Changsha as planned, I realized it was already afternoon.
But on the 20th, my wife said she was fine, and I confirmed that she wouldn't vomit like morning sickness in the car, so we drove back to Nanning. On the way, when I was reversing in a service area, I noticed that all the cars parked around me had license plates from Hubei.
I may have been one of the first to pay attention to the Wuhan epidemic. It was probably in early December last year, after the first news about pneumonia was released, that I almost always shared news about Wuhan like that and questioned it.
A former colleague and I often exchanged views on the Wuhan epidemic on WeChat. We are not prophets, but we have experienced the difficult years of SARS in Guangzhou. We both have an instinctive sensitivity to this kind of news.
It was on January 20th that day, while driving on the highway, I saw on WeChat that Beijing had already made instructions regarding the Wuhan epidemic. I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that the lid had finally been lifted.
That night, we returned to Nanning in pouring rain and ate Lao You Fen and Tian Luo at a food stall. Unexpectedly, from that night until now, we have not eaten a single meal outside. Times have changed.
The next day after returning to Nanning, I went to the pharmacy to buy masks, only to find that they were all sold out.
My face turned as green as the spring wheat.
One day, I walked several kilometers to all the pharmacies to ask, but they all said they didn't have any. I returned empty-handed and sat exhausted on a stone bench by the Nanhu Lake for a long time. What I regret the most is that I was one of the first to notice the epidemic, and I even judged from the data published overseas that Wuhan was already in the outbreak period. I wasn't blind or ignorant, and even later, a former colleague said I was the earliest whistleblower in my circle of friends. But how could I forget to stock up on masks?
I regret it deeply. But I really didn't expect Wuhan to become so serious, and supplies to become so scarce. I always thought I was quick-witted and could prepare supplies when I saw the situation was not right. But among more than a billion people, how could I grab anything?
My mother caught a bad cold, and her voice became hoarse and she couldn't speak. She was worried that she had caught the disease and insisted on not attending the annual New Year's Eve dinner with us and my aunt's family. Fortunately, it turned out to be a false alarm. For decades, it was the first time I didn't have the reunion dinner with my own mother on New Year's Eve. On the afternoon of New Year's Eve, my uncle and I were busy in the kitchen. He is an expert in one of the most famous hospitals in Guangxi. We cooked and talked about the epidemic. He casually said, "This kind of infectious disease is common for medical professionals. They can't escape, only they can handle it."
While in Nanning, I heard that my cousin's classmate went to support Hubei, and my friend's brother-in-law went to support Hubei. In ancient times, it was Huguang filling Sichuan, and now it is the whole country filling Huguang.
I have lived for more than 40 years, and this is the saddest Spring Festival.
My two children never went out. Their only entertainment was setting off firecrackers with me on the rooftop. Fireworks are banned in the city, and maybe we were the only ones in Nanning setting off fireworks. In the boundless darkness, in the silent city, in the invisible coronavirus, I held my two children from Changsha and set off fireworks from Hunan in the night sky of Nanning, pretending to be carefree, pretending that the country is safe and the people are at peace. I lit fireworks with my three-year-old son, and he clapped his chubby little hands in excitement, completely unaware of the sadness of the world.
The number of cases in the news was increasing every day. It was said that the concentration of sulfur dioxide over Wuhan was also increasing. I went to the pharmacy every day and stood at the door asking, "Are there any masks for sale?" The usually humble and obedient store clerks raised their heads arrogantly and disdainfully said, "No."
My eight-year-old son and three-year-old son would lie on the balcony railing every day, greedily watching the slide downstairs, but I didn't let them go down to play. Every night, I would read various news from Wuhan on WeChat. One night, I saw the news of the death of Dr. Li Wenliang and suddenly felt a sore nose and teary eyes. He was not a great hero, he just quietly blew the whistle to his friends and family, warning them of the risks. But in this world, there is no room for his humble conscience.
If a small person whispers a few truths, they will be severely reprimanded by their superiors and reprimanded by the police station. Now, thousands of people leave messages under Li Wenliang's Weibo every day, and they are not just crying for an early death of a doctor, they are clearly crying for this world.
When I was in second grade of elementary school, I studied a text called "Hunter Hailibu". Hailibu obtained a gem that allowed him to understand the language of birds, but he couldn't reveal the secret, otherwise he would turn into stone. One day, he heard the birds say that the mountain was about to collapse, so he quickly persuaded the villagers to evacuate, but they didn't believe him, and he was forced to reveal the secret and turned into stone.
Those who conceal the truth are protected, while those who give sincere advice are punished.
On New Year's Eve, I received an article on my phone titled "A journalist in Hubei calls for an immediate change of leadership." I was busy chopping chicken and cooking spicy shrimp at the time, so I didn't have time to read it. When I had time to read it later, it had been deleted, and I didn't know what the article was about. Later, I found out that the author was a former acquaintance of mine, Zhang Ouya. He was silenced because of this article.
What would happen if you publicly called for the removal of the leader of your city? I don't know, but your water meter at home will be checked one after another. So, Zhang Ouya is very brave. He and I are sports journalists of the same generation. Many brave and conscientious writers have emerged from the football journalism of that generation. They are used to criticizing the Football Association and the national team, so they feel that there is nothing in the world that cannot be criticized, even if it is someone like Trump.
The dark clouds are pressing down on the city, but we still decided to return to Changsha. Although Changsha is only 300 kilometers away from Wuhan and very dangerous, my wife had to go back to work, and my son was ready to go back to school at any time, so we had to go. Our family repeatedly reminded us: if there is a major outbreak in Changsha, hurry back to Guangxi. I smiled bitterly and thought, if that day comes, our Hunan A license plate car would have been stopped by the Guangxi Red Guards at the border between Hunan and Guangxi, and we wouldn't be able to come back.
We headed north in the pouring rain, and the road was silent. We didn't even dare to enter the service area except for refueling. At night, as we passed Hengshan, the villages along the way lit up with cold fireworks. I remembered that it was the Lantern Festival, and the whole Spring Festival had passed, but it was the first time I felt the atmosphere of the new year.
Then, I continued the long self-imprisonment with my children at home in Changsha. I have not seen any friends, attended any dinners, and have not left the community more than five times. Taking advantage of the opportunity of not having to see people, I even fulfilled a long-standing wish: I shaved my head. After living for 46 years, I finally saw what I looked like with a bald head.
But even though my appearance became Buddhist, my heart couldn't be Buddhist. Every night, when I saw countless messages on WeChat, my heart felt like it was being cut with a knife, full of anger and helplessness.
What happened in Wuhan? The people of Wuhan themselves are unwilling to talk about it. On New Year's Eve, we called a 90-year-old relative in Wuhan, but she didn't want to say anything, didn't want to mention it. It must be too painful. My friends in Wuhan on my social media never talk about their own experiences, never cry, and rarely post on social media. But from the overwhelming information, I know about their difficulties and desperate situations, but they are so tough, they don't need any pity or sympathy. If it were any other city facing such a disaster, the residents would have already collapsed.
I heard an unnamed song online and I really liked it. I listened to it dozens of times. A female actress I really like performed it with a unique singing style, depicting the bone-chilling desolation. A woman in pixelated clothes floats in a cemetery in the wilderness, sobbing about the country for a hundred years. Every time I listen to it, it feels like a thunderbolt.
I especially like the lyrics she wrote, which many famous poets couldn't write:
That year, I cried when I was born
That year, I had no one to rely on
That year, I was full of resentment
That year, it was a turning point between life and death
That year, the streets were empty
That year, I cautiously caught my breath
That year, the iron railings trapped the arrogant
That year, the living mourned for the late Qing Dynasty
The sadness came over and over again.
What will this disaster make us remember?
We will remember the heartless bureaucrats and experts who held banquets when the epidemic had already broken out, who told everyone that the epidemic was preventable and controllable and not transmitted between humans, who reprimanded the eight doctors who blew the whistle, who used the Red Cross to suppress and retaliate against Tongji Union Hospital so that medical staff couldn't even get masks, who sold the vegetables donated by Shandong to supermarkets, who used garbage trucks and hearses to deliver daily necessities to quarantined citizens, and whose data was repeatedly questioned by the public even after the disaster.
We will remember the people who died in this winter. There was a critically ill patient who was discharged after being cured, only to find out that all of his family members had already died. He didn't want to live anymore and hung himself on the top of a tall building. I saw the video of him hanging in the air, like a light reed. Yesterday, Wuhan residents lined up to collect urns, and they were not the most tragic. The most tragic are the unclaimed urns, which means the entire family has perished. Extinction, annihilation, these long-lost words come to mind again and again.
We will remember the orphans. A 7 or 8-year-old boy went alone to collect his parents' ashes with the guidance of community workers. A baby boy from Hubei was abandoned by his parents who couldn't support themselves and left in a hospital in Shantou. And 32 children aged 0 to 17 were placed in a quarantine center, all of their direct guardians, including their parents and grandparents, have died. They may not even be able to speak yet, but they will never be able to call out words like dad, mom, grandpa, grandma. In this life, they can only walk through this dark world with a small lantern, ignored and unloved.
We will remember the medical staff who risked their lives. Li Wenliang, who blew the whistle, Ai Fen, who said, "If I had known, I would have told everyone," Wang Shuo, a doctor who went to support Hubei but was killed by a drunk driver in Jingzhou on the eve of dawn, and Liang Xiaoxia, a nurse from a poor family in Heng County, Nanning, who went to support Hubei. It is said that she suddenly fainted and is still on the verge of death, praying for a miracle to happen, praying that she can return to south of the Tropic of Cancer and see the light on the Yong River again.
We will remember Fang Fang, as well as those who strive to speak up for the people, the strong-willed people of Wuhan, the strong-willed people of China, who have never died out. I am very aware of the price Fang Fang has paid for these 60 diary entries. It is far more than her using her cracked fingers to endure the pain and type on the keyboard every day in her old age. She has also faced countless attacks and suppression. Thank you to this sister, thank you to the "Erxiang" girl from Hunan who continuously reposts her diary despite being banned, thank you to the resilient people of Wuhan who have endured but remained unyielding. We all know that you are experiencing this unprecedented disaster, how desperate and how sad it is, with death pressing down on you, running out of supplies. This is not just the tragedy of Wuhan, it is the tragedy of the country, and even the world.
We will also remember those scoundrels who attacked Fang Fang. One of the columnists who made malicious remarks has been trending on hot searches these days, and he is shamelessly pleased with himself. Last year, he slandered the people of Hong Kong as Nazis, and now after attacking Fang Fang, he even said that a monarchy is better than democracy. Since 1912, in the more than 100 years since then, except for a few three-generation slaves like Yang Du, it seems that no one dares to talk about the restoration of feudalism anymore. More than ten years ago, my columns and this person's often appeared in different newspapers and magazines. Now, I feel deep shame. How did I end up associating with such a despicable person? Gulangyu Island has become infested with maggots.
Of course, I will also remember the few conscientious media outlets. Caixin, Sanlian, Renwu, and Xinjingbao have been working hard to report the most authentic information about the epidemic. As a former media person, I know how difficult it is for them. Behind each report, there are probably countless criticisms and self-criticisms.
I would like to recommend Caixin's newly released special issue "New Crown Moment". This is a collection of the essence of 36 journalists from Caixin, which took 100 days to compile with multiple heavyweight reports and nearly 200 photos. Hu Shuli and her team have made every effort to record this unprecedented disaster.
Just yesterday, Caixin's reporters went deep into the Han Kou Funeral Home and counted the number of urns. This is a truly conscientious media outlet. There are only a few left in China.
There is much more that we should remember. Fang Fang, who is exhausted from the center of the besieged city, put down her pen after her 60th diary entry. But we should take over her pen and continue her repeated cries: accountability! So far, not a single official has taken responsibility for this epidemic, and we are all waiting for that day.
Recently, I watched two movies adapted from Fang Fang's novels, "The Arrow Pierced the Heart" and "Ambush".
In "The Arrow Pierced the Heart," Bao Li, played by Yan Bingyan, jumps off the Yangtze River Bridge after her husband has an affair and loses his job. She carries a shoulder pole every day to deliver goods to make a living. Ten years later, her son, whom she raised with great difficulty, becomes the top scorer in the college entrance examination but wants to cut ties with her.
At the end of the film, she didn't cry or complain, she just kicked a stalled van and cursed, then walked away. Wuhan women are so tough.
Wuhan has some connection to me. When I was in middle school, I found that Wuhan's universities had the most admissions from Guangxi. It wasn't until this epidemic broke out that I learned that Wuhan has the largest number of college students in the world. When I took the college entrance examination, I also followed the trend and applied to a college in Wuhan, the Wuhan Grain College. Recently, it is said that there will be a global food shortage this year, so after stocking up on a pile of rice, canned food, and compressed biscuits, I suddenly thought, if I had studied at the Grain College and guarded the grain warehouse, maybe I wouldn't feel so anxious now?
I accompanied my elders to Wuhan by car to visit their elders.
Three times in my life, I was changed by three graduates of Wuhan University.
I went on a business trip to Wuhan. It was in 2010, just after I settled in Changsha and was preparing to have a child. A colleague took me to Guiyuan Temple in Hankou, saying that praying to the Buddha there was very effective. I bowed in front of the statue of Guanyin, the goddess of childbirth, and my colleague saw a leaf falling on my head, saying it must be effective. The next year, my son was born. Now he is 8 and a half years old, in the third grade. I have never told him about the tragedy in Wuhan this year, the heartbreaking separations and farewells in Wuhan. I haven't figured out how to tell him, although he has a connection with that city in this life.
But I will definitely tell him, I must tell him. These two months have been a shadow of childhood imprisonment for children, but it is also the biggest shadow of parents' lives. If we forget in an instant, if we act as if nothing happened, then what is the difference between us and a salted fish?
I remembered a poem by Chen Xianfa, a poet from Fudan University, many years ago:
Two winds meet, with a life and death covenant
Rain falls nakedly, sliding down the peeled red railing
Leaving from under the arched bridge
They at that time, we at this time
Not seeing each other, each dying their own death
Those who don't see each other are not just those who have passed away. There are also the relationships between countries, the cold eyes between ethnic groups, and the expressions of you and me going our separate ways. We may have just had the best days of our lives, and now only bad days are left. The pain of the dead is great, but the pain of the living is even greater.
My former colleague Feng Xiang (founder of "8th Intersection") took a picture on a bus in Beijing, showing a girl wearing a mask reading Yu Hua's "To Live". It is such a true portrayal.
Just like our mediocre and cowardly lives.
Just like the sadness that comes from the heart in the late night, tears streaming down our faces.
We were fine before, why did we encounter this thunder in the New Year, the Qiantang tide in Kunming Lake, and the countless new graves in the vast land?
This world, this land, can you tell me?