Chapter 2 Prologue

The solemnity that Zhonglie Mausoleum brought to Huaying Mountain for nearly half a century has been squeezed into the weeds by the ruthless years.The current cemetery is barren, with cracks like tortoise shells on the huge cement mounds, and weeds are growing wildly everywhere, covering the entire ground.Put your eyes on the ground and look around, you will find that even the rotten wooden pillars supporting the octagonal pavilion in front of the tomb are covered with weeds and withered wild vines.At this time, you will recall many sayings about the absurdity of the world.If someone told you that what is growing on your head right now is not hair but grass, you would probably believe it.

Before the grass grows on your head, escape from under the octagonal pavilion as soon as possible!Isn't that the tombstone you're looking for?Oh, now you're standing at the tombstone.The tombstone is very high, not counting the base, the body of the tombstone is only two meters long.It was not called a stele before, but the old people said it was a pagoda, and my old man also said it was called a pagoda—Zhonglie Pagoda.Was there a tower before?I have no idea.Anyway, the stele is very high, so you can call it a pagoda, so let it be.One corner of the stele was broken, two cracks were faintly visible, and some big holes were made on the front with something. The holes were just a few words, but I can't remember what the words were.The back of the stele was originally engraved with small characters, but now they are all gone, and they were chiseled off one by one.Yes, you are right, it was my old man who chiseled it, and I saw him chisel it off.You know, my old man is serious about everything he does, he chisels these words very seriously, and he dies very seriously.

I generally don't want to talk about the old man, and I don't talk about it when many people come to me.What does it matter to me that you study history?What about traditional education? Nonsense!People are so busy making money now, who needs tradition?I guess most of those guys have no good intentions, and want to make a fuss about the old man, insult him and scold him, and then get some manuscript fees from publications and publishing houses.Hey, why do you think I should care about them?They don't share the royalties they get with me!But what you said is not bad, my old man is a man of flesh and blood, a living person in the course of our history.This old man has indeed made mistakes and fell into the water in history, but he is not a bad person. He just shouldn't go to revolution, right?

It is here, here, on the steps under the octagonal pavilion, next to this tombstone, that I really know the old man.The old man was sent here to dig a tombstone, and I brought him meals at noon every day, and spent the last days of his life with him.At that time, the oil depot at the foot of the mountain had not yet expanded up the mountain. There was a small path along the north wall of the oil depot leading to the mausoleum. Standing here, you could see the sea to the east. The sun in May is very hot, reflecting the weeds and shrubs all over the mountain, as well as the old man's face like a rusty iron plate and my bewildered face.That year, when I was seventeen years old, I was smoked like a melon by the smelly farts of revolution all over the world.I don't know what the old man has to do with this Mausoleum of Zhonglie. Why did the rebels insist on asking him to dig inscriptions here?I only vaguely know that the old man's life is quite extraordinary, and it has a little connection with our China and the history of your party for more than half a century.A well-qualified old comrade in the city said privately that if my old man hadn't fallen into the water by mistake, he would have gone to Beijing to become a high-ranking official.One of the old man's comrades in arms was a big cadre. When the old man was criticized and beaten during the "Cultural Revolution", his old man was still enjoying Qingfu in Beijing!

Later, one day, at noon in May, the old man bent his injured back, leaned on the base of the tombstone, and talked to me about the past in a wooden way.At that time, I didn't expect that he would tell me about his history and about the Mausoleum of Zhonglie.He never talked about these, as if it was a scar that no one in the family was allowed to touch.That day, the shadow of the doomsday had already shrouded the old man's gray and dry old face, but the light like sparks danced clearly in the old man's cloudy pupils, and the light crossed his bent knees and threw it on my face, scorching my face. Makes my cheeks burn.

The old man said that he was also seventeen years old that year, much better than me.He has worked as a fitter in the Japanese-owned Dongfang Locomotive Works for four years, joined your party, and became an executive member of the Strike Committee of the General Alliance, leading tens of thousands of workers in 18 Japanese and British factories to go on strike. The hard noise made a period of history turbulent and earth-shattering. The old man patted his thin chest and said: "... At that time, you just randomly pulled someone on Qingpu Street to ask, who didn't know the strike committee of the General League? Didn't you know Zheng Shaobai in the eight-member executive committee?! "

You study history, Qingpu history, you know, the general alliance strike ended not very well, there was uproar, there was misery.The old man swelled for a while in the good old days, and a watery snot flowed out of his flat and big nostrils.The old man wiped it indiscriminately, and rubbed his snotty chicken paw-like hands on the grass, and seemed to be a bit reluctant to tell me about the later—— Later, a fugitive morning appeared on the path of his life.That morning was the real beginning of the ordeal of his life. When reminiscing about that distant morning, the old man started like this——

"...It was October of the 14th year of the Republic of China. According to the current statement, it was October 1925. The strike of the Qingpu General Alliance failed. On October 17, there was a drizzle, and the whole city of Qingpu was foggy. I put off my self-defense screwdriver, covered my face with a silk top hat, and went to the general union strike committee meeting at 125 William Street. This is the last meeting of the executive committee, and we will retreat collectively after the meeting. I him Mom is very nervous, as if possessed, always feel there are footsteps behind you. The footsteps are also strange, you go, and he will follow you like a dog. Stop, hey, dog I can’t really hear the sound. I know that many people in Qingpu City know me. I changed my clothes, but I was still afraid that someone would recognize me. I keep turning my head, always turning my head..."