From "Barren Wasteland" to "Island Garden": They Planted a Devoted Defense of the Motherland with Their Own Hands

A Vegetable Plot Is Also a Spiritual Position (精神阵地)

■ Zeng Xin, PLA Daily Special Correspondent Wang Da

The May sea breeze, laden with a salty, damp smell, beats again and again against the reef. Geologists once declared that on this small island, "growing a tree to maturity is harder than raising a child." Yet today, in a corner of the garrison of a certain company of the People's Armed Police Zhoushan Detachment, Zhejiang General Corps, cucumbers hang thick and green from their vines, and bright-red tomatoes gleam like jewels in the sunlight.

"Aside from the reef and a little salt-tolerant wild grass, there was almost no trace of green." Staff Sergeant Second Class Wang Peng still remembers what the island looked like more than ten years ago. "Fresh water came by resupply, vegetables came by transport ship, and a single strong gust could wipe out every seedling we had worked so hard to bring ashore."

"I refused to accept that." Wang Peng and his comrades began their "contest" with nature. They hauled bags of planting soil from the mainland, collected rainwater, conserved every drop of fresh water, used old planks and discarded ammunition crates to build windbreaks, and ran repeated trials to find crop varieties suited to island conditions.

"The casuarina trees beside the training ground have grown to above head height, forming a green windbreak; when the climate is favorable, vegetables and fruit are basically self-sufficient, and in peak season we can sun-dry vegetables and pickle condiments to supplement the table through winter and spring." After several years, the garrison's appearance was completely transformed. Even more remarkable, the officers and soldiers applied their creativity to build a distinctive "Island Garden" ecological cultivation base using discarded ammunition crates, old tires, and collected shells. Loofah vines climb the railings beneath the observation post; pumpkins set fruit in "flowerpots" fashioned from old tires; discarded plastic bottles have been converted into automatic drip-irrigation devices.

Staff Sergeant Second Class Pan Dong has served on the island for eight years. Last year, his wife visited the island for the first time. Seeing her husband busy at work in a garrison full of lush greenery, she said with reddened eyes: "He has made this place his home — now I can rest easy." Those words expressed the shared feeling of many island-garrison families: "That patch of green is a symbol of home, a place where longing can be set to rest."

"At first it was about improving our lives, but later I realized that growing vegetables had become a kind of ritual for putting down roots on the island," said Pan Dong. Every seedling that survived, every harvest's joy, reinforced the officers' and soldiers' sense of belonging — of "taking the island as home." Sowing, watering, fertilizing, harvesting: the process not only provided fresh vegetables but became a unique way for the troops to regulate their mental state and cultivate patience in a harsh environment.

"What we have planted in this soil is not only vegetables, but our youth and our faith. Every tree that has survived, every season's harvest of vegetables, is a witness to our steadfast fulfillment of our mission," said Political Instructor Huang.

[Caption: Party members of a certain company of the People's Armed Police Zhoushan Detachment, Zhejiang General Corps, reaffirm their oath of Party membership. Photo by Xu Shaodi.]

As the sun sets, soldiers who have finished training hum songs as they walk into the vegetable garden to water, weed, and pick ingredients for dinner.

From "barren wasteland" to "island garden," what has changed is more than the landscape. This patch of green bears witness to a unit's creativity and resilience, and tells the ordinary stories of officers and soldiers keeping watch on the island. On this small island far from the mainland, they sow vegetables with their own hands — and sow, too, a devoted defense of the Motherland.

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Passionate Steadfastness at the East China Sea Outpost (东海前哨)

■ Yue Chang, Zeng Xin, PLA Daily Special Correspondent Wang Da

Scattered across the Motherland's ten-thousand-li maritime frontier lie island after island. Generation after generation of island-garrison officers and soldiers have written, in the blood of their youth, stories of steadfastness unknown to the outside world, and have completed a tempering of life (生命淬炼) in the dimensions of dream, value, and belonging.

When initial bewilderment is replaced by resolute strides; when individual worth is redefined through fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with comrades; when the feeling of being on an "isolated island" is warmed by deep bonds of comradeship — these young island sentinels complete the transformation of identity from "outsider" to "guardian." This is not only a contest between people and their environment; it is also a story of growth in which personal ideals are forged into a sense of mission and responsibility (使命担当).

[Caption: Reef stones painted with designs at the garrison gate. Photo by Xu Shaodi.]

Guarding the Sea

"Carve responsibility into your bones, and you won't be afraid"

At 4,000 meters above sea level on the snow-covered plateau, horses gallop and prayer flags flutter in the wind — that is the hometown of Corporal Luo Wuzeren, a Tibetan soldier of a certain company of the People's Armed Police Zhoushan Detachment, Zhejiang General Corps. The year he enlisted, he crossed nearly the entire map of China to arrive at the East China Sea outpost.

He had expected to find a youth more magnificent than the Tibetan saffron flower amid the great sea, but reality dealt him a heavy blow. "The sea is so vast it makes your heart race," he wrote to his father.

Not long after joining his company, on a typhoon night with wind slamming against the windows, he curled up in his bunk thinking of the blizzards on the plateau — at least there you could see the direction of the snow peaks. But here he was lost — there was no cleaving through waves as he had imagined, only day after day of duty and training.

The change came during a five-kilometer armed cross-country run. As a plateau soldier, his cardiopulmonary capacity and endurance exploded at low altitude. As he crossed the finish line, he heard his comrades cheering. For the first time, he felt that this island had a track that belonged to him.

But what truly made him understand where that track led came later.

For many new soldiers in the company, physical fitness was a weak point. After Luo Wuzeren placed first, the squad leader sought him out: "Zeren, you have a strong foundation — help bring the others along."

So more and more comrades began training with him. There were always some who fell behind; Luo Wuzeren would turn back, grab an arm, push a back, and bring the stragglers to the finish line one step at a time.

One evening, a fellow soldier from the same enlistment year, Liu Zhiping, pressed a jar of yak-meat paste sent from home into his hands: "Zeren, thank you. Now when I patrol with my rifle, my legs don't go weak — I can guard this sea alongside you."

Three months later, the company entered the detachment's mass military skills competition (群众性比武竞赛). In the collective five-kilometer armed cross-country event, they placed first.

"The plateau gave me the foundation for running; the island gave me the reason for running." Standing on the awards platform that time, Luo Wuzeren understood — he wanted to run ahead of the wind and waves together with his comrades, and guard this sea.

This awakening was not Luo Wuzeren's alone.

In the sea breeze, a landing craft rises and falls with the waves. Warrant Officer Third Class Chen Gen stands in the hold overhauling machinery; the inspection proceeds in one fluid motion, as though the wind and waves have no effect on his work at all. Yet who could have imagined that this tough man who works with steel machines had been so seasick when he first arrived on the island that he "wanted to jump into the sea"? That churning, heaving sensation had shattered every romantic image of the ocean he had ever held.

When Chen Gen arrived as a new soldier, he vomited until he was exhausted. His squad leader patted him on the shoulder and handed him a cup of warm water: "Keep vomiting, and eventually you'll vomit your way into becoming master of the sea."

That was his third month on the island. A typhoon was approaching, and heavy swells had already risen on the surface. On the detachment's most remote island, a comrade had fallen unconscious from a head injury and had to be evacuated to the mainland for treatment before the typhoon sealed off the sea lanes.

The squad leader took Chen Gen out to sea; Chen Gen was responsible for caring for the casualty. As the swells pounded the hull, Chen Gen crouched in a corner of the hold and vomited until the world went dark. He shouted with his eyes shut: "Squad leader, I can't take it anymore…"

The squad leader held the helm steady, didn't turn his head, and roared back: "If we go down, this brother is dead!"

Those words hit Chen Gen like a slap across the face. Wave after wave crashed in; salt-reeking seawater flooded into the hold. Chen Gen gripped the railing with all his strength, forced his eyes open, and lifted his head.

By the time they reached the transfer point, it was already dark. The wind was fierce and the waves high; the mooring lines were taut as bowstrings. The squad leader jumped off the craft, and together with Chen Gen carried the unconscious comrade onto a stretcher.

Later, after emergency treatment, that comrade finally regained consciousness. The military doctor told Chen Gen and the squad leader that had they been half an hour later, the patient would have been in mortal danger.

From that day on, Chen Gen never again uttered the words "I can't." Twenty-two years of guarding the island — the sea wind has weathered him dark and rough, and his large hands are covered in calluses. But twenty-two years of steadfastness have also made him an outstanding mechanical and electrical specialist (机电骨干). Now Chen Gen can calmly repair the main engine in Force 8 winds, eyes steady, hands unwavering. When comrades ask his secret, he grins: "Once you've vomited your guts out, you get used to it." Then he always adds: "Carve responsibility into your bones, and you won't be afraid."

[Caption: Officers and soldiers conduct tactical training. Photo by Wan Linguang.]

At Peace

"Wherever the Motherland needs you to be, that is where you grow"

The sacrifices of the officers and soldiers are rarely seen by the outside world, but every island-garrison soldier is "recorded" by this island, by the comrades around them, and by the sea they guard, in a unique and profound way.

At first, Corporal Su Chenghao felt the island's reef stones were "dead" — until he used colored stones to mosaic his first "red sailboat" on a rock. A few days later, a "seagull" quietly "grew" beside the red sailboat. A few days after that, a five-starred red flag appeared in the scene as well…

A silent dialogue had begun on the reef stones.

Later, Su Chenghao used his rest time to take new soldiers around collecting rocks, carrying them back to the garrison, washing them clean, and painting them with colors. He told the new soldiers: "Come on — let me take you to bring the island's colors back with us." Gradually, the entrance to the company was filled with reef stones painted with all manner of designs — warships, lighthouses, the mountains and rivers of home, family members far away.

Someone asked Su Chenghao: "You paint these stones — does anyone look at them?"

"The squad leader has seen them. The new soldiers have seen them. Every time they pass these stones, they stop, they smile, they remember that they too are in the picture." Su Chenghao crouched down, touched the lighthouse painted on a reef stone, and said.

When a person has spent a long time on this island, they begin to notice the other things that are also trying hard to survive.

Corporal Wang Dexian's "treasure" is a thick volume he calls the "Island Book of Life" (《海岛生命册》), which records 47 species of plants he has discovered on the island.

"This is the octopus bush (抗风桐) — knocked down by a typhoon, it sprouts new shoots the following year; battered by the waves, it stands upright again a few days later…" Wang Dexian pointed to a leaf pressed in the book. "Soldiering is the same: wherever the Motherland needs you to be, that is where you grow."

Forty-seven plants, forty-seven stories. Today, the book has become an "ecological map" for new soldiers learning about the island, and a "temporal index" for veterans savoring the years gone by.

"Sound can open the warmest channel through the deepest loneliness." Early this year, new soldier Cen Ze took up the microphone of the company's "Island Voices" (海岛之声) radio station. At that point, the station had been idle for two years.

He launched the first program, called "Hello, New Soldier."

The first thing new soldiers did upon arriving on the island was to be brought to the radio station to record a brief self-introduction.

Each recording was a few dozen seconds long. Cen Ze edited them into a program and broadcast it during dinner.

Mandarin spoken with hometown accents was heard across the whole island over the airwaves. Veterans murmured at the dinner table: "That new soldier from Guangdong — his voice sounds so earnest." "The one from Nanjing, Jiangsu — what a nice name…"

"Today the whole island knows who I am, even though they haven't seen my face yet," one new soldier wrote in his diary.

"Today is my birthday, and no one knows…" Officers and soldiers would write what was on their minds on sticky notes; the radio station's "Waves of the Heart" (浪花心语) segment would broadcast them at random. One day, an anonymous note contained a few lonely words. Cen Ze spoke into the microphone: "Comrade, the whole island knows now. Happy birthday!"

"Thank you." The next day, that soldier slipped back a note. The handwriting was identical to the birthday note.

Cen Ze posted the two notes side by side on the wall of the radio station. Later, the wall was covered with notes…

Taking Root

"Waves cannot wash away the roots; wind cannot drive away the people"

"I am an isolated island — everywhere is the same; I was always alone." Private Zhang Yulong is an orphan who never had a home. On his first night on the island, he lay in his bunk and said this to himself.

"Eat up — longevity noodles." On his birthday, his squad leader, Staff Sergeant Second Class Zhang Guohou, brought out a bowl of noodles. "The noodles are made from field rations, with an egg on top."

"No one has ever celebrated my birthday, my whole life," said Zhang Yulong.

Later, Zhang Yulong fell ill and was sent to a hospital off the island for treatment. Lying in the hospital bed, he was alone again.

The following afternoon, Company Commander Zhou Wenli arrived: "Every comrade in the company asked me to tell you to take good care of yourself and get well."

From the company to the hospital — crossing the sea — the journey takes nearly three hours. Every two or three days, officers and soldiers from the company took turns coming to visit him.

"I used to think I was a rootless duckweed. Now I have grown roots. The people on this island are my roots." On the day he was discharged and returned to the island, Zhang Yulong wept.

Zhang Yulong is not the only one to have found "roots" on the island.

Years ago, new soldier Peng Cheng arrived at the company. Two years later, he was admitted to the People's Armed Police Officer Academy. When assignments were handed out after graduation, classmates urged him to choose a major city. He shook his head and resolutely returned to the small island.

"When I stood where you are standing now, I vomited until the world went dark and cried in secret at night. It was this island that taught me to be a soldier; it was the wind and waves here that turned me from a coward into a platoon leader." At a new-soldier training session, Peng Cheng — now a platoon leader — stood before the new soldiers and said.

Outside the garrison wall of the company, there is a ring of camphor trees. Each tree has words carved into it: the year of enlistment, training reflections, messages left by veterans upon departing the island.

"This was planted by my squad leader — he guarded this island for twelve years," said Peng Cheng, pointing to one tree. Carved into it were the words: "Waves cannot wash away the roots; wind cannot drive away the people."

That was Peng Cheng's second year on the island, when a typhoon struck. His squad leader took him up onto the barracks roof to reinforce the antenna. The wind was so strong a person could barely stand; Peng Cheng's foot slipped and his body tilted toward the edge of the building. The squad leader instantly drew out a safety rope, looped one end around him and tied the other end to his own waist.

"Don't let go!" the squad leader roared. The knot of the safety rope dug into his waist, and he cried out in pain. Two more veterans rushed over; the three of them together finally pulled Peng Cheng back.

On the eve of his graduation, Peng Cheng sat alone for a long time, thinking back on the rope marks left on his squad leader's waist after the typhoon…

Now Peng Cheng has become one of the people on the island least afraid of wind and waves. On typhoon days, he is the first to rush out and secure the mooring lines.

In four years on the island, he has come to know every inch of its terrain and every shift of its winds. He has given a name to every reef on the island, and takes soldiers out to learn directions and memorize the tides.

"Knowing them is knowing our position (阵地), knowing the place we are defending," Peng Cheng tells his soldiers.

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An Eyewitness Account

The Sound of the Waves Remains; the Years Are Like a Song

■ Gao Weigang

[Caption: At sunset, officers and soldiers of a certain company of the People's Armed Police Zhoushan Detachment, Zhejiang General Corps, stand guard and conduct patrols. Photo by Xu Shaodi.]

The waves beat against the shore like the island's eternal heartbeat. The experience of first landing on a certain island for research is branded in my memory: transferring to a landing craft, then to a ferry vehicle, nearly three hours of jolting travel.

The moment I stepped off, sea wind carrying salt and brine hit me full in the face. Looking around, I saw young faces on which the sea wind had already carved its marks.

What moved me most during the research was the resilience of officers and soldiers who "endure hardship without speaking of hardship" (吃苦不言苦). In the past, the island's supply ships were often delayed by wind and waves, and fresh vegetables became a "luxury." The officers and soldiers had not a word of complaint. Cook squad leader, Staff Sergeant Second Class Pan Dong, worked out 13 methods for preparing canned food dishes and compiled them into a "Island Cooking Manual" (《海岛烹饪手册》) for distribution across the island. Mechanical and electrical squad leader, Warrant Officer Third Class Chen Gen, drew by hand a schematic chart of all navigational markers in the island's waters, wrote detailed maintenance manuals, and marked key points in different colors with meticulous clarity…

Most unforgettable was a late-night round of sentry checks. "The Big Dipper has turned back to that position again," a sentry said, looking up at the stars and telling me their stories. At the Spring Festival gala, officers and soldiers sang together "The Soldier's Second Hometown" (《战士的第二故乡》); as veterans departed the island upon discharge, they solemnly pressed their dog-eared, annotation-filled notebooks into the hands of new comrades…

During the research period, it happened that family members were visiting the unit. The journey for families to reach the island was equally arduous: high-speed rail to bus, then ferry; if a typhoon struck, they could only wait on shore. But once on the island, the military wives rolled up their sleeves and watered and fertilized alongside the soldiers. In the vegetable garden, a soldier from Sichuan grew chili peppers; a soldier from Guangdong cultivated bok choy; a soldier from Gansu planted salt-tolerant potatoes in the cracks between reef stones. I remember one military wife who, just before leaving, scattered a handful of cilantro seeds from her hometown and said softly: "Let them keep him company in my place." That small patch of green had become a tender footnote to an iron fortress.

On the day of departure, the first light of dawn was just touching the surface of the sea. The formation of officers and soldiers doing morning exercises ran along the reef path; the resounding rhythm of their footsteps joined in chorus with the surging sound of the waves. Looking back at this island where once "growing a tree to maturity was harder than raising a child," I saw that casuarina trees now form a forest, and the vegetable garden stays green year-round.

The sound of the waves remains; the years are like a song. Generation after generation of island-garrison officers and soldiers have tempered what others see as loneliness into wordless steadfastness, and have cultivated the monotony of day after day into fertile ground for combat effectiveness (战斗力). Ground down by raging seas and towering waves, watching over the island through the rising of the sun and the setting of the moon, they have forged themselves into an unshakable bedrock (磐石) on the Motherland's maritime frontier.