When the 9-Year-Old "Barracks Observer" Meets the 99-Year-Old People's Army

When the 9-Year-Old "Barracks Observer" Meets the 99-Year-Old People's Army

— Written on the Occasion of the 2,000th Issue of "Barracks Observer"

■ PLA Daily Reporter Yang Yue

How should we measure time?

Some count the distance their feet have traveled; others tally the pages flipping past on the calendar. For the journalists who have devoted themselves year after year to "Barracks Observer," the measure of time rests in the issue number that ticks forward each day in the corner of the page.

Two thousand issues of "Barracks Observer." Two thousand observations of the barracks. From the first stroke of the pen on January 3, 2017, to this day looking back, "Barracks Observer" has traveled nine years.

What does 2,000 issues mean?

It is one lamplit night after another, creators hunched before computer screens, choosing every word with care, pouring heart and soul into the written page. It is one dawn after another, printing presses thick with the smell of ink, spitting out newspapers still warm to the touch. People often say that time passes in silence, but every brushstroke and every drop of effort carried on every page is a weighty testament to those silent years.

From the 1st issue to the 2,000th, through nine years of turning seasons, we have witnessed wave after wave of new recruits enlisting and veterans departing; we have recorded exercise after exercise on the training ground and tempering after tempering of the spirit. Again and again we have bent close and gazed, fixing in words stained with earth the images of youth and passion, writing of charges made with courage and without fear. We have walked with you across high mountains and remote islands, looked out over vast skies and distant seas, and with each page engraved every firm footprint on the march toward a stronger military.

The ancients said: a nine-story terrace rises from accumulated earth. The coincidence of timing is deeply thought-provoking — "Barracks Observer" has passed through nine years just as the People's Army celebrates its 99th birthday. These two numbers are a tribute to the journey traveled through wind and rain, and a bugle call urging us onward toward the goal now nearly within reach.

Across 99 years of spring and autumn, the People's Army has passed through the fire and smoke of revolutionary war, entrusting the hope of keeping the mountains and rivers unharmed to the striving of one generation after another, to the vigil kept year after year. As stars race and rivers rush, as sun and moon renew themselves, the images of countless Chinese soldiers shedding their blood overlap across time and space, converging into the confidence and strength of the People's Army.

Compared to the magnificent sweep of 99 years, nine years is not long — only a fragment of the march to build a stronger and more capable military. But nine years is also very long: it is the daily cultivation across 2,000 pages, the forward movement without missing a single issue or pausing a single step through all those years. From echoes out of the depths of history to the battle cries on today's exercise grounds; from gazing at distant galaxies to keeping watch over the everyday world of ordinary people — our eyes and our pens are firmly rooted in this army, striving to build each page into a window that leads you to "see the changes of the times in the Chinese military, and see the efforts made by Chinese soldiers."

Nine years, surveying the surging river of the era, we have pondered the vastness of heaven and earth (乾坤之大) —

Following the gaze of exercise controllers, our eyes pierced through the smoke of the training ground to probe the shifting fortunes of exercises and drills. Riding the wave of political rectification training, we traced the source of clean conduct and upright spirit from the "tip of the green duckweed" (青萍之末), witnessing the "new winds in the barracks" (军营新风) that swept through this army. Following the footprints of reform to build a stronger military, we kept close to the issues that officers and soldiers cared about most, interpreting policy updates at the first opportunity. Along the march to complete the centenary goal of army-building, we recorded the changes of the times in the barracks, surveying the new appearances and new achievements of units across the length and breadth of the country. Every page is a mirror reflecting the real transformation of this army; every article is an archive recording the era's tempering and reforging of the People's Army.

Nine years, keeping watch over the original aspiration (初心) refined by the passage of time, we have fixed our gaze on the green of grass and trees —

We write of the firm and resounding path of advance taken by frontline officers and soldiers. On the road to rejuvenation, members of the state guest escort team measure their mission in wheel-turns; beneath the waterline, submariners cross tens of millions of miles along deep-blue tracks; in the realm of ice and snow, army aviation pilots fly their aircraft over the "sky road" (天路) above the plateau. One set of footprints follows another, one landmark connects to the next, one milestone succeeds another — across different coordinates of time and space, we have inscribed the striving footprints of Chinese soldiers pressing steadily forward.

We write of every extraordinary figure at an ordinary post. The "sentinel at 53° North latitude" whose footprints cover wind and snow; the bomb disposal technician whose gaze is calm in the face of a test of life and death; the nautical chart correction officer keeping watch over the deep blue never yet touched in "an ocean one square meter across" (一米见方的大洋); the metrology soldier whose silent charge forges a thunderous roar. Those most ordinary, most unremarkable daily routines of the barracks are precisely the true underlying colors of 99 years of the march toward a stronger military.

If the 99-year-old People's Army is a towering mountain peak, then the 9-year-old "Barracks Observer" is the wind that never stops moving through the mountains, always conveying the message of time in its own way.

A family letter sent from the Karakoram across mountains and seas — a border soldier's promise to spring. The camouflage uniforms of flood-fighting officers and soldiers on the levee, caked with mud — the mark left by summer's surging river. On an autumn evening dyed red by the setting sun, a sentinel "standing guard at Zhurihe" buries grass seeds deep in the desert. On a snow plain sharp with cold, officers and soldiers in full combat gear charge into wind and snow, their hot blood warming the whole of winter.

Standing at the intersection of "99 years" and "9 years" and looking back, we are more certain than ever: the finest words must be faithful to every figure who strives without ceasing; the finest tribute is the long, patient cultivation on the page.

Seasons succeed one another; the four quarters turn. When this newspaper bearing the number "Issue 2,000" comes to meet you, the faint warmth of that January morning in 2017 has already given way to the blazing sun of summer. One vivid, burning story after another has become the most precious gift the long river of time has given us.

Nine years ago, in the "Letter to Readers" of the 1st issue of "Barracks Observer," we said: please walk with us.

Five years ago, in the 1,000th issue of "Barracks Observer," we invited you to set out together on this long journey.

Today, we are still moving forward. From 1 to 1,000, from 1,000 to 2,000 — the milestones keep being reset, and "Barracks Observer" and the People's Army are both running shoulder to shoulder with the times.

Across nine winters and summers, our steps are still light, our original aspiration still pure, our words still carry love and dreams, and we are still filled with both trepidation and hope: the page is small, the brushstrokes are light, but the responsibility is great and the mission is weighty.

Chase the wind and race the moon — do not stop; beyond the flat wilderness lies the spring mountain (平芜尽处是春山). The centenary goal of army-building is close at hand; the People's Army's march extends toward the future, and "Barracks Observer" remains "to be continued."

On the new leg of the journey, we look forward to continuing to walk with you.

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Editorial Notes

"Barracks Observer," Issue 590

"The Substitute"

Those seemingly silent times of waiting are all about building strength for the moment you take the field

■ PLA Daily Reporter Cheng Xue

Opening the newspaper and reading through "The Substitute" once more, I can still recall the face of the subject, Hou Hongyan.

On October 1, 2019, on Chang'an Avenue, the Navy formation in white sailor uniforms marched in parade step past Tiananmen Square. Not far from the square, Hou Hongyan and thirteen other members stood in a straight line, quietly waiting.

As the march-past began, these members all knew their chance of taking the field was zero, yet they held their attention stance, eyes unblinking, gazing straight ahead. They were so close to Tiananmen — and yet so far. During my reporting at the parade training base, I saw many figures like them. They shared a common name: substitutes.

As my professional experience grew, I found that the identity of "substitute" exists not only in parade formations, but in the vast majority of posts throughout the barracks.

Du Kang, the subject of "I Was a Bomb Disposal Soldier at Zhurihe," was also once a substitute reserve member. The first time he encountered an unexploded round, he saw the remnant sticking out of the earth from a distance and his heart leapt to his throat; his performance on the disposal range was also unsatisfactory.

Later, during his days as a substitute, Du Kang persisted in building himself up, waiting for his chance to take the field. He bound various munitions structural diagrams into a booklet, made them into cards to carry with him, and memorized them in his spare time. He repeatedly conducted simulated training — eyes closed, fitting explosive charges and detonators, touching the initiator button again and again, finding the position, finding the feel.

Today, this former substitute reserve member has become a lead bomb disposal technician trusted by his comrades. The story of "Du Kangs" everywhere tells me that being a substitute has never been a synonym for being on the margins — it means being a fighter ready to take the baton at any moment.

A combat unit sleeping on its weapons (枕戈待旦) must always have someone ready to step up at every post. As long as you see yourself as the next one to charge forward, you will make one hundred percent combat readiness, whether or not the chance to take the field comes.

Those seemingly silent times of waiting are all about building strength for the moment you take the field. On the track of life, as long as you do not give up running and are ready to charge at any moment, the day will come when the starting gun fires for you.

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"Barracks Observer," Issue 654

"Guarding the Hong Kong–Zhuhai–Macao Bridge: The Little-Known Sentinels"

Each of us is a recorder of the era

■ PLA Daily Reporter Wei Yumeng

From the 1st issue to the 2,000th, "Barracks Observer" has traveled nine years. That span of nine years brings to mind one person — someone who spent nine years witnessing a bridge come into existence from nothing.

A few years ago, I traveled to Zhuhai to report on the People's Armed Police officers and soldiers stationed at the Hong Kong–Zhuhai–Macao Bridge, and there I met sentinel Liu Mingxing. Liu Mingxing enlisted in 2009 — the same year construction began on the Hong Kong–Zhuhai–Macao Bridge. Over the nine years from groundbreaking to completion, he watched with his own eyes as every section of the bridge was erected and every stretch of the roadway was laid.

Through Liu Mingxing's gaze, I seemed also to see the "China speed," "China wisdom," and "China strength" embodied in the Hong Kong–Zhuhai–Macao Bridge. Before that magnificent bridge, the sentinels, through their day-after-day vigil, have defended the fruits of China's reform and opening up and safeguarded the close ties among the three places under "one country, two systems." Returning from the assignment, I wrote the story of Liu Mingxing and his comrades into a piece — "Guarding the Hong Kong–Zhuhai–Macao Bridge: The Little-Known Sentinels."

As a military journalist, my responsibility is to record the stories of Chinese soldiers. Every piece we produce presents a scene through the eyes of an ordinary soldier. Every person we write about is a recorder of the era.

Going into barracks across the length and breadth of the motherland, every soldier holding fast to their post is a recorder — and every one of them deserves to be recorded. On the snow-covered plateau, on remote ocean islands, in deep mountain forests, generation after generation of soldiers, through decades of striving without a single day's difference, have brought forth long swords drawn from their scabbards, sea dragons entering the ocean, and great rocs spreading their wings. It is they who have linked their striving footprints into the annual rings of the years, inscribing the underlying colors of the era.

The era has never been an abstract concept. It is composed of the stories of one ordinary person after another, and of one person after another willing to record those stories. Only by entering the inner world of officers and soldiers can we see the longing that stretches through the night, hear the pulse beating on the training ground, and feel the surging emotion across the vast sea and sky.

The waves roll on, year after year without cease. The sentinels guarding the bridge stand always shoulder to shoulder with the bridge, sharing its glory. We who are recorders share equally in that honor.

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"Barracks Observer," Issue 1,926

"A Civilian Engineer's 'Words from a Craftsman's Heart'"

Walking with the era, we run together

■ PLA Daily Reporter Zhao Qian

A few months after this piece was published, I sent a message to its subject, Wang Jiangfan, asking how he was doing.

Wang Jiangfan had just finished an inspection mission and was preparing to set off for his next destination. He told me that as the lead on a certain research project, he was leading his team in charging toward a new objective.

A few years ago, Wang Jiangfan, carrying a dream of military service, voluntarily joined the growing ranks of the "peacock blue" (孔雀蓝) — the civilian personnel force.

In order to carry out support missions at frontline units, Wang Jiangfan's footprints have spread across every corner of the country — he has seen snow-covered deep mountains, passed through forests thick with tangled branches, endured mosquito bites in scorching heat, and admired clear night skies in autumn. This journey woven of "hardship" and "beauty" is a vivid footnote to his seizing of opportunity and full blossoming on the stage of military strengthening in the new era.

As a civilian employee myself, I felt a special resonance in Wang Jiangfan's story. When we stand on the track of the era and confirm a direction worth running toward, we are bound to encounter many extraordinary sights along the way —

Through the dark, gleaming skin and confident eyes of Gesang Ciren, an officer of the Nansha garrison force, I felt the resolve and pride of a Tibetan young man guarding China's Nansha; through the images of soldiers of the Army's "Great Merit Fourth Squad" (大功四班) facing difficulties head-on and pressing forward with all their might, I understood the weight those two characters "great merit" (大功), won in blood, carry in their hearts; through the backpack of Air Force post-2000 pilot Liu Jiajun, covered in commemorative mission patches, I learned of his dream-chasing journey flying out beyond the nation's borders again and again aboard the "Kunpeng"; through the mission moments recounted by Pan Tao, a researcher at the Jiuquan Satellite Launch Center, I felt his wholehearted, regret-free dedication of his youth and passion to the motherland.

Each of them, accelerating in their run, is a volume in the history of military strengthening. Crossing ten thousand miles of mountains and rivers, we are always recording with care the stories unfolding in barracks everywhere.

At the end of this exchange, Wang Jiangfan encouraged me: "Press forward in pursuit of your dreams — the future holds promise." I tapped a reply on my phone screen: "Walking with the era, we run together."

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"Barracks Observer," Issue 1,944

"The Wingman: The 'Fulcrum' for Winning the Future Air Battlespace"

Climb to the "mast of the era" — first train the legs for the ascent

■ PLA Daily Reporter Fan Enda

Walking into the exercise control hall of an Air Force unit, a massive electronic situation display flickered with complex streams of data. An engineer pointed to the trajectory of a "virtual wingman" on the screen, locked in intense discussion with a pilot about algorithmic logic.

Before this assignment, I had consulted a great deal of material on "system-of-systems operations" (体系作战), "virtual wingmen," and "joint training." The concepts were clear and the logic rigorous, yet none of it was as vivid as the argument unfolding before my eyes over an algorithmic delay of a fraction of a second.

In that moment, I understood: to climb to the "mast of the era" (时代桅杆) and see clearly the shifting winds and clouds, you must first train the legs for the ascent — go to the front lines, go into the stories of the era as they happen.

During the assignment, I met pilot Meng Cheng. This once-elite pilot has now changed roles, staying on this stretch of Gobi Desert to temper the units that come to train. When I asked about the inner journey of his role transition, Meng Cheng did not answer directly. Instead, he pointed to a prominent stone inscription at the end of the runway — "From here, march to the battlefield" — and said with firm conviction: "The victory seen on the battlefield is backed by countless invisible supports. Without those supports, victory cannot be spoken of."

Meng Cheng and his comrades are like wingmen on the battlefield, silently lifting up the "lead aircraft" (长机) charging ahead. As military journalists, only by truly going to the front lines can we see these silent "supports" that lift victory, and only then can our words take deep root in the earth rather than drifting in the clouds.

The night on the Gobi, stars hung low. On the last evening of the assignment, a veteran aircraft maintenance soldier told me about an experience troubleshooting a malfunction. His focused gaze and oil-stained hands were far more persuasive than any ornate rhetoric. As a military journalist, one should bend down, discover, and convey these stories carrying the smell of gunpowder and machine oil, letting readers touch the true texture of the march toward a stronger military.

The assignment over, looking back at that wind- and sand-swept land, I suddenly grasped the deeper meaning of "walking to the foot of the mast" — the markings on that mast are not in the clouds, but underfoot. Only by pressing our footprints deep into the soil of grassroots combat posts can we sense the direction of the era's winds and shoulder the responsibility of recording the strengthening of the military.

Layout Design: Fang Han

Seal Design: Xiao Guangyi