My Reading of the Long March | Farewell Is for the Sake of Reunion
Farewell Is for the Sake of Reunion
■ Zang Qianwen, officer of a brigade under the 76th Group Army
Some time ago, a mission detachment of our unit successfully completed its mission, and upon returning to the unit, an event was organized to share advanced deeds. At the event, Staff Sergeant Second Class Li Lianjie mentioned the words he had said to his wife when parting before the mission's departure: "We'll meet when the mission is done."
"We'll meet on the day of success." Somehow, these words suddenly called to mind the contents of a letter written by Red Army commander Li Jun to his wife Zhong Huaying during the Long March.
Brief words, carrying boundless feeling — in 1934, on the banks of the Yudu River, with the autumn wind bleak and desolate, Li Jun stood at the front of the column waiting to cross the river. The river surged and roared, and his home was right before his eyes. The division commander, sympathizing with how long Li Jun had been away from home, specially permitted him to return home for a visit. Li Jun knew full well that in his home in Tangtou Village near the crossing, his white-haired mother, his hardworking wife, and his young children were waiting day and night — but he was organizing the river crossing operation; how could he leave his post? And so he declined the leadership's offer and resolutely held his position.
The waters of the Yudu River bore witness to this grand parting.
In the deep of night, before the entire division prepared to break through the enemy's first blockade line, Li Jun finally found a moment, borrowed a horse lantern, bent over a desk, and took up his brush: "I have already set out on a distant expedition. When I shall return home, there is no way to know." Though the road ahead held nine chances of death to one of survival, he turned back without hesitation.
"I hope my wife will look up to care for my aged mother, and look down to tend to our children, fulfilling in my place the duties of filial piety and responsibility." Li Jun wrote: "I have already resolved myself to revolution, and since the revolution has not yet succeeded, I must continue to strive for it." A few sparse words — no lingering, sorrowful parting grief, only a plain and weighty entrustment, concealing the guilt of a husband, a father, and a son.
At the end, he made a promise to his wife: "If the revolution does not succeed, I will not return home — we will meet on the day of success." Yet, several months after this letter was sent, the Battle of Qingganpo erupted — as the first fierce engagement the Red Army encountered after the Zunyi Conference, the fighting was catastrophically brutal. Li Jun, then serving as a commander in a unit of the 3rd Red Army Corps, charged forward into a hail of bullets and gunfire, and ultimately fell in the embrace of the mountains.
After the founding of New China, the promised "day of success" had finally arrived. What Li Jun's family received was not a family reunion, but a certificate of martyrdom.
This past spring, Li Jun's grandson Li Taiyang set out from Yudu in Jiangxi and traveled to Qingganpo to visit his grandfather. Before the memorial, Li Taiyang carefully wiped clean the characters of Li Jun's name, and tears burst from his eyes. Across more than ninety years of change, this long-overdue reunion at last fulfilled the promise that could not be kept at the time.
Every farewell between a soldier and his family — no matter how reluctant — is followed by a turn that remains resolute. I think back to a few years ago, when our unit underwent an adjustment to its organizational structure, and the organization arranged for me to train a newly enlisted cohort of female soldiers. "Next time you come home, can you stay a few more days?" My parents were reluctant to let me go. I could only hold them tightly in my arms, and then end my leave and return to my post immediately. This was not a hardening of the heart, but the transformation of a thousand reluctances and ten thousand worries into the driving force to press forward.
Faced with an entirely new organizational structure, an entirely new team, and an entirely new model, training pressures and management challenges came one after another. To lead well the first cohort of female soldiers in our brigade's history during a critical period of the unit's systemic restructuring — I felt no small amount of pressure. Whenever I was lost or confused, Li Jun's choices and steadfast commitment would rise before my eyes.
Carrying this conviction, I held the line at the front — listening to voices, guiding through confusion, building a strong team… In the end, all the female soldiers passed their assessments with top marks and took up their combat positions.
My thoughts return to the present. Li Lianjie's account earned wave after wave of applause from the officers and soldiers in the audience, and I felt both gratified and full of drive. Li Jun set out from the banks of the Yudu River, came to rest forever on the Qingganpo battlefield, and never again set foot on the road home. Compared to the revolutionary forebears, we are already so much more fortunate — in farewell, there is now a weighty confidence; reunion is no longer so out of reach. They laid the foundation with their lives, making it possible for "home and country both made whole (家国两全)" to transform from an extravagant hope into a reality.
The "day of success" that Li Jun longed for in his letter has long since arrived. May the spirits of the martyrs be able to see that the waters of the Yudu River no longer sob, but instead reflect the picturesque cooking smoke rising from both banks; that the scorched earth of Qingganpo has long since been covered by grass and trees, and what echoes in the mountain wind is the sound of joyful laughter. May every successor carry on the struggle, guard the warmth of this world of ordinary human life (人间烟火), and the mornings and evenings of these mountains and rivers at peace…