Special Issue on Military-Strengthening Culture · Cultural Clarion Call | The Warmth Carried Forward from a Slip of Paper

The Warmth Carried Forward from a Slip of Paper

■ Lei Huiyun; Chen Xin, Special Correspondent for PLA Daily

Pictured: A selection of letters sent by officers and soldiers to the "Bagui Xinghuo" (八桂薪火) art troupe after watching their performances. Photo by Chen Xin.

"Jiaxin, there are more letters for you today." Not long ago, after the People's Armed Police Guangxi General Corps' "Bagui Xinghuo" art troupe completed a touring performance, the desk of director and Second-Class Staff Sergeant Xie Jiaxin was piled with 69 handwritten letters from grassroots officers and soldiers. As his fingertips moved across each letter, warmth welled up in his heart, and he could not help but think back to the first slip of paper he had received.

It was after a touring performance had let out. A soldier walked quickly to Xie Jiaxin's side and handed him a neatly folded slip of paper. On it was written: "The performances are wonderful. It would be even better if the programs included stories about the comrades around us."

Xie Jiaxin read those few short words on the slip of paper for a long time, and a tangle of emotions stirred within him. In the recent performances, the atmosphere on-site had been lively and the applause unceasing. He had at one point assumed that, since the programs were running more and more smoothly and the results were getting better and better, he had long since mastered his craft. But when he quieted his mind and reflected, he realized he had never seriously considered how much lasting power truly remained in the hearts of the officers and soldiers after the noise faded and the applause died down, or how deeply they had been moved. At that thought, a trace of shame quietly crept over him, and his cheeks grew faintly warm.

A few days later, Xie Jiaxin and his troupe members set out on a new touring circuit. Their first stop was a certain detachment stationed at a deep-mountain power station. There, he met Chen Jihong, a soldier who had not long since been assigned to the unit.

After one night sentry shift, Chen Jihong confided in him: "When I enlisted, I had hoped to go to a special operations unit, but I was assigned to the deep mountains instead. I was in low spirits for a while—but every time I stood guard in front of the dam and listened to the surging sound of the water, my heart would slowly settle."

"The dam has stood here for decades, witnessing the growth of generation after generation of officers and soldiers who have guarded it," said Yang Guocheng, a First-Class Staff Sergeant who has guarded the dam for 18 years. "When the water level reaches alert status, we stay up through the night with our eyes fixed on the instrument panels. Even when we're home on leave, we're always thinking about the dam—like worrying about an old friend..."

The mountain shadows lay heavy in the distance; the sound of water roared underfoot. The soldiers' words ignited a creative spark in Xie Jiaxin: he would liken the towering dam to an "elder" rooted in the deep mountains, and tell the story of generation after generation of dam-guarding officers and soldiers' perseverance and growth from the dam's perspective.

After half a month of work, the stage drama "The Dam and I" (《大坝和我》) was born.

The performance was staged with warmth in the power station's small auditorium, unfolding gradually through a dialogue between the "elder dam" and a young sentry. Below the stage, Chen Jihong gazed at the figures on stage and seemed to see his own post, where he stood watch day and night. He came to understand more deeply the weight and the honor of an ordinary post.

The success of the performance gave Xie Jiaxin and his troupe members a more profound understanding. Xie Jiaxin said: "That slip of paper seemed to awaken us. Moving details are often hidden in the ordinary life of the barracks. The key is whether we have the heart to draw close to officers and soldiers, listen to what soldiers feel (兵心), and sing for the soldiers (为兵而歌)." From then on, at the end of every touring performance, troupe members would proactively leave behind a message: "We welcome you to write to us and tell us the stories around you."

The response from officers and soldiers was enthusiastic and sincere, and the letters grew in number day by day. Stories hidden at combat posts and emotions buried deep in the heart flowed in continuously, giving the original slip of paper a warm continuation.

On one occasion, Xie Jiaxin noticed that many of the letters spoke of longing for family. That winter, he saw on Second-Class Staff Sergeant Zhang Yong's phone a special "family portrait"—a photo of Zhang Yong in a composite image with his wife and children thousands of li away. Bound by his duties, Zhang Yong had missed important milestones in his child's growth on multiple occasions.

Xie Jiaxin wove this longing across a thousand li and steadfast watch in the mountains into a creative work, producing the skit "This End of the Phone, That End of the Post" (《电话这头，哨位那头》). After the performance, Zhang Yong gripped Xie Jiaxin's hand and said: "You performed what is in my heart—you said what I wanted to say but never said aloud."

From one slip of paper to 69 letters, a warm journey of military arts serving the soldiers (为兵服务) is strung together. Xie Jiaxin said: "Officers and soldiers tell us their real stories. What we can do is take these moving stories and tell them with care to more people."