Clasping a Comrade's Hand: That Grip Led Me to Encounter the Moving Steadfastness of the Border
Clasping a Comrade's Hand
■ Jiang Dehong
Because of my work, I frequently travel through the outposts scattered deep in the Changbai Mountains. Every time I meet a familiar comrade, I quicken my pace, say little, and extend my hand first. Clasping a comrade's hand, you can feel a steel-like resilience; you can read the burning warmth and tenderness hidden deep in a soldier's heart.
Comrades on the front line have different personalities: veteran soldiers are candid and warm, new soldiers are shy and reserved, and some young comrades put on a show of liveliness or deliberate calm, when in fact they are carrying something on their minds.
As a veteran soldier myself, I often find ways to blend in with them: cooking a few of my signature dishes, gathering on weekends to play cards, following along to photograph them on patrol, and sharing with them the experiences of hardship and tempering I have gone through, and my reflections on guarding the border……
After spending enough time together, I have become something of an elder brother in their eyes. When we meet again, they are no longer reserved — they take the initiative to extend their hand and grip mine firmly. That grip shatters the barrier of seniority in years of service, and it also leads me to encounter the moving steadfastness of the border.
One year, when I saw Squad Leader Tan Yanzhong at Dongma Outpost, he had just returned from leading a duty patrol. We looked at each other and smiled, both reaching out to shake hands at the same moment. The instant our palms met, I felt the marks left by wind, frost, rain, and snow. When I let go and looked closely, new calluses were layered over old ones across his palm and knuckles — a golden expanse, the "medals" left by years of companionship with shovels and pickaxes, wind and snow. I pressed the shutter right then and there, freezing those "golden palms" in a frame.
Following those hands, a story of pioneering hardship at the foot of the Changbai Mountains was brought to the surface.
In the early autumn of that year, the unit had just been transferred under a new command. The officers and soldiers of Dongma Outpost were living in an abandoned primary school building — windows covered with plastic sheeting, door panels that wouldn't close properly, cold wind whistling through the cracks at night, the temperature inside and outside the same.
Every day after training ended, before the sweat had even dried, Tan Yanzhong would lead his comrades in picking up shovels and pickaxes, carrying loads on their shoulders and backs, hauling stone and soil, leveling the grounds and repairing the school building. When one new soldier swung a sledgehammer, the web of his hand split and bled. Tan Yanzhong tended to him with disinfectant and bandages, urging him to rest for a day. The new soldier bit his lip and shook his head: "Squad Leader, if you can do it, so can I!"
Nearly half a month of hard fighting transformed the dilapidated school building into something new. The roof was patched tight, the wall cracks sealed, the stove burned vigorously, and a long-missed warmth rose through the rooms. Yet Tan Yanzhong still had one thing on his mind — raising the national flag.
On the day of the flag-raising, Tan Yanzhong and his comrades rose early, straightened their uniforms, and carefully wiped down the flagpole. As the morning sun leapt over the mountain hollow and golden light spread across the ridges, the Five-Starred Red Flag rose slowly above the watchtower. The mountain wind gusted, the red flag unfurled, and solemnity and pride surged through every heart.
Tan Yanzhong gazed upward for a long time. The sunlight fell on the red flag, and also on those rough hands of his — the blood blisters had long since been ground into calluses.
Later, when the outpost's newly constructed barracks were completed, Tan Yanzhong again took the lead, clearing construction debris and rubble. Bags on backs, sledgehammers swinging, rakes leveling — the calluses on his palms were ground rock-hard.
When the wasteland was covered with level black soil, Tan Yanzhong proposed planting green pines to commemorate that period of hard struggle. The day the pine saplings arrived, every soldier at the outpost received them like precious treasures, carefully lifting them down from the vehicle, digging holes, steadying the saplings, packing the soil, and watering them.
Later still, an enlarged print of the photograph of Tan Yanzhong's "golden palms" was placed on display in the unit's history museum. It is a witness to the border guards' loyalty to their mission, and an even more vivid teaching material. Beneath the proudly standing green pines, it became the first classroom for new soldiers arriving at the outpost. Generation after generation of new soldiers listen to the story of that pioneering struggle under the pine trees, burying deep in their hearts the seeds of love for the outpost and devotion to the border.
I have clasped the hand of Tan Yanzhong, who pioneered and built the defenses, and I have also clasped the hand of Wang Hongli, who drew his sword to protect the people.
That year, Xima Outpost received a report from local residents: three people had infiltrated a ginseng farm to steal ginseng, and one of them was holding a knife and confronting villagers. Squad Leader Wang Hongli led his team in a rapid response. He had undergone reconnaissance soldier training and was proficient in close-quarters combat. At the critical moment, he told his soldiers to stand back, waited for the right opportunity, charged forward with swift force, and used his powerful hands to subdue the lawbreakers.
The next day, workers from the ginseng farm came beating gongs and drums, delivering to the outpost a silk banner embroidered with the words: "Border Guards, the People's Backbone."
Wang Hongli's hands were thick with hard calluses, his knuckles sturdy. Yet it was these same "iron hands" that, late at night, tucked back the blankets soldiers had kicked off in their sleep, that carried hot sick-bay meals to comrades who had fallen ill, and that, during the New Year, led everyone in wrapping fragrant dumplings together. Hard and soft were perfectly fused in those hands.
In 2025, at Weidong Outpost, after accompanying young Zeng through a guard shift, I asked how things were going. He said flatly, "Pretty good," but I could see clearly that with live-condition (实战化) assessments imminent, the young soldier was under enormous pressure. I gently clasped his hand and said: "Don't try to fool me. I came up through the ranks as a new soldier too — I understand everything that's weighing on your mind."
Those words opened the door to young Zeng's heart. He admitted frankly that, measuring himself against comrades of outstanding ability, he felt inadequate and was consumed by anxiety. I shared my own story of growth with him, telling him to do every task earnestly and complete every assignment to the best of his ability — time would bear witness to his growth.
When I went back up to Weidong Outpost this past Spring Festival, young Zeng came running out with a smile and took the initiative to extend his hand. He said excitedly that on New Year's Eve, the brigade leadership had come into the squad bay, shaken his hand, and wished them a "Happy New Year" — and his heart had felt so warm.
As young Zeng said this, his eyes were bright and shining.
A sincere handshake, a heartfelt word of greeting — these represent the concern one carries in one's heart. Clasp a hand covered in calluses, and you understand the hardship of training; clasp a hand trembling slightly, and you sense the hidden burden on someone's mind; clasp a young and strong hand, and you see the future of the border.
Leaving Weidong Outpost, as young Zeng shook my hand in farewell, he said with feeling: "Old Squad Leader, come back and see us often!"
As the vehicle drove out of the mountain hollow and I watched the outpost gradually disappear into the sea of forest, I suddenly recalled that thirty years ago, my old squad leader clasped my hand for the first time and said: "Out here on the border, when your hands are warmed, so is your heart."