The Lives of Two Landlords In Communist China

One evening at the end of last year I boarded the crowded rush-hour SMRT (Singapore Mass Rapid Transit) train. A young man was gripping the ringed strap with one hand, the other holding and intently reading a copy of the publication by The Epoch Times, the Nine Commentaries on the Communist Party. Oh! One of our readers!

He wore a black T-shirt, had a fair complexion and was quite relaxed and tidy. He was about 20 years old. With a smile I asked him, "At your young age, can you understand what you are reading?" He turned around. His bright dark eyes behind the lenses looked at me politely and he said very frankly, "I am from a family of landlords; my grandpa was a landlord." I said, "Oh! No wonder! I thought you are a Singaporean!"

"I have read it twice. My grandpa and father had told me the part about the so-called ‘land reform’ in Mainland China” He sighed, "I think the Nine Commentaries on the Communist Party is really well written! Very factual and profound." He gazed at the scenery flashing past the window and slowly said, "My grandpa's property was all confiscated. Because of this landlord stigma, my father was denied entrance to the university and denied the opportunity to go into the city to work."

I took out two copies of the Nine Commentaries booklets and gave them to him saying, "For your friends to read!" He thanked me softly and put them in his bag. He told me he had asked friends of his read his copy, but because of their young age they could not understand the history. He felt a bit embarrassed but smiled and said, "Actually, my friends and I are about the same age, but because of my family background I could understand it a bit better. When I gave it to a fellow resident of the dormitory to read, he refused to read it as he is the grandson of a commanding general in the Xinjiang Autonomous Region." I told him, "Ha! He is one of those benefited from the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) rule, it makes sense he would refuse to read it. But I am sure one day he will want to read it.” I continued, "Those who had suffered under the Communists, that is, more than half the population, would instantly have a sympathetic understanding of what Nine Commentaries conveys." He nodded in agreement and said," I will ask my family members to read it when I go home for the New Year!"

During the journey home I could not help thinking about my former neighbours, two pitiful children of landlords...

From 1974 to 1986, my family lived in a 4-story apartment building in the shape of a matchbox. Our apartment consisted of one room of about twenty square meters with a bed, a cupboard and table at both sides of the room, leaving a tiny winding path in the middle that ran from the front to the back of the room. All the families had the same type of room. People frequently left their doors open to let air in. Each room was clearly visible from outside. It was no secret which husband and wife had a fight or which family had visitors. Everyone knew everyone else’s business. We often went from door to door to chitchat or often sat near the door, on the veranda or at the top of the stairway to chat happily. Sometimes we leaned on the railings and whispered privately.

My family lived on the fourth floor, in Unit 21. Our neighbours in Units 20 and 22 were both sons of landlords.

Resident of Unit 20, Wang Ruisheng, was a bachelor. No lady was willing to marry him. He was too dull. Some prankster had inscribed on his wooden door "Landlord Wang Ruisheng;" "Down with landlords!" This is how I knew he was a landlord when I moved onto the premises. It appears that he was not the least concerned with his “landlord” designation and would smile at every adult or child. He always moved in and out of his room quietly. Beside his room was the staircase, and there was quite a wide space there. As children we often played there. Sometimes we were so loud that my mother would admonish us, "How irritating! You have made so much noise my head is about to explode! All of you, go home!" Only then did we realise that we had been too noisy and we had to stop playing. It dampened our spirits. Wang always kept his door closed. He was a strange fellow, as he never talked to anyone. We children were very curious about him. We asked each other, “What does Wang do at home?” We peeped through the crack in his door. The room looked barren - only a bed and a writing table. We often saw Wang Ruisheng drinking wine in solitude beside his table.

On New Years Day or other holidays my kind-hearted mother often asked my father to give Wang Ruisheng some dumplings with meat and vegetable stuffing, steamed stuffed buns, eggs and so on. One time I visited him with my father. He stood there, rubbing his hands, grinned, looked a bit uneasy and kept thanking us. Under the light of the lamp in the evening, his lean body cast a long shadow. It was a very lonely scene. My father did not exert himself verbally and was rather quiet, and we left after five minutes. While we were at his home, I could not resist asking Wang, "Are your parents well?" He was rather dejected and muttered, "Not around anymore, not around anymore...." "Any brothers or sisters?" He shook his head. My father dragged me away. But I was staring at a number of Chinese paintings hanging on the wall. Wang Ruisheng was a traditional Chinese painter and was working in the local cultural centre. I had never seen any paintings other than the revolution propaganda paintings or stage posters. It was the first time I had ever seen any traditional Chinese paintings and I exclaimed, "There really pretty!" He seemed very pleased by my praise.

One day, I was queueing at the only store in town to purchase vegetables. I saw Wang Ruisheng following a young lady and was speaking to her softly and in a submissive manner. The lady walked on faster, and Wang Ruisheng followed suit. They arrived at the end of the street and the lady seemed annoyed. She stamped her foot and let loose a torrent of abuse, "Stinking landlord, keep away from me!" Wang Ruisheng felt as if he was struck on the head. The people around were laughing. Wang Ruisheng was trembling and felt deflated. His face was red and then turned white. His agony was beyond description to watch. That moment was deeply etched in my memory. Over the years that memory had begun to fade in my mind. But how could Wang Ruisheng erase the shame, self pity, sadness, and suffering from his heart?

When I talked about what I had seen with my mother, she said, “Who would be willing to marry a landlord! Their future children wouldn’t be allowed to join the military or become government officials. Who would want to marry anyone other than a factory worker?”

In 1975, an earthquake hit Hai Cheng and Ying Kou.

"Earthquake! Run!" The people were scrambling down the stairs, people bumping into each other, screaming and crying. Everyone was terror stricken.

The people congregated in the open space; the children were crying, the elders sighing, "Disaster! If our building collapses, everything will be gone! We have nowhere to go!"

On my way out of the building, I was shocked to see that Wang Ruisheng hadn’t left the building. He was doing some painting by himself. My mother asked, "Is the bachelor unaware of the earthquake?" My father went back and banged on his door and told him, "There is an earthquake! Follow everyone and run out!" He smiled and replied nonchalantly, "It does not matter. You all run!”

Our building wasn’t damaged by the earthquake. After the initial quake, the rumour that a big one was imminent caused some turmoil. We all set up tents and lived outside. Wang Ruisheng still stayed in his room.

A major earthquake did hit the city of Tang Shan in 1976. We weren’t directly hit by it but we still experienced some major aftershocks. Wang Ruisheng remained indifferent and acted as if he was separated from the rest of the world. No one bothered to cry out to him to run away anymore.

He still wore the pale grey clothes, smiled an indifferent smile and was silent, like a shadow.

In 1982, the daughter of a distant relative of his was getting married and had nowhere to stay. Since Wang Ruisheng was the bachelor and had more room than others, she asked him if she and her new husband could stay with him for a while. He immediately replied, "No problem. Stay with me!" They divided the room into two. The newlyweds stayed in the outer room and Wang Ruisheng lived in the inner room. The tightly closed door of Unit 20 was finally opened. The couple hummed a tune while they did their daily chores, while Wang Ruisheng looked at his paintings as if in a trance. The three of them ate their meals together. It was the first time that Wang had experienced a home life in 25 years.

His health deteriorated daily. He was coughing and felt dizzy. One day while walking on the road he suddenly felt as if the sky and earth were spinning. He staggered and collapsed, and was killed by a speeding car. He was 45 years old.

The neighbour in Unit 22 was Li Zhongze from Shanghai. He was bespectacled, thin and bald. He was an engineer at the Dalian Ship Building Factory. He was married to a divorcée who had brought a young son from her previous marriage with her. They had two daughters together. When I first knew him, the son from his wife’s previous marriage was 16 years old, silent and strong as a bull with a gloomy disposition and hidden, explosive energy. The older daughter was 12 years old, looking very innocent and boring. The younger daughter was 8 years old, thin and fragile.

He and his wife were well known for their fights. In our block our neighbours could hear us when we spoke loudly. Li Zhongze's speech had a strong Shanghai accent. His wife, being a local person and with a sharp tongue, was shrewish, resolute, decisive, full of strength and energy. Rogues and scoundrels could easily bully serious and mild intellectuals like him in that period of time.

When they quarrelled, the son would side with the mother and Li Zhongze would feel very offended. The rumpus could be heard and we felt fearful. The two daughters would be crying; the woman would continue her shouting and the people on the opposite block would all be looking at them. People crowded in the corridor and in front of their door.

Once while arguing, his stepson hurled a water ladle at him and hit him on the head. Li Zhongze stared with his angry eyes, his face flushing red. He picked up the ladle and walked to the railing of the corridor. He shouted at the people who had gathered outside the door watching the fight, "This son is not mine though I brought him up since he was three years old. He is without conscience and abuses me and even dared to attack me! His mother has neglected the two daughters even when they were weak and sick." The woman was very angry and began to hurl abuse at him. Li Zhongze just said, "Vixen!" The woman rushed into the corridor in a rage and, hitting the nail on the head, shouted for all to hear, "He is a landlord! You filthy landlord!" Li Zhongze immediately became stunned. It was the most shameful thing she could have revealed, especially in broad daylight, he could no longer face anyone. His old wound had been opened. He felt that it was bleeding, with pus oozing from it. Those watching were smiling and taking pleasure at his misfortune. Being called "landlord" was the greatest shame and insult! "He is a landlord! You filthy landlord!" had great destructive power. It achieved an instant result. The woman had won this round. The onlookers were relieved and slowly dispersed.

I often visited the home of Li Zhongze to play with his daughters. His family was living apart. He lived with his two daughters in the inside room. His wife and her son lived in the outer room. At the cupboard next to the bed was a photo of the wife when she was young and attractive. His daughter Hongyun would always be envious when she saw me wearing the sweater my mother had knitted for me. Her mother was either lazy or did not know how to knit. She also did not put too much effort into her cooking. She clearly favoured her son and tended to ignore the two daughters. Hongyun was always moody, spoke very little, and even when she spoke, she spoke only with a feeble voice. She was developing much slower than kids her age. Although she was three years older than me, she came only up to my shoulders, had two stumpy legs that looked somewhat bow-legged. Her younger sister Honhxia was stricken with a congenital heart problem. They seldom played with other kids and in fact always tried to avoid other kids. They suffered from self-pity and were frightened. They were most afraid that some of the kids might jokingly abuse them using the term "landlords." In the shadow of those fears, instead of having carefree and youthful days that normal children experience, they never laughed.

The most eye-catching things in Li Zhongze’s room were colour portraits of Mao Zedong, Zhou Enlai and Zhu De, the three top Chinese Communist Party officials, hanging on the wall, overlooking him day and night. When he spoke of the three leaders, he always spoke with a reverent tone, “The three great men!” Those three were the basic reasons for his discrimination, humiliation and suppression. Yet he seemed to worship them. Maybe he truly did feel that way along with all the millions of people in China. After all, that was how we were all taught. Maybe he didn’t feel that way in his heart but had to say that in order to survive. It is hard to know how he truly felt.

Because of his “landlord” status, his work was not recognised and he was not promoted. No woman of good standing would marry him. So he had to settle for a divorcée who was also a shrew. He was a graduate of Jiaotong University, one of the most prestigious universities in China. But because he was a “landlord,” his life was reduced to nothing.

A lifetime devoid of happiness ended in the most painful way. His emaciated body suddenly showed symptoms of accumulation of water in his liver; his abdomen began to swell. He was diagnosed with a late-stage liver cancer.

As he lay on the bed dying, he would often call out to his parents in Shanghai dialect. He hadn’t dared to say their names for 30 year because they were landlords. Now he finally dared to express his longing for them. Sometimes he would be conscious and point to the ceiling with a sneer, saying, "Landlord, landlord, so what?! Damn it! ”Suddenly he would start sobbing and complain tearfully to the daughter, "Suppressed for thirty years;" scratching his stomach, "My heart.... is suffocated..."

Just before he passed away, he spoke feebly with those neighbours who visited him, "I beg all of you...please help; help my daughters Hongyun and Hongxia find good husbands..." Tears welled in his eyes and he passed away with eternal regrets...

That year, Hongyun was 23 years old and Hongxia 19. Li Zhongze was 56.

The Nine Commentaries is remarkably forceful and unique in sending shockwaves across China.

If those pitiful souls could feel and realise, they would surely heave a sigh of relief and with renewed vigour, rise in pursuit to annihilate the evil spirits.