A Tale of the Carefree Compound (陶園)

A Tale of the Carefree Compound (陶園)

 

April 2024

 

When I was invited to give a lecture at Soochow University at the end of 1999, I took the opportunity to return to my hometown of Nanjing, accompanied by my wife and my two year old daughter. We stayed at the Nan Yuan Hotel, which had been converted from the former Nanjing University women's dormitories. On December 23, 1999, we visited the Carefree Compound. It was a gloomy winter day, and we were greeted by a grayish sky and a grayish ground, with the grayish compound nestled in between. It was evident that people still lived there, but we hardly saw anyone. The scene before us was  messy, dilapidated, and ugly, which left me in disbelief.

 

How could this be the place where I spent a happy decade of my youth? In my memory, it was a beautiful place, with bright sunshine, lush green trees, neat and tidy buildings, and gardens and vegetable patches around the buildings. It was filled with the calls of friends, and the lively figures of my childhood friends running around. 

 

The Carefree Compound now in front of me was nothing more than a graveyard of my youth.

 

***

 

In September 1955, when I was in the second grade, my parents moved from our previous residence at Annex 4, No. 7 Nanxiucun, to Annex 15, No. 5 Xiaofenqiao, the Carefree Compound, which was originally built to house faculty members during the period of Nanking University (金陵大學), and was later used for Nanjing University faculty. Its main gate faced east on Xiaofenqiao Street, which was somewhat parallel to the main artery of the city, and one block away from the North Zhongshan Road, while the other three sides of the compound were adjacent to the student dormitories of Nanjing University's Nanyuan. The  Carefree Compound was a tranquil place in the midst of a bustling area.

 

Upon entering the compound, there was a bamboo grove on the right side. Inside the gate, there were two two-story buildings built during the Nanking University period, serving as single-faculty dormitories for female and male teachers respectively. They were Annex 1 and Annex 2, commonly known as the South Building and North Building. Then there was a large lawn. Next to the lawn, there was a large apricot tree and a small plum tree. Behind them, there were two independent bungalows, Annex 3 and Annex 4, and three rows of townhouses, Annex 5 to Annex 22, where over 20 senior professors from Nanjing University lived. These houses were adorned with various large trees, including tall and sturdy white birch trees and oak trees. There was also a well in the compound.

 

Similar to other unit of townhouses, ours had its own front yard and backyard. In the front yard of our house, there were two flower beds. One was against south wall and contained a fig tree, several rose bushes, as well as cannas and other different flowers planted annually. The southern side of this garden was a small pathway paved with gray bricks for residents of the row of townhouses to walk on. On the eastern side of the garden was a gray brick path shared with the neighbor at Annex 14 that led to the main entrances of the two houses. To the south of this small garden, across the east-west gray brick path, was another small garden that belonged to our house. It featured a grape frame, a small pomegranate tree, and other flowers. The backyard was dedicated to a vegetable garden surrounding an underground septic tank. From elementary school to high school, I planted various vegetables such as pumpkins, squash, fava beans, sunflower seeds, etc  in that vegetable patch.

 

The layout of each house was more or less the same. Upon entering through the main door, the room facing south was the living room, and the room facing north was the dining room. On the second floor, there were three bedrooms, two of which were larger—one facing south and the other facing north—and there was also a very small bedroom facing south. The third floor was an attic, originally intended for storage, but due to a large south-facing window, a desk and a single bed could be placed near the window for someone to live there. Directly facing the main door on the first floor, there was a passage that led to a north-facing side door. Outside the side door was a small rectangular courtyard, separated from the neighbors' courtyards by two walls on each side with decorative patterns at the top and solid bricks at the lower part. Crossing the courtyard led to the so-called “servant quarter,” which consisted of three rooms, with the main one being the kitchen and two small rooms—one for the servant to live in and the other for storing straw and other kitchen-related items. The kitchen had a stove with two burners for burning straw. There was also a door to the north of the kitchen, which served as the back door for each townhouse.

 

To me, the most important difference, when my parents moved from the previous residence to the Carefree Compound, was that I hardly had any kids to play with in the previous residence but abundant childhood friends of similar ages in the Carefree Compound.

 

All my childhood friends and I were happy in the Carefree Compound year round. In the summer, despite the scorching and humid weather in Nanjing, we could play to our heart's content when school let out for a long break. We would often climb the trees to catch various beetles. Tying a string around them, we could hold them and make them fly by pulling the string.

 

There were three ways to play with cicadas. Firstly, let the end of a long bamboo pole be wrapped with sticky gluten made from washing away starch out of flour, then, use the pole to reach a cicada on a tree branch to adhere and catch a cicada. Once caught, we could pinch them between our thumb and index finger to make them start chirping. If it didn't chirp, we could use the index finger of our other hand to stimulate the resonating plate on its abdomen, which usually succeeded in making them sing. Secondly, at night, you could find on the lower tree branches and bushes cicadas that had not yet shed their shells. By catching them and keeping them on the window screen at home, we could witness the whole process of a cicada shedding its exoskeleton. Finally, you could use a shovel to remove a layer of soil from the ground and then search for round, immature cicada burrows. Using a thin straw, you could  lure out the cicada nymphs hidden inside the burrows. After cleaning them, those nymphs could be stir fried in oil to make a delicious dish, similar to stir-fried shrimps.

 

During the daytime, we would gather in someone's house to play chess and cards to escape the heat. But if the weather wasn't too hot, we would go out to catch dragonflies, grasshoppers, and crickets. The most exciting game was the "battle of crickets." By turning over broken bricks, tiles, or stones in a corner, it was possible to catch male crickets. They would be kept in separate jars with a layer of soil and covered with a lid with holes to let air in. Then, one would find someone else who also kept crickets to compete and see whose cricket could overcome the other, spreading its wings and chirping. If a cricket didn't obey commands, a special grass called "cricket grass" could be used. It had a torn end shaped like fine brush, which could be used to drive the crickets forward.

 

After dinner was the best time to play, when the temperature had dropped. The first few children who finished supper would run along the houses, singing, "Who's playing hide-and-seek? Who's playing ‘Thirty-Six Sections’?" Upon hearing our friends' calls, those who hadn't finished their meals would quickly finish eating and rush out to play. Once enough of us had gathered, we could play hide-and-seek or a game of "Cops and Robbers." Late comers could join in at any time. When we got tired, each person would take out his or her own mat and lay it on the lawn. We would gaze at the stars in the sky, pointing out which ones were the Big Dipper, the Little Dipper and North Star. We would chat, share stories, and enjoy the vastness of the sky and refreshing evening air until late at night when the weather became cool. Then, we would each return home to sleep.

 

When the winter break arrived, there were celebrations for New Year's Day and the Chinese New Year, also called Spring Festival. Besides being able to enjoy various delicious treats that were only available during this time of year, it was also a great time for wild play, especially after a heavy snow. In the 1950s, Nanjing often experienced heavy snowfall during the winter. After the snow stopped and the sky cleared, we would eagerly run out from our homes. We would roll snowballs, build snowmen, and divide ourselves into two teams for a snowball fight. Sometimes we would pack down the snow on the roads and then take a few steps to slide over a distance. While sliding, someone would stretch out his arms and legs, striking different poses. Liu Jiansheng, who was younger, called it the "大" (dà) shape, while Chen Kaixian, who was in a higher grade, disagreed and said it was the "太" (tài) shape. Of course, not every child could understand. Younger children, especially little girls, might not grasp the tricky implication. We usually would be so engrossed in our play that we didn't want to go back home. It was only when we were called in for a meal that we would realize our eyes had become snow-blind, everything appearing in whitish and reddish hues.

 

Spring and autumn were the seasons for going to school. Almost all of us attended Nan Shi Primary School. It was the most favored elementary school by professors’ families from Nanjing University and the Nanjing Institute of Technology. It was located a little over a 20-minute walk from Carefree Compound. After breakfast, we always tried to go to school together.

 

During that time, there was not many homework assignments. After school, on Sundays and holidays, we had plenty of time for wild play. Two of my favorite games were called“Hit Stick” (打梭) and “Knee Fighting (鬥拱)”.

 

The “Hit Stick” game was played on an open field where a shallow pit shaped like a spindle, about eight inches long, was dug. Two sticks, slightly thicker than fingers and stripped of bark, were used: one long stick measuring about one foot, called the “tiaozi ,” and one short stick measuring about five inches, called the "suozi." To play this game, at least two players were required, but more could participate as well. Player A, on the offensive position, placed the short suozi horizontally across the shallow pit and inserted the long tiaozi into the pit, attempting to flick the suozi as far away as possible. Then, the tiaozi was placed horizontally on the shallow pit. Player B stood at the spot where the short suozi landed and threw the suozi aiming for the long tiaozi on the shallow pit. If Player B hit the tiaozi, he won and switched roles with Player A to flick the suozi. If the tiaozi was not hit, it might be far away, so Player A measured the distance between the landing spot of the suozi and the shallow pit using the tiaozi. This distance measured by number of the length of a tiaozi, and was added as points to Player A's score. Player A also earned the opportunity to play the game on offense again. In the second round, instead of flicking the suozi, Player A held both the suozi and the tiaozi in one hand and threw the suozi into the air, trying to hit it as far away as possible using the tiaozi. This was more challenging than the previous flicking. He lost his turn on offense if he failed to hit the suozi. If Player A hit the suozi successfully, and Player B still failed to hit the tiaozi on the shallow pit with the suozi, Player A earned more points and got a third chance to play. The third and subsequent rounds of the game were the most difficult. Player A slanted the suozi in any position within the shallow pit and used the tiaozi to bounce one end of the suozi into the air. He then struck the airborne suozi with the tiaozi, trying to hit it as far as possible. This game was simple and very enjoyable, but after playing, parents would remind us to wash our hands thoroughly when returning home.

 

The game of “Knee Fighting” was played with a minimum of two players, but it's not very fun with just two children. The more players, the better. All players were divided into two teams based on age, height, and physical strength to ensure a fair distribution. Each person used one hand to hold the other foot and bring it up to the thigh, creating a triangular plane formed by the thigh and calf, with the knee as the focal point. This was called the “gong." The remaining leg was used for balancing and hopping. The objective was to destroy the opponent's formation of "gong" and separate his hand and foot. Once a person's hand and foot were separated and he lost his "gong," he was considered defeated and could not continue to participate in the battle. The two opponents could engage in direct frontal combat with their "gongs" facing each other, or launch attacks from the side or behind. It was possible to fight one-on-one or several people could surround and attack a single person. Players with taller stature and stronger physique had an advantage. To overcome these advantages, the only effective strategy was to surround and attack. When both teams engage in a chaotic battle, if all members of a team lost their "gongs," that team lost. This game was also very simple, extremely fun, and provided a clear physical workout. After playing for a while, we usually found ourselves covered in sweat and exhausted. Some players might lose their "gong" merely due to physical exhaustion and being unable to maintain balance while hopping on one leg.

 

During late spring, when the fruits ripened, we would climb the trees to pick apricots, plums, and mulberries. In autumn, the introduced North American oak trees would drop a lot of acorns on the ground. We called these acorns "mao lizi" (hairy chestnuts). Engaging in battles using these "mao lizi" was one of boys’ favorite games. The participants were divided into two teams, using the entire compound as the battlefield, and we would use the acorns as bullets to attack each other.

 

The girls played shuttlecock kicking, jumprope, hopscotch, etc. Some girls were more adventurous and enjoyed playing boys' games, such as Liu Tongsheng and Jiang Yiliang. Most of these adventurous girls were considered "athletic champions" in school.

 

The game of “hopscotch (jumping houses)” involved drawing a rectangular shape on the ground with chalk, divided into different-sized squares. Then, a piece of tile was used, and players hopped on one leg to kick the tile. The goal was to kick the tile accurately into the next square without exerting too much or too little force. It must stay within the boundaries of the squares. The objective was to successfully kick the tile following a designated route. If the tile went out of bounds in any square, the player lost.

 

There were many other games as well, such as juggling diabolos, spinning tops, rolling hoops, wrestling, playing table tennis, and so on and so forth, too numerous to list them all.

 

***

 

After graduating from No. 10 Middle and High School in 1965, I enrolled in Xi'an Jiaotong University, bidding farewell to the Carefree Compound. In June 1966, the Cultural Revolution erupted, and I quickly found myself isolated at the university, standing in opposition to the vast "revolutionary masses.” At the end of August 1966, I returned to Nanjing, back to the Carefree Compound where I had lived for ten years from 1955 to 1965, a place where I had spent a wonderful youth.

 

However, the Carefree Compound had completely changed. Now, everything from the past in my memories seemed to have happened in another century, on another planet. I didn't see any of my childhood friends. The older ones, of course, had likely gone their separate ways. But I also didn't see any younger children playing.

 

It was said that younger children were following the teachings of the Super Sage and, under the instigation of the so-called "old revolutionary" Li Zhongrong (李鍾融), living at Annex 3, had formed a "Red Terror Squad" in the compound. They shouted slogans like "Long Live the Red Terror!" and engaged in terrorizing their neighbors, even turning against their own parents. In the compound, almost any house head who lived there was either a "reactionary academic authority" or a "capitalist roader," all of them targets for the Cultural Revolution. The children were busy creating the "red terror," and they had no time to play those old "petty bourgeois" games. According to one of my old childhood friends who still lived in the compound at that time, the children were essentially divided into two categories: those who kept their heads down and remained silent, and those who followed the teachings of the Super Sage and engaged in evil deeds. This childhood friend said it was essentially a distinction between those who were well family educated and those who were not, a difference in morality and character. However, all the children in the compound who had not yet graduated from high school and entered university ended up going to the countryside as part of the "Up to the Mountains and Down to the Countryside" movement ordered by the Super Sage.

 

Even the seemingly ordinary professors' wives in the compound started to compete with each other to proclaim how revolutionary they were and how closely they followed the teachings of the Super Sage. According to a recollection from another one of my childhood friends who still lived in the compound, in order to protect themselves, their husbands, and their families, these women began to tear each other apart and turn against their neighbors, revealing their ferocious nature. Sadly, they all miscalculated. They were unable to protect themselves, their husbands, or their families. In the end, they gained nothing, only pitifully losing their moral bottom line and exposing the weakness and even darkness of the Chinese intellectuals' character.

 

On June 9, 1966, my father went to Changde, Hunan Province to establish the Nanjing University Central-South Branch. Less than a month later, on July 1, 1966, he was ordered to return to Nanjing University to participate in the Cultural Revolution and undergo struggle sessions, being denounced. At that time, all the universities in the country had labeled professors as "reactionary academic authorities," and the heads of departments were uniformly regarded as "capitalist roaders." My father thus became a target for attacks almost by definition.

 

However, my father was an ordinary scholar after all, and he was busy with the affairs of the school and the department. How could he understand the sudden and enormous changes that had occurred? When he returned to Nanjing from the Nanjing University Central-South Branch in Hunan, a work group sent by the provincial party committee had arrived at the university to criticize these "reactionary academic authorities" and the various levels of "capitalist roaders" in the university. My father requested several times to speak with the deputy leader of the Mathematics Department work group, Shen Zhenduo (申振鐸), hoping to clarify that his work was assigned by the university party committee and the department's party general branch. How could he bear the sole responsibility? However, Shen Zhenduo refused every time. The situation caused my father to suffer from severe insomnia and even some mental instability. He isolated himself and spent days in a daze.

 

Father couldn't figure out where he had gone wrong to deserve such severe treatment. At that time, my second elder sister was living with my parents because her husband was studying abroad in Manchester, England. She was deeply worried when she saw our father's absent-minded state. She told him about what was happening outside, transcribing or relaying the content of the big-character posters. Father listened with a mixture of belief and doubt. He told my sister that he probably had employed the wrong people, especially the person in charge of the accounting, who might have embezzled money without his knowledge. 

 

Since my father couldn't be convinced, my sister decided to take him on an adult tricycle ride to the Nanjing Traditional Chinese Medicine Hospital in Mochou Road for treatment. In order to let my father understand what was happening outside, my sister specifically asked the tricycle driver to take a detour through Nanjing's center at Xinjiekou, and then proceed westward along Hanzhong Road to the Chinese Medicine Hospital. Xinjiekou was indeed bustling, filled with big-character posters and slogans, as well as crowds of onlookers and people marching in the streets. What particularly shocked my father were the slogans calling for the capture of Peng Chong (彭衝), the Secretary of the Nanjing Municipal Party Committee, and the overthrow of Peng Chong. After the start of the Cultural Revolution, Peng Chong was appointed as the leader of the work group stationed at Nanjing University by the Jiangsu Provincial Party Committee and was someone much respected.

 

In the Chinese Medicine Hospital, my sister found the renowned traditional Chinese medicine doctor, Dr. Zou Yunxiang (鄒雲翔). Dr. Zou Yunxiang was one of the few truly talented traditional Chinese medicine practitioners in the country, widely known for his expertise and having cured countless patients. He was indeed an extraordinary person. After examining my father's pulse and having a brief conversation, as well as hearing my sister describe my father's "condition," he immediately understood that this "patient" didn't actually have any illness. It was simply because my father had been immersed in his work, busy with establishing the Central-South Branch and developing the 165 Computer, and had little knowledge of the events happening in the world, which had temporarily confused him. With a stroke of his pen, Dr. Zou diagnosed my father's condition as "meridian blockage" and issued a ten-day leave of absence. Thank heavens for the existence of traditional Chinese medicine outside of Western medicine! Otherwise, if it were left to Western doctors who measured body temperature, blood pressure, conducted blood tests and X-rays, everything would appear normal, and they wouldn't be able to make the precise diagnosis of "meridian blockage"!

 

Father's horizons expanded, witnessing the earth-shattering changes firsthand, and he received ten days of rest. His spirits gradually improved, although he still couldn't be considered fully recovered. When I returned home to Nanjing at the end of August, the work group sent by the Jiangsu Provincial Party Committee had already withdrawn from the university, and the university party committee had been overthrown. Each department and office in the university formed numerous revolutionary squads, which acted independently. The Red Terror Squad in the Carefree Compound, together with other revolutionary squads in the university, forced these professors to undergo labor reform and  write labor reform diaries and self-criticism statements every day.

 

However, my father had already lost the ability to think and write. He was unwilling to think or write, and he didn't even know how to approach these things. He would sit in the chair in front of his desk, head down, focus on trimming his nails, and remain silent all day long. In his study, there was a high spring bed that he liked. It was originally placed there for his convenience when he worked late into the night. I remember when I lived at home, I would often push open the door to my father's study in the early morning, and the room would be filled with the smell of cigarette smoke as my father snored on the high spring bed, with the desk lamp left on. Now, that spring bed had become the place for him to fall into lethargies.

 

My sister was extremely worried when she saw this situation. If father couldn't submit his labor reform diary and self-criticism statement the next day, he would once again face the reprimands and abuse from the Red Terror Squad. These diaries and statements were not difficult to write; they were just filled with clichés and boilerplate phrases. My sister tried to dictate them to him and asked him to write them down, but he just couldn't do it. He couldn't write more than a few sentences before lying back on the high spring bed and falling into a lethargy. My sister had no choice but to draft them for him and then force him to copy them.

 

In early September, after staying in Nanjing for only a few days, I bid farewell to the Carefree Compound, which had become so unfamiliar despite being my home for the past ten years, and returned to Xi'an. Little did I know that this was just the beginning of a nightmare, a nightmare that would last for ten years and plunge me, my parents, and other family members into an abyss with no bottom.

 

***

 

After I left my parents' home in Nanjing, the Cultural Revolution movement at Nanjing University escalated once again. As so-called "capitalist roaders" and "reactionary academic authorities," my father not only had to undergo daily labor reform, write labor reform diaries, confess his "crimes," and write self-criticism statements, but our home was also raided and ransacked, and the living room was plastered with big-character posters and slogans.

 

The destruction of the Four Olds and the practice of ransacking professors’ homes had begun to spread across the country's higher education institutions. The professors in the compound, especially those in the humanities, were busy secretly burning books in their homes, starting with burning  books by themselves before being buried alive by others. Each family's living room used to have a fireplace. After 1949, these fireplaces had gone out of use, due to fuel shortages and rationing. Now, those same fireplaces that hadn't emitted smoke for years were weakly giving off wisps of blue smoke, and the air carried the distinct smell of burning paper, completely different from the scent of burning straw in the kitchen chimney. Knowledge was deemed as evil! Books and lecture notes would bring endless troubles. They had to be burned secretly, regardless of their academic value.

 

During the wave of Mass Networking from October to November 1966, I traveled through Shaanxi, Gansu, Sichuan, Guizhou, Hubei, and other provinces. In early November 1966, I returned to my home in the Carefree Compound disheveled and infested with lice. My sister and mother immediately asked me to take off all my clothes and throw them into a large pot to boil. After boiling, they unraveled the sweaters into yarn and then re-knitted them to new sweaters. I took a bath and put on clean clothes, feeling like I had left the Barbarian world and returned to civilization.

 

The situation at home seemed to be calmer than during the previous summer. The calmness did not come from the outside; outside, there were still the Red Terror Squad in the Carefree Compound, the neighborhood revolutionary committee, the revolutionary squads in the Mathematics Department where my father worked, and the revolutionary squads in the kindergarten where my mother served as the director, and so on. The calmness came from within ourselves. Everyone had more or less become accustomed to and accepted the new reality.

 

Like other professors’ families in the Carefree Compound, our home had also experienced the turmoil of being ransacked. The initial purpose of these raids was to "destroy the Four Olds," but the definition of what constituted the Four Olds was rather arbitrary. In our family's case, there was really nothing considered "old." My father was a mathematics scholar, so our home only had some books related to mathematics. Unlike those who studied history, literature, or foreign languages, our home didn't have anything that went against the ideology of the Super Sage. Furthermore, both my parents came from humble backgrounds, so our family didn't possess any luxury items like gold or silver jewelry, antiques, valuable calligraphy or paintings.

 

The only valuable items in our home were several large albums of stamps collected over two generations. My father had loved collecting stamps since he was young, and I learned to collect stamps under his influence and guidance. Father said that one could amass a lot of knowledge by collecting stamps. Stamps encompassed language, history, geography, art, culture, and more. Moreover, stamp collecting didn't require much money, and it could even be done without spending any money. As long as you persisted, you would reap rewards. For example, when a new set of stamps was issued, you could buy a few sets and ask the recipient of your letters to send the stamps back with their reply. You could exchange stamps with other stamp enthusiasts or ask non-collecting relatives and friends for stamps. Then, you would soak the part of the envelope with the stamps in water until it became soft and pliable. Carefully separate the stamps from the envelope, let them dry, flatten them, and place them in stamp albums. The joy in your heart when you completed a set of stamps could only be experienced by stamp collectors.

 

At the time before I left Nanjing for Xi’an, there was a window at the Xinjiekou Post and Telecommunications Office specifically for stamp collectors to buy "canceled stamps." Canceled stamps referred to unused stamps from previous issuances that the post office sold as complete sets with postmarks to stamp collectors at significantly lower prices than their face value. There was always a group of stamp enthusiasts gathered in front of that window, where they exchanged experiences and traded stamps. It was a place I frequented during my middle school years.

 

Father was born at the end of the Qing Dynasty, and he inherited stamps issued during that time from his father’s generation. By the 1960s, these Qing Dynasty stamps had become treasures in their stamp collection. Especially the very first set of stamps issued by the Qing Dynasty, the "Big Dragon" stamps consisting of three stamps in green, red, and yellow, with the words "Big Qing" printed on them.

 

There was also a large album of stamps from the Republican era. Father said the most precious ones were two "Double Circle" stamps. The Double Circle stamp referred to a small stamp with Sun Yat-sen's portrait. Above the portrait, there was a Kuomintang emblem, and the circle in it was supposed to be a single circle, not a double circle. Therefore, the Double Circle stamps were discontinued shortly after their release due to this mistake, and the ones already printed were destroyed. The remaining Double Circle stamps on the market became rare and highly sought after by stamp collectors. 

 

Another set that father proudly collected was a set of first-day seals of airmail stamps, which recorded the history of China's first mail delivery by plane. A first-day seal refers to a stamp on which the stamp is canceled with a postmark seal on the day of its issuance. The release date of some stamps is set on the same day as significant events. Larger post offices usually provide first-day seals specifically for stamp collectors. Since first-day sealed stamps are canceled with postmarks, they can no longer be used as postage, so their prices are generally lower than those of new stamps. Some people would affix the newly issued stamps on postcards and have them canceled with the postmark seal on the same day, either sending them to themselves. Others would stick the stamps on letters sent to reliable relatives and friends, instructing them to send back the entire envelope. Due to the scarcity of first-day seals compared to the total circulation of the stamps later on, their value would continuously rise in the stamp market over time. My father and I had quite a few other first-day seals in our possession.

 

We collected all sets of special stamp series and commemorative stamp series issued after 1949, without missing a set or a single stamp. We also had a collection of stamps issued in the so-called "Liberated Areas" before 1949. In addition, we had two thick albums of foreign stamps from many countries, printed in various languages. Among them were diamond-shaped stamps and extremely rare triangular ones.

 

Mother casually mentioned that the stamp albums were all confiscated. I didn't react much when I heard that. "What does it matter?" I thought. Throughout my journey during the mass networking travels, everything I saw and heard, historical relics were destroyed, and famous sites were smashed. Stamps from different historical periods and various countries certainly couldn't all reflect the glorious thoughts of contemporary Chinese Super Sage, so they could all be treated as reactionary items to be completely destroyed. It was like entering a museum, where there were too many "Four Olds" and "Feudal Remnants" that needed to be destroyed!

 

However, it seems that our stamp albums were not destroyed. After the passing of the Super Sage in 1976, according to the policies at that time, when all confiscated items were returned to their owners, these stamp albums had mysteriously disappeared. According to my sister, the school compensated my father with 600 RMB (less than $100 in current exchange rate) for the albums and other things lost. How was the 600 RMB calculated, only the heavens know. My father was then busy with the precious opportunity he had finally obtained, tirelessly establishing the Computer Science Department at Nanjing University, so he didn't inquire about the stamp albums. Perhaps he was too busy to spare the energy, perhaps he had lost interest in those lost items, or perhaps he still harbored fear. Who would dare to confront the communist party, which has always been glorious, great, and right, over such matters? A few years later, my sister was amazed to see those valuable Big Dragon stamps, Double Circle stamps, and triangular stamps at an auction shown on television. She exclaimed, "Aren't these our family's stamps?" After hearing this, my father coughed dryly and calmly said, "They could also belong to someone else's collection."

 

There was one more thing in our home that could be considered valuable. It was a brand new women's Forever brand bicycle. Strictly speaking, this bicycle didn't belong to our family. It was a gift from my sister's husband to my sister when they got married. After my sister's husband went to Manchester, England, for further studies in 1965, my sister returned from her husband's home to our parents' house in the  Carefree Compound. The compound was located in the south-east corner of Nanjing University's south campus. Since she was working as an assistant professor in the Physics Department at Nanjing University, she usually walked to work and didn't need to ride a bicycle. So she left this brand new bicycle at our parents' house.

 

Not long after the start of the Cultural Revolution, this beautiful bicycle was discovered. If we calculate based on the ratio of economic income or property ownership, or based on the percentage ownership of the population, a bicycle like this in 1966 would have been equivalent to a regular family owning a car in the 21st century. How could such a valuable item that could contribute to the revolution be left idle in the possession of those double cow demons and snake spirits? At that time, a rising star in the Mathematics Department of Nanjing University, assistant professor Zeng Bangyuan (曾邦元), who later became the leader of the rebel faction of red guard in the Mathematics Department, came to my parents' house and wrote a "loan note," taking away the bicycle.

 

Zeng Bangyuan later became a famous figure in rebel factions in the Nanjing area, as the leader of the "Fart Faction" and the overall leader of the “8.27 Revolutionary Alliance.” He was known for his prolonged factional struggle with Wen Fenglai (聞風來), the leader of the "Fantastic Faction" and the head of the Student Office of the Red Guards at Nanjing University. With the support of the Super Sage's party loyalists, they joined forces and defeated the earlier royalist faction, the “Red Guard Brigade," leading to an intense and protracted factional struggle between themselves.

 

It is said that Zeng Bangyuan was a frequent guest at the home of the local military district commander Xu Shiyou (許世友). Xu Shiyou's wife, Tian Pu (田普), introduced him to a potential partner, who turned out to be Zhang Ning (張寧), the future "concubine" chosen by the son of the deputy commander of the national armed forces, Lin Biao.

 

In 1967, my sister's husband was ordered to end his study abroad in the UK and return to Nanjing University to participate in the Cultural Revolution. My sister told him about the incident of the bicycle being "borrowed." When my sister's husband received the "loan note," he didn't even look at it. He tore it up and threw it into the trash can. After that, whether it was the return of confiscated household items in 1978 or the subsequent settlement of Zeng Bangyuan's crimes during the Cultural Revolution, no one remembered that bicycle anymore. It was truly insignificant. Even Zeng Bangyuan himself--if he is still alive today--when he nostalgically recalls his glorious years of dominance, probably won't remember, in his selective memory, that he "borrowed" a brand new women's Forever bicycle from our house in the autumn of 1966.

 

This time when I returned to our home in Carefree Compound after the mass networking travel, I witnessed the scene of the home of Professor Chen Jia (陳嘉) from the Foreign Languages Department and his wife, famous soprano Huang Youkui (黃有葵) from the Nanjing Art Institute, being raided. Professor Chen Jia had obtained a doctoral degree in English and American literature from Harvard University in the United States and was an expert in the field of English and American literature. He was particularly knowledgeable about the works of Shakespeare and had directed and performed in his own production of Hamlet Unfortunately, this time, the famous quote from Hamlet brought him great calamity and left him speechless: "To be, or not to be, that is the question." Those young people who were his students not long ago and had hoped to learn the essence of English and American literature from him had now transformed into proletarian revolutionary rebels, pointing at him and questioning, "Tell us! Explain clearly! What does it mean? Is it something or nothing? What is the question?"

 

Obviously, the raid on Professor Chen Jia's home was not the first time. Because he and his wife belonged to Nanjing University and Nanjing Art Institute respectively, various rebel organizations from both schools took turns displaying their proletarian power by raiding their homes. In addition to these organizations, there were also the young children of the "Red Terror Squad" in the Carefree Compound who were eager for revolution, as well as the neighborhood committees and other professors' wives who feared being left behind. In short, anyone could come and raid their homes freely, without any approval or procedures. Furthermore, their home, unlike ours, contained a variety of special objects. Which item in their house wasn't considered part of the "Four Olds"? Which item wasn't deemed "feudal, capitalist, or revisionist"? Those books and lecture notes on English and American literature, the Western music records and sheet music, the furniture, utensils, and decorations in the house, and so on, none of them could be completely raided in one go!

 

Our house at Annex 15 was located diagonally across from Professor Chen Jia's front door at Annex 6. There was a small window, facing north, at the corner of the staircase leading from the second floor to the third floor. My sister and I crouched by the small window, observing everything happening in front of Professor Chen's house. Outside the front door of Annex 6, there was a set of steps leading to a front yard. Now, there were two adult tricycles parked outside the front yard, and the red guard rebel faction members who were raiding the house were busy loading the confiscated items onto the tricycles.

 

Several female students sat on the steps in front of the front door, crowded together, happily flipping through the family photo albums they had just confiscated. They wanted to have a quick look before taking these private photo albums to their red guard rebel headquarters, where they could study and criticize them at their leisure. They laughed and chatted, pointing and discussing, clearly showing a mixture of curiosity and envy, without a trace of criticism. 

 

In the front yard, Professor Chen's daughter, Chen Lixian (陳勵先), was engaged in an angry argument with two red guard rebel faction members. We couldn't hear what they were arguing about, but it was evident that Chen Lixian's resistance was in vain. Soon, the two tricycles were loaded with the spoils and left Professor Chen's house. Shortly after Professor Chen Jia's house was thoroughly ransacked, he and his wife were ordered to move into the damp, dark basement of Annex 2.

 

I also heard that when the home of Professor Han Rulin (韓汝霖), a Mongolian history expert from Annex 8, was ransacked, it took an entire truck to transport all the confiscated items. Moreover my mother described the scene of Professor Jiang Mengyin (蔣孟引)’s house being ransacked in Annex 19.

 

My sister told me that on the day when a group of red guard students from the Department of Mathematics ransacked our house, she happened to be home and witnessed the entire process. By then, raiding professors' homes had become a prevalent practice, and everyone believed it was an acceptable and justified action. These students didn't need any authorization; they simply proclaimed, "We are sent by the Super Sage!" and that was enough. I asked my sister, "Apart from our stamp collection and your bicycle, what else did they take?" She replied, "There wasn't much in our house for them to take. They confiscated the Philips radio that belonged to our uncle, claiming it could be a spy communication device connected to Chiang Kai-shek. They might have also taken some of our father's notebooks and similar items." Sister said that the biggest blow wasn't what they took from the house; it was the psychological impact. Watching a group of strangers invade our home, rummaging through our belongings, and leaving everything in disarray, made us feel completely helpless and stripped of any human dignity. Even half a century later, my sister still recalls those events with intense anger. She said, "Those students who raided professors' homes must be in their seventies now. I wonder what they think and feel when they reflect on their actions from back then."

 

In early December 1966, I left my oppressive and gloomy home in the Carefree Compound and returned to Xi'an Jiaotong University.

 

***

 

I was totally bored at Xi’an Jiaotong University as there was nothing to do except the chaotic Cultural Revolution which I couldn’t care less. After traveling and visiting Chengdu, Zigong, and Chongqing in Sichuan Province for a period of time in May and June 1967, feeling lost and empty, I returned to my home in Nanjing in late August 1967 from Xi'an.

 

Following the 7.20 Incident in Wuhan, the Red General Faction in Nanjing also turned their attention to the commander of the Nanjing Military Region, proclaiming that they would "wield both guns and pens." By late August, under the threat of armed attacks by the Red General Faction, the main force of another faction, the “8.27” Faction, declared a retreat to the Xiaguan district and the Yangtze Bridge construction site, leaving the city of Nanjing under the control of the Red General Faction.

 

It was past 10 o'clock at night when my train arrived at the station controlled by the “8.27" faction in Xiaguan. All the buses heading to the city were no longer running. I had no choice but to walk home. The Yijiang Gate was roughly the boundary line between the two factions, controlled by the Red General Faction. After some questioning, I was able to pass through smoothly.

 

When I arrived home in the Carefree Compound, my sister was no longer living there. Her husband had returned to China in early 1967 from Manchester to participate in the Cultural Revolution. Thus my sister had gone to live with her husband's family. Soon after the start of the Cultural Revolution in 1966, my mother, who was the director of the Nanjing University Kindergarten, had her position stripped of power. By January 1967, she had officially handed over all her responsibilities, including the account books, and become an ordinary worker in the kindergarten. In the summer of 1967, under the demands of the “Struggle, Criticism, and Reform Liaison” in the Mathematics Department of Nanjing University, my father wrote over forty pages of self-criticism and explanatory materials. However, the red guards were preoccupied with factional struggles and violent conflicts, leaving no time to pay attention to these already overthrown "dead tigers."

 

Returning to my home in Nanjing, I still wandered in emptiness. During the day, I would go around the city to buy radio parts and equipment and then return home to assemble a radio I designed. The nights in Nanjing were hot and stuffy, making it unbearable to stay indoors. Traditionally, it was a pleasant experience to relax outside, but now the situation was different. In the Carefree Compound, there were hardly any people enjoying the cool evening breeze. It seemed that these fallen and disgraced "stinky old ninth" professors preferred to suffocate in the heat at home rather than come outside to find some relief.

 

On the nearby North Zhongshan Avenue, the main artery, the middle of the street was crowded with people every night, since there were no vehicles passing through. People were there to engage in "street debates" on the topics of the ongoing Cultural Revolution in Nanjing and Jiangsu Province. Of course, many of them were there just to spectate or to enjoy the cool air while watching the excitement. These debates often involved the use of "quotation battles," with frequent references to quotes from the Super Sage, which were then extrapolated to relate to the current topics and clarify one's own views. The opposing side would counter with quotes from other words from the Super Sage to refute the opponent's arguments. The participants in the debate inevitably became emotionally charged, arguing fervently with each other. However, they were still gentlemen who engaged in verbal disputes rather than physical altercations.

 

Nevertheless, I witnessed a “physical fight" once as well. It happened in broad daylight at the end of August. On that day, "Red General” faction launched an attack on an "8 27” faction isolated stronghold inside the city, the No. 4 Female Middle and High School near Zhujiang Road. I saw truck after truck carrying armed fighters, wielding clubs and wearing straw hats, gathering towards the female school. Across the street, on the gate of the Teacher Training Institute, facing the female school, a machine gun was set up. Explosions could be heard from time to time, as it was said that someone was throwing homemade grenades into the female school's campus. The standoff continued until the afternoon when troops finally arrived and separated the two factions.

 

In that summer, a more comical rumor circulated in the Nanjing area about an organization called "Five Lakes and Four Seas" that went around robbing houses and stealing things. They would justify their actions by quoting a saying by the Super Sage: "We all come from the five lakes and four seas!" Therefore, your belongings are also mine. This story spread like wildfire in Nanjing, accompanied by countless bizarre tales that sounded sensational. As a result, each residential area organized their own defense, forming alliances to guard against "Five Lakes and Four Seas." Consequently, I joined the defense organization in the Carefree Compound and took a few night shifts. The young men carried sticks, ready to take action, while the women used pots, lids, and other items to make noise and sound the alarm. Although the local police station posted notices, no one had actually seen any members of "Five Lakes and Four Seas" committing crimes, nor were any members of "Five Lakes and Four Seas" ever apprehended. All the stories were hearsay.

 

By then, I was considered a reactionary student at Xi'an Jiaotong University and was completely isolated. When my parents found out, they believed that I should go back to school and try to clear my name. Besides, staying idle at home in Nanjing was not a long-term solution. Therefore, in early September, I returned to Xi'an with the violin I had practiced during high school.

 

***

 

By the end of 1967, in order to "consolidate and strengthen the proletarian dictatorship," there was a climax in purging the class ranks. Soon after, my personal belongings at Xi'an Jiaotong University were searched and confiscated. At the beginning of 1968, a special meeting was held in our class to criticize and denounce me, and I was officially labeled as a reactionary student. At that time, there was no place in the world that I disliked more than Xi'an Jiaotong University. Before the Chinese New Year in 1968, I returned to my home at the Carefree Compound in Nanjing.

 

In the evening, I gently knocked on the door of the front living room. My father opened the door and, with a somber face, asked in a low voice, "Why have you come back?" I entered the house and saw that the living room had two beds, one large and one small, a large wardrobe, a desk, and a small round table. After placing all this furniture in the small living room, there was hardly any space left to walk. Three generations of our family lived in that room: my father, mother, the youngest of my elder sisters who had recently returned from Beijing for childbirth, and her newborn baby. It was clear that my parents used the large bed, my sister used the single bed to sleep with the baby, and the small round table was used for meals.

 

My parents whispered to me, saying that three families had moved into this townhouse. Two families moved into the original bedrooms on the second floor, and one family moved into the original dining room on the first floor. My parents were ordered to live in the original living room. The rest of the townhouse was shared among the four families. My father pointed to the north wall that separated the living room from the dining room, indicating "the walls have ears." Then he pointed to the south wall of the living room. Outside that wall was our front garden. I looked puzzled and lowered my voice to ask, "What's wrong with the front yard?" My father leaned close to my ear and said in a voice that only we could hear, "The two sons of Zhou Boxun (周伯勳)!” The Zhou family lived at Annex 21, in the row of townhouses in front of ours, separated by Zhou's backyard, our front yard, and the two small paths in between. The distance between the two families was at least 20 to 30 meters. I turned my head to look at my mother and sister, hoping they could explain what was going on. My sister was busy comforting the baby in her arms and ignored me. My mother made a disgusted face and said disdainfully, "Those two bad boys joined the 'Red Terror Squad' in the compound, specifically hiding under the window of the south wall to eavesdrop and then report to other Red Guards organizations! We've suffered from their reports several times!"

 

In my family I was closest to the youngest of my elder sisters. But this time, I returned home carrying the official label of a "reactionary student." No one could speak freely and we had to keep our voices low. The atmosphere in this crowded room was extremely stifling. My sister had initially planned to give birth and undergo confinement in Beijing, but a day or two before delivery, she decided to come back to our parents' home in Nanjing. She was aware of our parents' situation and the situation at home, but between two bad choices, being with parents in Nanjing was still a slightly better option. "What's his name?" I pointed to the baby in my sister's arms and asked. "Mao Jie," she said. Suddenly, I remembered that this name was given by Mao Jie's father. I recalled that my brother-in-law, who considered himself quite literary, had told me that he had racked his brains to come up with a good name for his son. He said to me, "Single-character names are much better than two-character names. It reduces the burden of selecting characters by fifty percent." As he spoke, he opened a notebook, and a page or two was filled with possible characters to choose from. Finally, he said to me, "I've decided to use the character 'Jie' —— it means frequent good news from the Cultural Revolution.” I had no response to that. For those who were benefiting from the prevailing powers at the time, of course, one could call it "frequent good news." But for my parents, eldest sister, the youngest elder sister, and myself, the situation at that time could be described without exaggeration as "a succession of calamities."

 

I gently took the month-old Mao Jie from my sister's arms, and my mother said from the side, "Be careful! This is your sister's precious little sweet heart!" A faint smile of pride appeared on my sister's face, and the atmosphere in the house relaxed slightly. I didn't scrutinize the appearance of this baby too closely. Looking at this room where there was no space to move, thinking about Zhou Boxun's two bad sons eavesdropping outside the window, and the single high spring bed that my sister had to lie on sideways because it was too small, just to make space for her newborn to sleep, I had mixed feelings, or perhaps no feelings at all. At that time, perhaps no one could anticipate the tragedies and misfortunes that awaited my sister and this baby in the future.

 

I shared with my family the recent events that had taken place at Xi'an Jiaotong University, intending to propose staying at home for a few more days, preferably until after the Chinese New Year’s Day on the 30th, January 1968, to adjust to the many unpleasant and bitter feelings I had recently encountered. However, seeing that everything at home had changed completely, and my parents' situation was no better than mine, and with the approaching Chinese New Year, the Carefree Compound was as silent as a graveyard. I stayed at home for two nights and had to reluctantly bid farewell to my parents, my sister, and her newborn baby, leaving Nanjing and returning to Xi'an Jiaotong University to face the situation that I didn't want to face but couldn't escape from and had no ability to confront. Looking back, that was also my final farewell to the Carefree Compound.

 

***

 

After two years of imprisonment, I was released in April 1971 and sent to work at the brickyard of Xi'an Jiaotong University for labor reform. By September of that year, I was granted permission to return home to Nanjing to visit my youngest elder sister who was seriously ill. At that time, my parents had already moved out of Annex 15 in Carefree Compound due to a fire in March 1969.

 

Mother recounted the details of the fire. In early 1968, during my last visit home, my parents had been squeezed into the former living room downstairs. Although that room was already cramped, it faced south, which made the radical couple of red guards from the Chinese Department, who had occupied a north-facing bedroom in Professor Chen Ying (陳贏)’s house at Annex 22, furious. How could they allow the red guard couple to live in a north-facing room while the couple of cow demons and snake spirits occupied a south-facing one? Furthermore, despite the small size, the living room was still larger than the north-facing bedroom in Professor Chen Ying's house. They ordered a room swap, and my parents had no choice but to obey and moved all their belongings to the third floor of Annex 15 and settled into the smaller north-facing bedroom in Professor Chen Ying's house. Believe it or not, my parents did not even know much about the identity and background of this radical couple of red guards; they only heard that the man might be a retired military soldier, working in the Biology Department at Nanjing University, possibly with the surname Wang (王).

 

Meanwhile, adjacent to Annex 15, Annex 14 was occupied by Professor Guo Binghe (郭斌龢)) from the Foreign Language Department. His family, too, had to accommodate three other families. Four families shared the small kitchen that was originally meant for a single family, which was particularly inconvenient for those living on the second floor. As a result, one family on the second floor set up a cooking stove in the cramped space of the stairwell. On March 20, 1969, shortly after I fled to Nanjing and was captured and detained by the Proletarian Dictator Team (the on-campus prison) at Nanjing University, the stove placed on the floor of the stairwell caught fire, which then spread to the external electrical wires due to the wind. The fire quickly reached my parents' original home in Annex 15. By the time the fire brigade arrived to extinguish the flames, most of my parents’ belongings stored on the third floor had been reduced to ashes.

 

During the days before and after the fire, my father did not live in the north-facing bedroom of Professor Chen Ying's house. He was detained on campus, undergoing "isolation and investigation." Compared to the "isolation and investigation" related to the great cause of the proletariat, the house fire was considered a minor matter. My father was not allowed to return home even during the fire. Only my mother stood at the back door of Professor Chen Ying's house, watching as the fire devoured the belongings stored on the third floor of Annex 15.

 

Mother recalled that she had never truly understood the meaning of the idiom "to seize an opportunity to loot". It wasn't until the day our house caught fire that she realized what it truly meant. She said that there were more people coming to loot than those who came to put out the fire. It seemed that once a fire broke out, all the belongings immediately became public property. Everything no longer belonged to any individual but to anyone who could grab things, following a first-come, first-served basis. The logic was that if they didn't quickly snatch the items, those items would be burned by the raging fire. However, after the fire was extinguished, although the third floor had been burnt, there was still a framework remaining, so that some  items had not yet fallen from the third floor. So those who were looting still used long bamboo poles to poke at the items and then took away whatever they poked down, even though there was no fire anymore.

 

Mother stood there numbly, staring blankly at the scene in front of her. Suddenly, the voice of Teacher Gu came from behind her. The voice was very low and soft, but firm. Teacher Gu Xinyu (顧心愉) was the wife of Professor Chen Ying and also a teacher at the Elementary School attached to Nanjing Normal School. She said, "Mrs., turn around! Don't look! The fire is a good thing! It can burn away all the misfortune in your family!"

 

Outside the gate of the Carefree Compound, there were often a few people carrying tall baskets. These were the scavengers who collected scrap. They carried two large and tall baskets, wandering through the streets and alleys, shouting and buying scrap. They placed the collected scrap in those two big baskets. Sometimes, they would also stop at crowded places like the entrance of the Carefree Compound to purchase scrap, while also laying out on the ground any items they deemed valuable that they had acquired for sale. Later on, my father bought back some partially burned family photo albums and some of his lecture manuscripts from one of these stalls.

 

***

 

It is said that during the Yongle period of the Ming Dynasty, Taishi (a title given to a court official responsible for astronomy and calendar) Zhu built a villa here. Because he planted peach trees, it was known as "Xiao Taoyuan" meaning "A Little Peach Compound." After going through several changes, during the Qing Dynasty, a nobleman surnamed Yu, who had served as a governor, rebuilt the villa and renamed it "Xiao Taoyuan” with the exact pronunciations but meaning “A Little Carefree Compound” or “Carefree Compound.” Unfortunately, after the Yu family moved into the Carefree Compound, many members of the family fell ill and had weak constitutions. They consulted a fengshui master who pointed out that their compound's gate faced east, and no far away was a street called "Fish Market Street" (Yu is a homophone for fish). How can fish thrive after being brought to the market? In response, the Yu family changed the gate to face south, but the number of family members suffering from illnesses did not decrease. They then invited a renowned geographer to survey the area, and the expert said that nearby the gate facing south was a street called "Ganheyan" (Dried River Bank), and how can fish survive without water? Faced with these circumstances, the Yu family had no choice but to sell the compound since opening the gate to west would lead to the western realm, and opening it to north would lead to the realm of the dead, both considered inauspicious.

 

At that time, people regarded the compound as an ominous dwelling. But eventually, it was purchased by the American-established Nanking University (founded in 1888) and transformed into a residential area for faculty. In 1952, Nanking University and National Central University (founded in 1902) were combined to become Nanjing University, whose campus was the original campus of Nanking University. Thus Carefree Compound became the residential area for Nanjing University. In order to facilitate faculty members' commute to Nanjing University, two side gates, beside the main gate facing east, were opened on west and north sides of the compound, adjacent to the Nanjing University campus. Interestingly, after 1949, the Americans who had established Nanking University were all expelled from China. In 1952, after the restructuring of academic schools and departments, Nanking University ceased to exist. During the Cultural Revolution that followed, despite the fact that none of the more than 20 professor families living in the compound bore the surname Yu, they all experienced hardships like fish taken out of water and brought to market, with no one escaping unscathed. There were also those who met unfortunate fates, such as Professor Liu Jixuan from the Chinese Department in Annex 11, and Professors Luo Genze, an expert in the Taiping Rebellion from the Department of History and Nanjing University Library Director Li Xiaoyuan in Annex 9, making their journey to the western realm or dead realm.

 

I left after taking one last look at the Carefree Compound with my wife and daughter. Due to work-related matters, I had to rush back to the United States. I left Nanjing alone and boarded a plane back to the U.S.A in Shanghai at the newly constructed and operational Pudong Airport. There were only a few planes and not many people. Faced with the emptiness of the bustling city, I felt a deep sense of unfamiliarity when reminiscing about my once warm hometown, Nanjing.

 

Looking out of the airplane window, through the scattered clouds, beneath the aircraft lay the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean and its coastal line. That was no longer my homeland any more! The youth of long, long ago was spent in another place and my home now was across the ocean.

 

Overwhelmed with mixed emotions, I expressed my feelings in a poem titled "Reflections on My Hometown":

 

How long shall the homeland stay upside down,

And how much of the past shall be known?

Childhood pals vanished without a sound,

In winter's shroud the Carefree Compound.

 

Old buildings stand, paths worn and forlorn, 

And the ugly sights were born.

How much sorrow can one soul bear? 

Better with  my life in a new land to spare!

 

Appendix Residents of Anne 3 to Annex 22 in the Carefree Compound

 

Annex 3, occupied by a so-called "old revolutionary" from the Department of History named Li Zhongrong (李仲融). He had two daughters named Li Ruilian (李瑞蓮) and Li Qinglian (李慶蓮). Before that, Professor Guan Xiong (管雄) from the Department of Chinese lived there, and his youngest daughter was named Guan Xinyi (管信怡), and his youngest son was named Guan Sikun (管嗣昆). 

 

Annex 4, occupied by Professor Chen Shouzhu (陳瘦竹), a drama expert from the Department of Chinese, and his wife Shen Weide (沈蔚德). They had a daughter named Chen Mei (陳玫) and a younger son named Chen Zhijun (陳誌俊). The house was previously occupied by English professor Huang Hengyi (黃衡一) from the Department of Foreign Languages, who had a son named Huang Sen (黃森).

 

Annex 5 was the first family in the first section of the northern row of townhouses. It was occupied by Professor Shen Tongqia (沈同恰), an English professor from the Department of Foreign Languages, his wife Wu Yiqin (吳挹琴), and their two sons and four daughters: the eldest son Shen Fengji (沈逢吉), the eldest daughter Shen Yulai (沈渝來), the second daughter Shen Xiulai (沈秀來), the third daughter Shen Qinglai (沈清來), the second son Shen Fengxiang (沈逢祥), and the youngest daughter Shen Tailai (沈泰來). 

 

Annex 6 was the second family in this row, occupied by Professor Chen Jia (陳嘉), a Shakespeare expert from the Department of Foreign Languages, and his wife Huang Youkui (黃友葵), a famous soprano. They had a son and a daughter named Chen Kaixian (陳凱先) and his elder sister Chen Lixian (陳勵先).

 

Annex 7 was initially occupied by Sun Shuping (孫叔平)’s family. He served as the Party Secretary and President of Nanjing University. Due to his inadequate handling of the Anti-Rightist Campaign, he was demoted to a professor in the Department of Philosophy. He had two daughters, Sun Xiaoping (孫小平) and Sun Yiping (孫一平). After he moved to No. 1 Xiaofenqiao, Annex 7 was occupied by Cao Peiran (曹沛然), the head of the General Affairs Office at Nanjing University, and his wife, surnamed Wang (王). Both of them were considered "old revolutionaries" and they have three daughters and a young son named Cao Liqian (曹力前). The last house in this row of townhouses, 

 

Annex 8, was occupied by Professor Han Rulin (韓儒林), an expert in Mongolian history from the Department of History, and his wife Zheng Weixu (鄭味虛). They have two sons, Han Shuotiao (韓朔眺) and Han Shuoliao (韓朔瞭), and one daughter Han Shuokui (韓朔睽).

 

Across a well is the second section of the northernmost row of townhouses. Annex 9, on the first floor, is the first house in the northernmost part of this section. Previously, it was occupied by Li Xiaoyuan (李小緣), the head librarian of Nanjing University. After Li Xiaoyuan's suicide by hanging himself, it was occupied by Zheng Yongkang (鄭永康), a French teacher from the Department of Foreign Languages, and his wife Hong Tong (洪銅), the daughter of Hong Shen (洪深), who was recognized as the founder of Chinese film and drama. They have an eldest son Zheng Wei (鄭維), a daughter Zheng Man (鄭滿), and a youngest son Hong Sen (洪森). On the second floor of Annex 9, there was Professor Luo Genze (羅根澤), an expert in the Taiping Rebellion from the Department of History, his youngest son Luo Peng (羅芃), his older son Luo Ying (羅英), and two daughters, one of whom is named Luo Lan (羅蘭). After Professor Luo Genze moved out, he later committed suicide by jumping off the building of his new residence. Next, Professor Li Haichen (李海晨) from the Department of Geography moved in with his wife Huang Xiaoya (黃小雅) and their three sons and one daughter: eldest son Li Sifu (李斯複), second son Li Ning (李寧), and youngest son Li Weide (李惟德). 

 

On the first floor of Annex 10, there used to be Academician Gao Hong (高鴻), a professor of analytical chemistry from the Department of Chemistry. His wife's surname is Li (李), and they have a daughter named Gao Ling (高苓) and two sons named Gao Ping (高坪) and Gao Ming (高明). After Professor Gao Hong was transferred to Xi'an, Professor Shen Rusheng (沈汝生) from the Department of Geography moved in with his daughter Shen Guangya (沈光亞) and son Shen Guangou (沈光歐). The second floor of Annex 10 belongs to Professor Sun Nai (孫鼐) from the Department of Geology, with his eldest son Sun Yusheng (孫渝生), his only daughter Sun Peisheng (孫培生), and his youngest son Sun Fusheng (孫福生).

 

Then, in the middle row of the three rows of townhouses, the first house is 

Annex 11. It belongs to Professor Liu Jixuan (劉繼煊) from the Chinese Department. They have daughters and sons Liu Xiangqian (劉翔千), Liu Qingsheng (劉慶生), Liu Weisheng (劉慰生), Liu Jiansheng (劉建生), and Liu Tongsheng (劉桐生) in their family. After Professor Liu Jixuan committed suicide by drowning, the family moved out of that residence. The next occupants were Professor Zhu Yigui (朱一桂), an English professor from the Foreign Language Department, who was once labeled as a rightist. His wife is Qian Lianlian (錢蓮蓮), and they have seven daughters named Zhu Zhongyao (朱忠瑤), Zhu Zhongxiu (朱忠琇), Zhu Zhongqin (朱忠琴), Zhu Zhongyue (朱忠玥), and so on.

 

Annex 12, belongs to Professor Yang Huairen (楊懷仁), an oceanography expert from the Geography Department. His wife's surname is Wang (王), and they have two sons, Yang Baoping (楊寶平) and Yang Baozhang (楊寶章). 

 

Annex 13 belongs to Professor Zhang Zuhuan (張祖環) from the Geology Department. They have several children, including their eldest daughter Zhang Sinin (張思寧) and their youngest daughter Zhang Simin (張思敏). After the Zhang family moved to No. 1 Xiaofenqiao, Professor Zhong Jiqing (鍾季卿) from the Physical Education Research Group moved in. His previous wife and children died in the Jiangya boat explosion and sinking incident, and he later married his deceased wife's younger sister, Zhou Mingshan (周明山). They have two daughters, Zhong Ming (鍾鳴) and Zhong Xiaoguang (鍾小光). 

 

Annex 14 is occupied by Professor Guo Binhe (郭斌龢), an English professor from the Foreign Language Department. His youngest son is named Guo Xisun (郭喜孫). 

 

Annex 15 is the residence of my family. 

 

Annex 16, the last house in this row, is occupied by Professor Hua Linyi (華林一), an English professor from the Foreign Language Department. They have two sons and one daughter. The eldest son has a mental illness, the second son is named Hua Fuyuan (華富遠), and the youngest daughter is named Hua Youqing (華幼卿).

 

In the southernmost row of the three rows of townhouses, the first house is Annex 17. It belongs to Professor Li Jingcheng (李景晟), an expert in organic and polymer chemistry from the Chemistry Department. His wife's name is Wang Heng (汪蘅), and they have four daughters and three sons: Li Wan (李宛), Li Xuan (李玄), Li Fan (李璠), Li Huang (李黃), Li Baisheng (李柏生), Li Ningsheng (李寧生) (later changed her name to Li Jin (李進)), and Li Weimin (李維民). 

 

Annex 18 belongs to Professor Fang Guangtao (方光燾) from the Chinese Department. They have two sons and one daughter: the eldest son is Fang Qi (方琪), the second son is Fang Hong (方洪), and the daughter is Fang Hua (方華).

 

Annex 19 belongs to Professor Jiang Mengyin (蔣孟引), an expert in British history from the History Department. His wife is Chen Wufang (陳吾芳), and they have two sons and four daughters: the eldest son, Jiang Zexiong (蔣澤雄), is mute; the daughters are Jiang Yili (蔣以立), Jiang Yiwun (蔣以文), who was the daughter-in-law of the famous mathematician Hua Luogeng (華羅庚), Jiang Yiliang (蔣以亮), Jiang Yiting (蔣以亭), and the youngest son is Jiang Haolin (蔣浩林). 

 

Annex 20 belongs to Professor Wang Shi (王栻), an expert in Qing Dynasty history and Yan Fu from the History Department. His wife is Chen Xiumei (陳秀梅), and they have five sons: Wang Sunyin (王孫尹), Wang Sunyu (王孫羽), Wang Sunhe (王孫禾), Wang Sunxian (王孫鹹) (later changed his name to Wang Xian (王鹹)), and Wang Xiaoping (王小平) (changed his name to Wang Ping (王平) after starting middle school). 

 

Initially, Annex 21 belonged to Professor Wang Qizhong (王氣鍾) from the Chinese Department. Their youngest daughter is Wang Xueyun (王學昀), who formerly married to Gao Xingjian (高行健), the winner of the 2000 Nobel Prize in Literature. Later, it became the residence of the Zhou Boxun (周伯勳) family from the Mathematics Department. His wife's surname is Wang (王), and they have two sons and one daughter: the eldest son is Zhou Zhiguang (周智光), the daughter is Zhou Meiguang (周美光) (renamed Zhou Hongguang (周紅光) during the Cultural Revolution), and the youngest son is Zhou Weiguang (周偉光). 

 

The last townhouse is Annex 22, belonging to Professor Chen Ying (陳贏) from the Chinese Department. His wife's name is Gu Xinyu (顧心愉), and they have three sons and one daughter: Chen You (陳遊), Chen Yu (陳預), Chen Wei (陳慰), and their youngest daughter, Chen Shu (陳曙).