Chapter 148: Bloody Battle at Guanjiawa - Battalion 56, Part 1

The old man continued, “Our family used to be landlords, but back in those days, life was tough. From my childhood memories, meals were scarce. When there wasn’t a famine, things were alright—there was fish and meat. But whenever famine struck, we had to tighten our belts and save every bit. The thing is, I don’t recall many years without famine. Most of my memories are of lean times. So, as the saying goes, even a landlord’s household had no surplus grain!”

“Ha ha ha…” This remark drew a series of soft giggles from Yuan Yuan and Yan Ni.

Wu Xiang wanted to hear more, and besides, he felt awkward leaving just yet.

The old man chuckled but hadn’t finished. He went on, “Our family were landlords, and some relatives lived in the county town—they were well-off, no doubt. But being wealthy didn’t mean they lived long!”

“Eh?” That was puzzling—why wouldn’t they live long?

“I had an eldest uncle who was very rich, married to several concubines. Unfortunately, he got hooked on opium and his health failed. He didn’t even make it to thirty before he passed away! Then there was my second uncle. When the eldest died without a son, all the wealth passed to him. But he was under twenty-five when he was kidnapped for ransom. A large sum was paid, but he never returned. His body was found in an old forest, mauled by wild dogs—only his nose and eyes remained recognizable. Who kidnapped him? It was the eldest uncle’s second concubine, who colluded with bandits outside. Sadly, she didn’t fare well either. Not long after, her floating corpse was found in the river. Though her face was swollen beyond recognition, some birthmarks still made it identifiable…”

The three listeners shuddered at the grim tale. Wu Xiang had heard similar stories before, but even so, this time it sent a chill down his spine.

“You might think those were my uncles’ tragedies, but our family didn’t fare any better. I’m the third son. My eldest brother was killed by the Japanese. I was very young then. We only knew to flee after he died. We couldn’t even take revenge; instead, we had to keep paying grain taxes or else people would die. The ‘white devils’ were like that. During the war, they confiscated all our remaining rations. Our entire family barely survived—my second brother starved to death. Several sisters sold themselves just for food. Whether any survived, I don’t know. That’s the story of my landlord family. Later on, I joined our own troops. I had no choice; I wouldn’t have survived otherwise. So, do you think I hate the Party?”

“That… your family’s experiences are just…” Yuan Yuan and Yan Ni looked on the verge of tears. It was unbearably tragic.

“You girls, let me tell you, my story isn’t the worst. When I was with the troops, I met others with backgrounds similar to mine—even some richer. They were from big cities. But what good did that do? One comrade told me their family had wealth going back three generations, yet none lived past fifty, and few even reached forty!” The old man’s storytelling had turned into a recital of deaths, yet he spoke as if recounting someone else’s tale. “In those days, if you had money, others coveted it. And if you were reckless… well, after the founding of the country, everything changed completely!”

“But wasn’t it still difficult back then?” Yan Ni asked, though everyone knew life was truly hard after the founding.

“Difficult, yes, but fewer people died. And everything was shared. Our family had no money left, so no one coveted us. Without envy, you live longer. Later, I worked locally. My salary was small, but my quality of life wasn’t worse than a landlord’s before. Not just me—ordinary workers in the city had it no worse than old landlords. I was one once; do you think I’d lie? Look at me—seventy-five years old, with children and grandchildren, all well-educated and employed. Who gave me all this? Could I hate our Party? Even if I had been persecuted and died back then, I wouldn’t hate it! Living this long, I’m grateful! I dare say anyone who lived through those times wouldn’t hate—it’s gratitude they feel!”

At that moment, the old man seemed a little tired. He stood up with a smile and said, “Alright, that’s enough for today. Old man’s tired. Time to go.”

The story naturally concluded there. Wu Xiang, Yuan Yuan, and Yan Ni began walking back, and Yuan Yuan seemed emotional, tears threatening to fall.

“Director Wu, did you purposely find this old man to give us a lesson?” Yan Ni asked in her Shaanxi dialect.

“Heh heh, do I have that kind of leisure?” Wu Xiang laughed. He knew many such stories existed in the area. If you weren’t a landlord, you were even worse off. Back then, people simply couldn’t survive any longer; that old society had to be overthrown.

Many directors and screenwriters came here for local stories. Just recently, Jiang Wen’s film “Devils on the Doorstep” was partly based on local oral histories.

This place is particularly suited for filming such themes.

At that moment, Yuan Yuan couldn’t hold back her tears, “Was life during the Republic really as tragic as this old man said?”

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In truth, Yan Ni also wanted to understand. Though their history education painted the era as bleak, it was hard to truly imagine.

“Sigh,” Wu Xiang exhaled. “Yuan Yuan, Sister Yan, I’ll give you a simple example. Remember how many old movies and TV shows mention the figure ‘four hundred and fifty million’—always followed by ‘compatriots’?”

Yuan Yuan and Yan Ni nodded. That number often appeared in period dramas.

“Pay attention—many films aren’t set in the same period. The Republic era spanned many years, so why does this number persist?” Wu Xiang continued. “At the end of the Qing Dynasty, a census recorded about 450 million people nationwide. By the late Republic, in 1947, the last census counted 460 million—barely any increase. The average life expectancy was 34.7 years. Think about it: nearly forty years passed, with a population base of four hundred million, and the total increase was just ten million.”

Yuan Yuan and Yan Ni were silent.

But Wu Xiang wasn’t done. “The first census after the founding was in 1953, and the population was over 600 million. That’s nearly a 50% increase in just a few years. Even if you allow for some margin of error of thirty or forty million, it’s still telling. So, there’s no point in debating—it’s just plain obvious.”

“But what about the ten bad years…” Yuan Yuan hesitated.

Wu Xiang anticipated her. “That era was indeed chaotic, no denying that. But what else could we do? Didn’t Deng Xiaoping say reform was like crossing the river by feeling the stones? Even before that, it was the same—just groping ahead. All we can do now is avoid past mistakes and keep on the right path. And we are on the right path!”

“Oh.” Yuan Yuan replied and fell silent.

Wu Xiang’s thoughts wandered to many later events. Many tried to rehabilitate the Republic era, and online there were plenty of die-hard fans of Chiang Kai-shek. Frankly, anyone who knows a bit of history can’t genuinely support them.

To borrow a phrase from an Internet guru: a historian who becomes a fan of Chiang is like a priest getting syphilis!

But has that actually helped anyone?

Wu Xiang didn’t know. After all, he was a director—not someone who could just wander around with actresses every day.

No, he was not that kind of man.

So, back to filming…

“Damn it, how was this battle fought? Who led these soldiers? Where’s that company commander? Shoot him!”

“Commander, calm down, this is—”

“No one pleads for him! Not even you, division commander! Believe me, I’ll make sure you don’t keep that position!”

“Commander…”

Wu Xiang was filming a scene depicting Li Yunlong’s clever capture of the Yamazaki Company. The man being scolded harshly was Deputy Commander Peng, who was berating Division Commander Liu.

Peng was played by Zong Liqun—the same actor from the original TV series “Drawing Sword.” He was a unique type of actor, actually a real soldier, and arguably the best at portraying Peng because their temperaments were so similar.

Liu was played by Che Xiaotong, who made a cameo; the role wasn’t large. Che was arranged by the August First Film Studio. People might not know him well, but his daughter is famous—Che Xiao, who later married a wealthy businessman.

The commander’s anger was intense, but Wu Xiang knew from history that Peng’s temper was even fiercer—almost cannibalistic.

This battle, portrayed in “Drawing Sword,” really happened and was fiercely fought—far from the romanticized version on TV. Peng’s outburst was justified because the Yamazaki Company—historically the Okazaki Company—had taken a wrong route.

They should have encountered defenders at a strategic pass called Yixiantian—“One Line Sky” in English.

The name alone suggests a narrow, almost impregnable chokepoint. Peng personally surveyed the terrain and concluded that even a squad could hold it.

Unfortunately, that squad went AWOL, leading to the disastrous situation.

The weapons factory and hospital were exposed to the enemy’s sight. Who wouldn’t be furious?

Thus, Liu was drenched in scolding. Later, through a courageous night raid led by the chief of staff himself, they retook a hill.

But Guanjianao consisted of two hills, and one remained firmly held by Okazaki’s forces. The enemy had crafted a peculiar defensive setup: on the loess plateau, many hilltops were flat, so they left a two- or three-hundred-meter open ground in front of their positions, concentrating fire from the cliffs behind.

This defense was easy to hold but hard to assault. Soldiers had to climb up and then charge across a vast open space—a deadly ordeal.

Yet, the hill had to be taken, or the entire front would be compromised with heavy losses.

How was it captured? As in the drama, through tunneling?

Yes, tunneling—but from behind!

Behind Okazaki was a large mountain. Don’t forget, this was the loess plateau, easily dug through. This idea came from Liu himself, inspired by the soldiers’ heavy casualties during frontal assaults. He thought, “Why not tunnel through this mountain?”

In one night, they dug a passage, opening a hole behind Okazaki’s position. From this elevated vantage point, they tossed grenades, and Okazaki’s forces were wiped out.

For a battle like this, should we stay true to history or to the novel?

Of course, the novel. The terrain around Weixian isn’t all loess plateau, making tunneling difficult. Plus, it’s exhausting work. So, we stick with the novel’s version.

Sometimes, reality is crazier than fiction…