Mao flipped through old photographs and came upon one taken in 1966 on the Tiananmen Gate Tower, where he stood beside Chen Yun. He recalled that Chen had at first supported the Cultural Revolution and had also gone up to Tiananmen to review the Red Guards. Yet the Central Cultural Revolution Group still allowed Red Guards to ransack Chen Yun’s home—twice. Though nothing incriminating was found, it unsettled Chen. He maintained composure and did not make a scene.

During the Cultural Revolution, Chen Yun was sidelined and later sent down to work in a factory in Jiangxi; his wife was assigned labor elsewhere. No serious charges were brought against him—the gravest label was “old Right opportunist.” Mao felt guilty toward Chen Yun and thought he should apologize. The Jade Emperor therefore summoned their spirits to meet.

Mao said: “I’ve long wanted to see you, old conservative. Just as I thought of you, here you are.”

Chen Yun replied: “Chairman, how are you?”

Mao answered: “In the underworld, I had hoped for something like my old Dripping Water Cave retreat. Instead, I was dispatched to the eighteenth level of hell—damp and stifling, utterly miserable.”

Chen Yun said: “I hear the Jade Emperor plans a public trial and new arrangements for you?”

Mao replied: “Exactly. You, unlike me, always took things in stride. You didn’t get angry; when ill, you recuperated quietly. In disputes you avoided argument when possible. In meetings you rarely spoke. Your method was ‘closing your eyes to nourish your spirit’—leaving no braid for others to seize.”

Chen Yun responded: “You once said a person must have self-awareness. I knew my strength was limited—an egg cannot shatter a rock. If argument would be futile, better to preserve one’s breath and warm one’s stomach. Besides, many times it is unclear where the truth lies.”

Mao said: “At the Seven-Thousand Cadres Conference, such an important occasion, I specifically invited you to speak, yet you avoided it.”

Chen Yun replied: “At that January 1962 conference, dissatisfaction and confusion over the Great Leap Forward were already sharp. Many had voiced pointed criticism. What more was there for me to add? Further criticism would have been redundant. To defend you like Lin Biao was not my wish. To shield you like Premier Zhou—I felt that was somewhat biased. In the end, I felt it best not to speak.”

Mao said: “Yet less than a month later, at the West Building meeting in Zhongnanhai, you delivered a report on the fiscal and economic situation and methods to overcome difficulties. You emphasized increasing agricultural production, solving food and clothing shortages, ensuring market supply, and halting inflation as top priorities. That shows you were a man of action—doing rather than speaking.”

Chen Yun replied: “At the Seven-Thousand Cadres Conference, more words were useless. It was better to do practical things and gradually make amends.”

Mao continued: “Later you suggested household responsibility in the countryside. In August 1962 at the Beidaihe meeting, I criticized within the Party what I called the ‘dark wind,’ the ‘individual farming wind,’ and the ‘wind of reversing verdicts,’ implicitly targeting you. In September at the Tenth Plenum of the Eighth Central Committee, I again denounced those trends and called you an ‘old Right opportunist.’”

Chen Yun said: “I was ill and did not attend that meeting. When I heard you had labeled me an old Right opportunist, I understood I should no longer speak. Conveniently ill, I simply recuperated.”

Mao said: “I knew you had self-awareness. When the wind turned unfavorable, you stepped back. For several years you recuperated in the south, listening to ballad singing—effectively sidelined.”

Chen Yun replied: “Being sidelined, recuperating, and listening to ballads was far more comfortable than worrying over affairs.”

Mao said: “When the Cultural Revolution came, as an ‘old Right opportunist,’ you had to be singed a little. But you were no threat to me, so you were left for later and sent to Jiangxi. In Yan’an you had opposed Kang Sheng’s excesses and opposed my marriage to Jiang Qing. They bore resentment. When Red Guards ransacked your home, I could not control everything.”

Chen Yun answered: “I was not the only one who opposed your marriage to Jiang Qing in Yan’an. Nor was I alone in objecting to Kang Sheng’s excesses.”

Mao said: “In organizational matters you were upright. Kang Sheng was adept at struggle; I relied on him, especially during the Cultural Revolution. On Jiang Qing, I must thank you particularly. After my death, when she was arrested, Deng Xiaoping advocated executing her. You firmly opposed it, even insisting your dissent be recorded. She lived over a decade more before cancer ended her life. In intra-Party struggles, you were always calm and steady. I trusted you.”

Chen Yun replied: “Initially I did not agree with arresting the Gang of Four in that manner; it resembled a coup. I preferred resolving matters through proper meetings. But weighing the complexities, I conceded that arrest simplified matters. Still, I said it must not become precedent; it was not a serious Party norm.”

Mao said: “You were an upright old conservative. I always trusted you. I also appreciated your ‘two no’s.’”

Chen Yun smiled: “You mean ‘not blindly following superiors, not blindly following books—only following reality’?”

Mao replied: “Yes, exactly.”

Chen Yun said: “The key is ‘not blindly following superiors.’ While you were alive, I would not have dared say it aloud. To do so would have been tantamount to opposing the Party—and you. I fully expressed those nine characters only after you passed. In the 1980s I wrote them as calligraphy and presented them to Jiang Zemin and Zhu Rongji.”

Mao said: “Those words are excellent guidance for leaders. You were most adept at calm reflection.”

Chen Yun replied: “They were distilled from decades of experience. They can prevent mistakes.”

Mao continued: “You managed the economy prudently, mindful of people’s livelihoods. Perhaps that stemmed from your poor upbringing—you left primary school early to apprentice. Your economics came not from books but from lived experience, solid and grounded. In the 1950s you stood with Zhou Enlai against rash advance, based on reality. In the 1980s you coined ‘birdcage economy’: the planned economy as a cage, private enterprise flying within it—regulated but not chaotic. With Chen Yun, people felt reassured.”

Chen Yun said: “In boldness, I could not match Deng Xiaoping. He could open the situation.”

Mao replied: “He was more radical; you more conservative. Together you balanced each other. My thirty years of failure show that unrestrained radicalism is disastrous. Deng plus you made development steadier.”

Chen Yun responded: “Thank you for reaffirming me forty years later. Yet from the underworld I see China still far from ideal. Inequality is severe; many Communist officials have become a new bourgeoisie; the ‘red second generation’ are immensely wealthy. The current successor, Xi Jinping, strikes at corrupt officials—but mainly political rivals. At the top, corruption persists. The people dare not speak; he silences discussion and builds a cult of personality. A young woman once splashed ink on his giant portrait in protest; she was arrested. In your time she would have gone to prison; now she is confined in a psychiatric hospital and forcibly medicated.

“Deng Xiaoping’s reforms brought economic growth, making China the world’s second-largest economy. Yet the country is wealthy while many people are poor, lacking medical care and education. Where has the money gone? Xi emulates you—seeking not only to dominate China but to lead the world, lavishing funds abroad while many at home remain destitute. It resembles your generosity to Albania during domestic famine.

“He borrows your rhetoric of confidence in path, system, and theory to sustain authority. The people say: when his head aches he treats his face; when his foot aches he silences it. Dare to object, and you are seized—much as before. Your lingering influence has done lasting harm.”

Mao replied: “What you say is true. I never publicly repented. Xi thinks my methods still work and imitates them. The root lies with me. My guilt is heavy. From your words I have learned much. I must report to the Jade Emperor. How do you now judge my life?”

Chen Yun answered: “Once I said you ‘helped found the Party, had merit in founding the state, were incompetent in governing, and were guilty in the Cultural Revolution.’ Now I say: ‘You were marginal in founding the Party, erred in founding the state, brought disaster in governing, and are guilty in the Cultural Revolution.’”

Mao asked: “Why say I erred in founding the state?”

Chen Yun replied: “Had you built a peaceful nation after 1949, that would have been merit. Instead, calamities followed. The country you built fared worse than Chiang’s. Thus I say you erred.”

Mao said quietly: “There is truth in what you say.”

Seeing the conversation had reached its end, Chen Yun rose to take his leave. As he gradually faded, Mao pondered his words long into sleeplessness.

NEXT: 57. Cai Tiegen (1911–1970)