Guo Moruo was one of the cultural celebrities of modern China. Throughout his life he enjoyed considerable reputation—though only modest achievement—in philology, archaeology, history, drama, and new poetry. He served as Vice Premier of New China and President of the Chinese Academy of Sciences, becoming the number one figure in the cultural field. He was Mao’s old friend and poetry companion. During the thirty years of Mao’s era, Guo rendered great assistance. Throughout the Cultural Revolution, he was a specially designated object of Mao’s protection. Until his death, Guo remained deeply grateful to Mao and even left a will instructing his family to follow Mao.

Forty years after Mao’s passing, Mao had never forgotten this literary flatterer. Thinking that Guo had also suffered grievances during the Cultural Revolution—two of his sons died tragically, and there were many rumors about him—Mao wished to see him again. The Jade Emperor arranged their meeting.

When Guo saw Mao, he was unchanged, wearing a flattering smile.

Mao said, “You joined the Party in 1927 and followed it all your life. In the thirty years of New China, you followed me closely. From the Great Leap Forward to the Cultural Revolution, you exerted great effort. I will never forget it. During the Cultural Revolution your two sons died under unclear circumstances. I am saddened and offer you my apology. As for the rumors about you, please do not take them to heart.”

Guo replied, “Working for the Party and following you was only right. If some among the masses misunderstood me, I understand that as well. Losing my two sons was my greatest pain. But in order to preserve my own glory and status, sacrifices had to be made. Now that both of us have left this world, we can speak frankly and openly.”

Mao asked, “Public opinion says you were a ‘weathervane,’ quick to follow the wind and change direction. Do you feel that judgment is fair?”

Guo answered, “I was born sensitive, quick to sense changes—perhaps faster than others. In November 1965, when you approved publication of Hai Rui Dismissed from Office, I sensed that a storm was coming and felt uneasy. In January 1966, I wrote a letter requesting resignation from all my posts, including the presidency of the Academy. In April 1966, at a session of the National People’s Congress, I set fire to myself metaphorically, declaring that everything I had written had no value and should all be burned.”

Mao said, “You showed the spirit of a warrior cutting off his own arm—completely negating yourself. It shocked the whole nation and provided a model for the Cultural Revolution I was about to launch—smashing the Four Olds and overthrowing all opposing academic authorities. If Elder Guo could negate millions of words of his own writing, what could others preserve? You shattered the intellectuals’ self-respect and greatly helped me. That is why I approved the full publication of your speech as the signal flare for the Cultural Revolution.”

Guo replied, “Since you personally approved its publication, it meant you agreed with my total self-negation. I felt disaster approaching. Amid the terror of the Red Guards sweeping everything away, in December 1966 I secretly hid in the ‘Six Institutes’ for a month before daring to return home.”

Mao said, “When the Red Guards wanted to denounce you, I placed you on a special protection list, so you escaped.”

Guo said, “Thank you for your protection. In June 1967, at the Afro-Asian Writers’ Conference, I delivered a speech titled ‘To Be Chairman Mao’s Good Student for a Lifetime,’ declaring my loyalty. I even recited on the spot a poem, ‘Dedicated to Comrade Jiang Qing Present Here,’ praising your wife as a model of learning and applying your thought in battle.”

Mao replied, “Your public praise of Jiang Qing on an international stage greatly enhanced her image. Thank you. She became even more elated afterward.”

Guo continued, “In 1971 I published the poetic critique Li Bai and Du Fu, praising Li Bai and belittling Du Fu. I knew you favored Li Bai and sought to please you. You must have been pleased.”

Mao said, “Your closeness and responsiveness—that is what made you lovable and useful to me.”

Guo said, “On the tenth anniversary of the Cultural Revolution, I again followed the needs of the moment and published a new poem, ‘The “Notice” Spreads Across the Seas,’ praising your great achievements over ten years, attacking Liu and Lin, condemning Deng Xiaoping’s restoration, and celebrating your mighty leadership.”

Mao said, “You followed closely, quickly, turning with the wind—thus you never fell.”

Guo continued, “After you passed away, when Poetry Magazine solicited poems from me, I wrote two. The second was too fawning, so they published only the first. It read:

‘Revolutionary clouds and winds steam sea and mountains,
Radiance shining in your immortal hour.
Workers and peasants’ tears surge like tides,
Condolences from home and abroad flash like lightning.
Grief turns into new strength,
All strive to inherit and march forward.
Your voice and face remain at Tiananmen,
The strong east wind blows day and night.’

I sent the second to People’s Literature. They changed the first line from ‘Great leader, closer than grandfather’ to ‘Great leader, beloved by all’ before publishing it.”

Mao laughed. “Indeed, very fawning. You once compared Stalin to a grandfather, and now me. How many grandfathers do you have? Still, I liked being called grandfather. That last poem was probably your most popular—though I had already departed.”

Guo said, “After Jiang Qing was arrested, I immediately wrote a Shui Diao Ge Tou:

‘A matter that delights the people—
The Gang of Four exposed!
Political hooligans and literary ruffians,
Dog-headed strategist Zhang,
Scheming white-boned spirits,
Self-styled Empress Wu—
Swept away with iron brooms.
Those who usurped Party and power
Awoke from a dream of yellow millet.
Ambition vast, plots venomous,
Crimes worthy of ten thousand deaths—
They persecuted the Red Sun.
The successor is a hero,
Resolute in inheriting the will,
Glorious in achievement—
Support Chairman Hua,
Support the Party Central Committee.’

My three Cultural Revolution poems—from praising Jiang Qing, to praising the Cultural Revolution, to condemning the Gang of Four—are regarded as my classics. I wrote according to the needs of the times, following whichever wind blew. Thus I satisfied the Party and preserved myself. In society, only ‘A matter that delights the people’ remains widely circulated.”

Mao asked, “How were you able to benefit both public and private interests this way?”

Guo answered, “In life, whether in conduct or creation, there is spontaneous expression and there is acting for the occasion. Writing The Goddess was spontaneous expression. Since entering politics, it has been acting. Life is like theater. Zhou Enlai and I understood each other best; he too was adept at acting—even playing female roles in school performances. In politics, if you do not act, you fall quickly. The tradition of the Chinese scholar says, ‘A scholar may be killed but not humiliated.’ I could not be such a scholar. I was not like Lao She, who died early. I could only follow the wind. If they call me a weathervane, the hat fits.”

Mao said, “When Lu Xun debated you, he called you a ‘talent plus hooligan,’ saying, ‘From afar you look like a dog; up close you are Guo.’ Was that not excessive?”

Guo replied, “Calling me a dog is not excessive. A literati entering politics, without troops or power, must depend on a master like a dog. In New China, the master was you. You once said intellectuals are like hair, and the Party like skin—the hair must cling to the skin. And since you were master of the Party, it meant clinging to you. Jiang Qing said she was your dog. She was the palace’s fierce hound. I was merely a gentle lapdog at the margins. Acting must follow the logic of dog and master—Zhou Enlai understood this best.”

Mao said, “Lin Yutang once said you were ‘the culmination of all sycophancy under heaven.’”

Guo replied, “After observing for decades, I saw that the Communist Party was either sycophantic or bloody. I preferred sycophancy to bloodshed. Because I was sycophantic, I lived to eighty-six. Lao She acted as a ‘scholar’ and lived only to sixty-seven. Kang Sheng survived by wielding a stick; I survived by holding a perfume sprayer and wearing roller skates—one martial, one civil, different roles. I had no choice if I wanted to survive.”

Mao said, “Your survival philosophy had its own logic. During the Great Leap Forward you wrote many interesting poems—‘Steel to Reach 10.7 Million Tons,’ ‘Curse the Sparrows,’ ‘The Four Pests Flee the Four Seas,’ ‘Ode to the Leader.’ They helped greatly to build momentum. You even inscribed a poem on a photo of me on an airplane, saying, ‘There are two suns inside and outside the plane.’ I was pleased—you were among the first to call me the sun.”

Guo answered, “Those were poems of the moment—flattering poems. After the Great Leap Forward, I privately told friends that launching satellites and issuing joyful reports was a frenzy that rose and fell together—ridiculous and tiresome. If you are the master, whom should one praise but the master? Without praise, could one survive?”

Mao said, “You were clever—that is how you survived in my palm. But what about your two sons during the Cultural Revolution?”

Guo replied, “One committed suicide in depression; one was persecuted by rebels and fell to his death. Both died during the Cultural Revolution. I was heartbroken but powerless. To protect myself, I had to be cold-blooded, even toward kin. My family did not end well. Reflecting on it, my romantic temperament led to errors in marriage. At twenty I married by my mother’s order, left after five days, and my wife stayed with my mother until ninety. My second wife, a Japanese nurse Anna, bore me five children in Japan. In 1937 I left without notice and cut off contact, leaving them in hardship. Only after Liberation did Zhou Enlai arrange for them to settle in Dalian. My third wife, Yu Liqun, stayed with me until death. Yet I wronged her sister, Yu Lichen—I first lived with her and got her pregnant, then changed my mind and made her abort; she committed suicide. I failed in self-cultivation and family order—how could I govern a country? I was far inferior to Ba Jin, who remained faithful.”

Mao said, “Your abandonment of your Japanese wife to return to China was similar to my own early abandonment of Yang Kaihui and my children. After only a few months in Jiangxi I married He Zizhen. Yang died in prison at twenty-nine. I too was helpless.”

Mao asked, “How were your remains handled?”

Guo replied, “I left instructions for my ashes to be scattered over Dazhai’s fields as fertilizer. Yet they still erected a memorial there. Scattering my ashes was also an act of self-negation.”

Mao asked, “Do you even negate your scholarly achievements?”

Guo said, “After death I reexamined my life. My academic achievements are mixed in praise and blame. I am summarizing lessons for future generations. I often smile bitterly at a jingle people made about me: ‘Elder Guo, highly adaptable, quick to turn, following the wind; protected by someone, never falling.’ I use it to amuse myself.”

Finally Guo said, “My whole life, under your overwhelming authority, I endured humiliation for survival. My personal fate is insignificant. What pains me is that forty years later the nation repeats your old patterns. Xi Jinping studies you, promotes personality cult again, seeks to be world leader. Young people ask, ‘How much is morality per pound?’ You never admitted fault or repented, so the poison remains. You must thoroughly repent and reflect.”

Mao perfunctorily replied, “Yes, what you say is correct. I am repenting and reflecting. I hope for another chance to consult you. Our conversation today has benefited me greatly.”

With that, Mao rose to take his leave, and they departed separately.

NEXT: 70. Ding Ling (1904–1986)