Lao She was the only veteran writer after Liberation who still produced two major works. Others such as Ba Jin and Mao Dun published little afterward. Lao She was also the only great writer honored with the title “People’s Artist.” Yet even such a national treasure could not withstand the struggle sessions at the beginning of the Cultural Revolution; in despair, he drowned himself in a lake.

After forty years of reflection following his own death, Mao reviewed Lao She’s works and requested an audience with him from the Jade Emperor. The request was approved, and the meeting was arranged.

Mao said upon seeing him: “You were a great writer who returned from the United States to New China. In 1968 you might have won the Nobel Prize, but unfortunately you took your life in 1966.”

Lao She replied: “On August 23, 1966, a group of Red Guards from Beijing No. 8 Girls’ Middle School took me to the Writers’ Association. I and more than thirty writers were labeled ‘ox-demons and snake-spirits’ and ‘reactionary literati,’ paraded to the Confucius Temple, forced to kneel before burning piles of Peking opera costumes and props. I was humiliated and beaten until my face was covered in blood, then dragged back for further abuse and finally sent to the police station. Early on the 24th, I was released. The Red Guards ordered me to report again that morning for further struggle. After a sleepless night, I wandered alone to Taiping Lake. Seeing no way out, I decided that rather than be beaten to death, I would end my life with some dignity. So I drowned myself.”

“I assume you did not personally order action against me,” Lao She continued, “but I know the Red Guards were unleashed by you. I understand you aimed to overthrow Liu Shaoqi, but why incite them against writers like us? We had committed no crimes and had not opposed you.”

Mao replied: “To defeat Liu Shaoqi, I needed chaos. He had a social base, and writers like you were part of it. ‘Smashing the Four Olds’ meant destroying that foundation so Jiang Qing’s model operas could dominate the stage.”

Lao She said: “In 1946 I went to the U.S. to lecture. In 1949, when you took power, you sought to create the image of universal acclaim. While I hesitated between staying in America, going to Taiwan, or returning to Beijing, I received Zhou Enlai’s warm invitation. I returned in 1950. Had I delayed another month, the Korean War would have broken out, and I might have avoided returning to the mainland.”

Mao said: “Your return enhanced my image. You performed admirably.”

Lao She replied: “In 1950, I wrote Longxugou, praising the transformation of New China—filthy ditches becoming clean, lives changing completely. Zhou Enlai praised it, and Zhou Yang awarded me the title ‘People’s Artist.’ I followed the Party line faithfully, criticizing Hu Feng and Wu Zuguang when required. Yet even so, I was driven to suicide.”

“I became your mouthpiece,” Lao She continued. “Much of what I wrote after returning was in line with official directives. Some historians later listed me among the ‘four shameless literati’ of your era. Perhaps my suicide was also repentance for my compromises.”

Mao said: “You also wrote Teahouse, didn’t you? It became famous.”

Lao She replied: “Yes, in 1956. It was my last major work. After the Anti-Rightist Campaign, the Great Leap Forward, and the famine, I could no longer write freely. My later works were halted or suppressed. My final published piece was a rhythmic ballad about pig farming in 1966.”

Mao remarked: “A world-renowned writer ending with a pig-farming ballad—absurd, yet such was the system.”

Lao She said: “At least Teahouse endured. It depicted three eras from late Qing reforms to the fall of the Nationalists and became a classic of Chinese drama.”

Mao acknowledged: “Your Rickshaw Boy and Teahouse are required reading in schools in China and abroad.”

Lao She replied: “I wrote eight million words and forty-two plays and novels, most before 1949. Had I remained abroad, perhaps I would have lived longer and written more. I returned sincerely to support you, not knowing we would later be swept away.”

Mao said: “Yes, sweeping you all away was my fault, but I believed it necessary for my revolution. After my death, you were rehabilitated?”

Lao She answered: “In 1978 I was rehabilitated. My title ‘People’s Artist’ was restored. A bronze relief was erected at my grave with the inscription: ‘A humble foot soldier of literature rests here.’”

Mao said: “Your life was filled with joys and sorrows. Your works combined elegance and popular appeal with humor and vitality. It is regrettable that you were wronged so early in the Cultural Revolution.”

Lao She replied: “I suffered only two days and exited the stage early. Others endured far worse.”

Mao said: “Today, Teahouse is regarded as a century classic of Chinese drama. That should comfort your spirit.”

Lao She concluded: “My own unjust death is minor. Under your harsh rule, tens of millions starved, countless others perished. Your crimes remain concealed, and your successors continue your ways. You must repent, and they must reform.”

Mao responded vaguely: “You are right. I am reflecting and will publicly confess my wrongs.”

Lao She said quietly: “Perhaps this was my own karmic retribution.”

Mao appeared contrite. Lao She said no more. Mao rose to depart, and they went their separate ways.

NEXT: 80. Jian Bozan (1898–1968)