43

Wang Dongxing returned to Zhongnanhai in October 1960. Sobered by the severity of exile, his political instincts razor-sharp, he had a new law of political survival—absolute subservience to Mao. Never say no to Mao was his rule. “If Mao says one, it's one. If Mao says two, it's two.” Henceforth, Wang believed, his reading of the Chairman would have to be unfailingly accurate. He never wanted to be exiled again. He would make no more mistakes.

Obeying Jiang Qing was the first mistake to avoid. Before he went to Jiangxi, Wang treated an order from her as an order from Mao. But there was no way to satisfy Jiang Qing, and despite Wang's attempts, she turned against him. Mao had criticized his efforts. “If you follow Jiang Qing's orders, then you're working for her, not me,” he said. So Wang listened only to Mao. Jiang Qing could no longer intimidate him. “I was sent down for four years,” he said, “and I didn't die. The worst that could happen now would be to be exiled again. So if she thinks she can push me around, she's dreaming.”

Wang's first task was to consolidate his power within Group One by clearing out his enemies and drafting men guaranteed to be loyal to him. The corruption within Group One had grown so blatant that even Mao could no longer ignore it, and this served as Wang's excuse to launch an internal rectification campaign.

Wang Dongxing had long been sensitive to issues of corruption within Group One. In the early 1950s, Wang himself had been accused of corruption, of leading the good life when the party was preaching austerity. Wang had taken the criticisms to heart, and his personal behavior was exemplary.

Still, in 1952, when minister of public security Luo Ruiqing began the “three-anti” campaign against corruption within the Ministry of Public Security, Wang had a problem. One day Luo Ruiqing called a meeting of ranking members of the party's security apparatus and invited the participants, Wang Dongxing among them, to confess to the assembled group any misdemeanors they might have committed. The audience remained silent as Luo prodded them to speak. No one had anything to confess. As minutes went by and no one spoke, Luo Ruiqing began. “Wang,” he yelled. “Why don't you speak up? Don't you have some kind of problem you want to tell us? You can't get away with it.”

Wang is a common surname in China, and Wang Dongxing was not the only Wang at the meeting. The two Wangs exchanged glances. Neither spoke.

“Wang Dongxing, why are you looking at somebody else?” Luo yelled from the podium. “You'd better confess. Otherwise you'll be in serious trouble.” Wang Dongxing, who told me the story, was dumb-founded.

“You stole something from the Chairman and sold it, didn't you?” Luo demanded.

Wang Dongxing could not imagine what Luo meant.

“You're still not talking after all these hints?” Luo demanded. “Look, what do you think this is?” Luo was holding a piece of paper.

It was a letter from a local shopkeeper alleging that Wang Dongxing had stolen a camera from Mao and consigned it to his shop for sale. An attached receipt was signed by Wang Dongxing.

But Wang had not taken a camera from Mao and knew nothing of the incident. The name was his but the signature was not. Eventually, Wang was able to prove that his name had been forged, and he did his best thereafter to uncover corruption wherever he found it.

Mao was ordinarily less concerned with corruption than Wang. The honesty of his staff was not a major concern. If an underling was useful, no matter what his other failings, Mao would protect and keep him safe. Once an aide had lost his usefulness, Mao was ruthless, kicking him out without a twinge of regret. His closest aide, his closest political ally, could become an enemy overnight.

Wang's goal upon his return to Group One was the purge of his enemies, Ye Zilong and Li Yinqiao.

Mao was also dissatisfied with Ye and Li, but he could not easily act against them. The two men had been too deeply involved in the Chairman's personal life for him to censure them openly and risk provoking them into revealing secrets he preferred to keep hidden. Mao did, however, work against them from behind the scenes.

Revenge and a quest for power were prime motives in Wang Dongxing's attempt to purge Ye Zilong and Li Yinqiao. The two men had maneuvered to turn Mao against him, and Wang blamed them for his four years in exile. Back in Zhongnanhai, his time for retribution had arrived.

But he was motivated also, I believe, by a genuine sense of fair play. In the rural areas of Jiangxi he had seen suffering and hardship, and having eaten so much bitterness himself, the special privileges he saw in Group One were galling. What is more, the famine had finally hit Zhongnanhai. The vermilion walls that ordinarily shielded the privileged residents from reality could no longer stave off hunger. Our rations had been reduced to sixteen pounds of grain a month. Meat, eggs, and cooking oil were nowhere to be had. We were allowed to buy vegetables on the open market, but there were hardly any for sale. Some people organized expeditions to hunt wild goats, but soon goats became extinct too.

Malnourishment was rampant in Zhongnanhai, and edema and hepatitis were endemic. My own family was suffering greatly. Lillian was among those hit with malnutrition, and she developed edema, but she worried more about our sons than about herself. When I managed occasionally to bring some soybeans home, she would give them to our children. My trips out of town with Mao, instead of distressing her, became cause for the family to celebrate. They ate better when I was away, because they still received my monthly sixteen pounds of rice.

Mao of course was immune to the tribulations of famine, and everyone tried to shield him from its effects, but he knew the severity of the crisis. The documents he received every day now allowed him no escape from the truth. Reports were coming in from all over the country, and by the summer of 1960, he had become so depressed that he took again to his bed. He seemed psychologically incapable of confronting the effects of the famine. When I told him that edema and hepatitis were everywhere, he accused me of inventing trouble. “You physicians have nothing better to do than scare people,” he snapped. “You're just out looking for disease. If no one were sick, you'd all be unemployed.”

When I insisted that doctors were not out looking but rather confronting the effects of malnutrition in their clinics every day, he said, “What's the difference? We're in the middle of a food shortage. You doctors are just upsetting people by talking about disease. You're making it difficult for everybody. I just don't believe you.” He gave me a copy of Internal Reference that contained an article suggesting that people increase their intake of protein and carbohydrates as a way to strengthen resistance. Yang Shangkun began fostering what he called the “Long March spirit” among General Office staff, urging us to accept hardship, become self-reliant, and grow our own vegetables and melons. Soon everyone was tending tiny vegetable plots, and many took time off from work to nurture their precious gardens. Still, our stomachs were always half empty. Gardening had no immediate effect on the widespread malnutrition and consequent disease.

I thought Mao was ruthless to close his eyes to the illness that was everywhere around him. But I allowed him his illusions and never mentioned the subject again, behaving in his presence as though hunger and disease had miraculously disappeared. He continued to resent party leaders who dwelled on what he called the “dark side” of things. “The more they talk about the dark side of things,” Mao often said, “the darker our future looks.” He saw leaders who dwelt excessively on the country's difficulties as trying to bring pressure on him.

Mao did make one concession to the famine. He stopped eating meat. “Everyone is starving. I can't eat meat,” he said.

Liu Shaoqi and Zhou Enlai were afraid that Mao's sacrifice would affect his health and encouraged me to change his mind. When the northeastern provinces sent some tiger and deer meat as a present to the country's ranking leaders, I encouraged Mao to try it. He refused. “Send it to the public dining hall, where everyone can have some,” he said.

“Can't we save some for you?” I asked.

“I'm not eating meat now,” Mao replied. “Let's wait for a while.”

His sacrifice had no effect on the famine. A few people in Zhongnanhai may have eaten better because Mao shared the tiger and deer, but none of the crops revived. Still, the Chairman's gesture won him the admiration of everyone who knew.

It was against the backdrop of the famine that Wang Dongxing conducted his internal rectification campaign. The special privileges of Group One had never endeared us to the less pampered cadres who worked in Zhongnanhai. Everyone knew of our frequent travels, that our accommodations were always the best, that we dined free and never had to pay for our drinks. They could see the Rolex watches and the Leica cameras—booty confiscated from Taiwan spies arrested on the mainland that public security officials sold to members of Mao's inner circle for a pittance. They knew we had access to scarce luxury goods—wool suits, silks, and leather shoes—that no ordinary citizen could buy. That we continued to flourish even in the midst of famine only furthered our comrades' antagonism.

As part of his bid to increase his power within Group One, Wang Dongxing attacked these luxurious practices. He focused on bodyguard Li Yinqiao. “Ye Zilong and I are equal in rank, and he has worked for the Chairman longer than I,” Wang Dongxing explained. “If I were to take action against him, he could make trouble for me.” If Wang were to attack both Ye and Li simultaneously, the two might unite against him. His tactic was to isolate Ye and concentrate his fire on Li.

Mao agreed. Ye Zilong was not to be publicly attacked. Criticisms of him were to be submitted privately, in writing.

Li Yinqiao's woman friend was not to be mentioned. The situation was delicate. Wang Dongxing was worried about the repercussions if her abortion in Guangzhou should become known. Too much face would be lost. Wang feared another suicide attempt.

The criticisms of Li Yinqiao began in late October and lasted for two months, and the meetings were held for two or three hours each day. We usually met while Mao was asleep, when the staff was freed of its obligations to him. With the struggle sessions confined to Mao's hours of sleep, few knew of his role in the internal rectification campaign. But Mao used his bodyguards to orchestrate the entire performance, getting daily reports and coaching them on what to say. Thus his bodyguard Xiao Tian told of Li Yinqiao's shopping in Shanghai and complained that Li had failed in his responsibilities to Mao. He wondered out loud where the money for Li's purchases in Shanghai had come from.

Mobilizing the staff against Li Yinqiao was easy. His enemies were numerous and quick to be roused against his intimidating, arbitrary behavior. But the most damning allegations never came to the surface. Everyone was worried about saving his face. I, too, confined my criticisms to the more general abuses of privilege of which we were all in one way or another guilty—the luxury of our accommodations when traveling, the extravagance of our food, the free services, the ready access to scarce luxury goods. I remained silent on the question of the abortion in Guangzhou.

But the movement had unintended effects. While Ye Zilong was supposed to be immune to public criticism, details of his behavior leaked out—the house in Tianjin, for instance, and his participation in what his detractors called an “eat-and-drink small group” of top-ranking cadres who regularly indulged themselves gratis in extravagant feasts. Ye Zilong was nervous throughout the proceedings.

Wang Dongxing became an overnight hero within Zhongnanhai for daring to challenge such well-entrenched and powerful men, and his popularity soared. Zhou Enlai and Liu Shaoqi were pleased.

The denouement was Mao's. The occasion was his sixty-seventh birthday, December 26, 1960.

Two days earlier, Wang Dongxing had presented Mao with the results of his investigations. Several longtime members of Mao's staff, Wang reported, had ignored the suffering of the masses and become a privileged elite. The whole nation was suffering, Wang said, and these staff members threw lavish banquets, eating and drinking extravagantly without paying, using their privileges to buy fancy consumer goods not available in ordinary markets. They were giving everyone in Group One a bad name.

Ye Zilong, Li Yinqiao, Wang Jingxian, Lin Ke, confidential secretary Gao Zhi, head nurse Wu Xujun, and Wang Dongxing were all present at the birthday celebration. I was in Guangzhou with Jiang Qing, but Wang Dongxing told me the story later.

Because the Chairman was still not eating meat, the dinner was simple. Midway through the meal, Mao began telling a story from the Warring States period (403–221 B.C.) about Suqin's visit to his friend Zhang Yi, the prime minister of the kingdom of Qin. Suqin was in great economic difficulty and hoped Zhang Yi could find him a job. Zhang Yi put him up in an elegant guesthouse, much like the modern-day Beijing Hotel, Mao said, and made certain his guest was well entertained. But he never met with Suqin. After two months of indolent luxury, when he had still not seen the minister, Suqin returned home, convinced that he had fallen out of favor with his friend.

Upon his return, he found his house repaired and refurbished. His kitchen was stocked to overflowing with food. “Prime Minister Zhang Yi did not see you because he thought you could accomplish great deeds elsewhere,” the prime minister's deputy explained. “He is sending you on a diplomatic mission. He wants you to visit six other kingdoms to convince them not to attack our kingdom of Qin.” Suqin accepted his diplomatic mission with gratitude and accomplished it successfully, saving the kingdom of Qin from attack.

Mao was sending his staff on a diplomatic mission, too. “Even good friends should not live off each other,” he said. “Everyone has to depend on himself, so all of us can work together to achieve great deeds. Our country is experiencing great difficulty. There is a serious shortage of food. People are starving.” He wanted his friends to labor at the lower levels. By sharing the lives of the common folk, they could better understand their difficulties. Afterward, they could tell him what they learned.

Not everyone at the dinner was expected to go. Wang Dongxing, of course, would stay. But Mao wanted Ye Zilong, Li Yinqiao, Wang Jingxian, and Lin Ke to go, and confidential secretary Gao Zhi and bodyguard Feng Yaosong as well. This was his way of being fair. The rightists—Ye Zilong and Li Yinqiao—would go with the centrist Wang Jingxian and the leftist Lin Ke.

Mao wavered between Shandong and Henan as possible destinations. Both provinces, like Anhui, had vigorously pursued the Great Leap Forward, and both were now in bad shape. But Henan's economic situation was not as bad as Shandong's, he thought. The group would not starve in Xinyang in Henan province. Mao had just received a report from Xinyang county blaming counterrevolutionaries and feudal elements for the economic difficulties there. Still unable to confront the reality of how bad the situation was or why, Mao believed that counterrevolutionaries were undermining production. He saw himself as a modern-day Zhang Yi, sending his friends on a diplomatic mission, using his associates to stave off further attacks by counterrevolutionary enemies. He wanted them to go to Xinyang. “Go there,” he encouraged them. “If the assignment becomes too hard for you, come back. Don't worry. No one will die.”

Mao was a marvelous actor. He was getting rid of key members of his staff, consigning them to hardship and suffering, but even as he fired them, he still wanted their loyalty. So he pretended that they were friends and that he was taking this step against his will, because he needed their help.

His friends could almost believe him. They were grateful and moved by his demonstration of concern. But still they did not want to go. They tried to delay their departure, hoping to pass the Chinese New Year in Beijing. Mao ordered them gone by the end of December. He wanted them on their way.

Before they left, Wang Dongxing managed to add another of his enemies to the list—Luo Daorang, the man who had escorted me around “Labor University” in 1949. During Wang's exile, Luo had taken over temporarily as acting director of the Central Bureau of Guards and had maneuvered to prevent Wang's return to the post. Wang had been waiting to take his revenge. Luo became the victim of his own bad joke. “So many in Group One are being sent down for reform. When will the rest of us have our chance?” Luo quipped to Wang Dongxing as the arrangements were being made.

It was a costly wisecrack. “I'll talk to the Chairman and see if you can go now,” Wang responded, pretending not to see the humor. Mao sent Luo, too.

With Ye Zilong and Li Yinqiao in exile, Wang's control of Group One was complete. One of Li Yinqiao's deputies, Zhang Xianpeng, was elevated to Li's old position as deputy chief of Mao's bodyguards. Mao Weizhong and Tian Chou came in as new deputy directors of the Central Bureau of Guards. Wang's confidant, Wu Jianhua, became chief of the bureau's administrative office, and Xu Tao's wife, Wu Xujun, was brought in as Mao's full-time nurse, reporting daily to Wang Dongxing and keeping him intimately informed of Mao's activities.

While he was consolidating his power within Group One, Wang Dongxing was also using the campaign against Peng Dehuai to regain control over the Central Bureau of Guards and its subordinate agency, the Central Garrison Corps—the more than two thousand well-trained and well-equipped soldiers charged both with providing external security for Mao and the other top leaders and with protecting the party's key facilities. Because most of the cadres within these two organizations had been appointed while Peng Dehuai was in power, Wang could argue that they sympathized with Peng and were rightists. Arguing that Mao had to be protected from such untrustworthy types, Wang Dongxing transferred the entire squadron, placing his own loyalists in key positions in the Central Bureau of Guards and retaining his close allies Zhang Yaoci and Yang Dezhong as the commander and political commissar of the Central Garrison Corps.

Despite his growing power, Wang could never completely win his battle against corruption, although he held the problem in check. Early in 1961, shortly after Wang's sweeping purges, Mao stopped in Changsha for several days and met with Liu Shaoqi and Zhou Enlai on his train. Newly appointed Hunan first party secretary Zhang Pinghua and his provincial public security chief were responsible for protecting the three leaders as they met. (Zhang had been appointed to this post after Mao had purged Zhou Xiaozhou, the moderate leader who had been so reluctant to introduce double-cropping into Mao's home province and who had overtly sided with Peng Dehuai at the Lushan conference.) It was customary for the expenses of Mao and his entourage to be charged to the central authorities, and Wang Dongxing ordinarily signed off on the bill. Wang was presented with the bill for Mao's stay just as we were leaving and was surprised to see two thousand chickens charged to the Chairman's account. The figure had to be wrong. Hunan was better off than many other provinces, but the famine was at its height and chickens, always a luxury in China, were almost impossible to find. Mao's entourage could not possibly have eaten two thousand chickens during the few days we were there. Besides, neither Mao nor his staff were eating meat. Zhang Pinghua agreed that the bill was a mistake. Perhaps the figure was twenty chickens, surely not two thousand.

But two thousand was the correct figure. Fifteen thousand militiamen had been called in to stand guard over the Chairman's train. The weather was cold and the soldiers were also suffering during the famine. The provincial public security chief had extravagantly ordered two thousand chickens to feed the stoic soldiers. The soldiers were ordinary people and should not have had the special privileges that even Mao had given up. The provincial authorities ought never to have ordered the chickens and they should have paid, but feeding chickens to the soldiers, they must have reasoned, was the least the Chairman could do in gratitude for their service. Like Ye Zilong and Li Yinqiao, the Hunan leadership was also taking advantage of Mao. Wang Dongxing approved the bill, but he was furious.

With Wang Dongxing's reorganization accomplished, he was in complete control of Group One, the Central Bureau of Guards, and the Central Garrison Corps—the three key units within Zhongnanhai. Under his direction, the Central Garrison Corps gradually expanded in size and in the scope of its activities. Wang Dongxing's own power grew commensurately, making him a key player in Beijing's palace wars. When the Cultural Revolution began some six years later and Mao needed paramilitary units to go into key factories and universities as his personal representatives, he turned to Wang Dongxing, further enhancing Wang's power.

In the meantime, Wang turned his attention to Mao. The dances that had previously been scheduled once a week on Saturdays were now held twice a week, on Wednesday as well as Saturday. He expanded the number of bands and “cultural work troupes” providing entertainment at the parties and therefore dramatically increased the number of female companions available to Mao. With Wang's return, the air force, the Beijing Military Region, the General Political Department of the People's Liberation Army, the Second Artillery Corps, and the Railway Construction Corps all provided troupes—bands, singing groups, dancers—performing for Mao's pleasure. In the Great Hall of the People, which had opened on National Day 1959, the opulent Room 118, originally the Beijing Room, was set aside especially for Mao, and some of the young female attendants there and from other rooms in the Great Hall of the People also served his pleasure. He no longer needed intermediaries to make the arrangements. Exposed so often to so many young women, Mao made the arrangements himself. He was sixty-seven years old. In a September 1961 meeting with Field Marshal Montgomery, Mao acknowledged for the first time the theoretical possibility of his death—suggesting that he could die from an assassin's bullet, a plane crash, a train accident, drowning or, just possibly, disease. But Mao's sexual appetite was increasing with age. He barely felt the absence of Ye Zilong and Li Yinqiao.