As all of China mobilized for war and Mao talked of détente with the United States, his disaffection with the man who had just been designated his heir apparent and closest comrade in arms was growing. I first became aware of Mao's hostility toward Lin Biao during a trip south in May 1969, right after the Ninth Party Congress.

In Zhongnanhai, the growing number of soldiers surrounding Mao was not so obvious. Soldiers from Wang Dongxing's 8341 Corps had always guarded him. For me, returning to Mao's inner circle after a long absence, what was most striking was still the number of young women about. Many of them traveled with him, too, and new ones always seemed to appear wherever we were. During our trip in May 1969, visiting Wuhan, Hangzhou, and Nanchang, all the attendants in Mao's villas were young women, and female members of various provincial song-and-dance troupes kept him constant company. Two singers from one of the provincial music-and-dance troupes were particular favorites during this trip, and they both invited their sisters to join them in Mao's room. Asceticism was the public watchword of the Cultural Revolution, but the more ascetic and moralistic the party's preachings, the further the Chairman himself descended into hedonism. He was waited on constantly by a harem of young girls. It was at this time, the height of the Cultural Revolution, that Mao was sometimes in bed with three, four, even five women simultaneously.

But beyond his room, hovering close by, were the uniformed soldiers who were responsible for Mao's safety. It was only during this trip that I was fully aware of how dramatically their numbers had increased after Mao called in the military to quell the chaos of the Cultural Revolution. Both the need to beef up Mao's security and the fact that all organizations were under military control had meant an increase in the number of soldiers.

But Mao hated being surrounded by soldiers and railed against all the uniforms around him. “Why do we have so many soldiers around here?” he kept complaining. The soldiers smothered his freedom. People in uniform, he knew, reported everything they saw to their superiors. He still hated his activities being reported to anyone. He wanted the soldiers gone.

I interpreted Mao's antagonism to the soldiers as a growing struggle with Lin Biao as well. Wang Dongxing did not agree. “Why should he worry about the soldiers?” he said when I told him of Mao's concern. “The military control committees are everywhere, and the armed forces are supporting the left. With the military in positions of leadership, of course the staff are all soldiers. The Central Bureau of Guards may be the only organization in the country not under military control, but we still wear military uniforms, too.” Wang Dongxing's ordinary political acuity was failing him. He refused to connect Mao's growing hostility to uniforms to the chasm that was coming to divide Mao from Lin Biao.

A small incident in November 1969 convinced me that Mao's hostility to Lin Biao was serious. We had returned from our southern trip in late September, only to set out for Wuhan again in mid-October. In late October, a cold wave struck and the temperature in Wuhan plunged. I knew from past experience that Mao was sure to catch cold unless we turned on the heat. As usual, he refused. He would exercise to increase his resistance, he said. But I knew he would catch cold and so did Zhang Yaoci, who was then in charge of security and worried that he might be blamed if Mao became ill. Zhang called Ye Qun, hoping that she would talk to her husband and get him to suggest turning on the heat.

I was with Mao when Zhang Yaoci reported that Lin Biao had called urging the Chairman to turn on the heat. Mao was silent, feigning indifference. His disagreement was obvious, but I was hardly prepared for the outburst that followed Zhang's departure. “Why does Zhang have to report on everything that happens here? When other people [Lin Biao and Ye Qun] fart, Zhang acts like they're announcing an imperial edict!” Mao was not about to follow Lin Biao's imperial decree.

The heat in Wuhan was not turned on. By late November, with the cold settling in, Mao did catch cold, and because he also initially refused my medical treatment, the cold soon turned into acute bronchitis. Only then was he sick enough to accept my treatment and agree to turn on the heat.

Mao knew that I had encouraged him to turn on the heat and that I attributed his bronchitis to his refusal. He also knew of Jiang Qing's continual attacks against me and her repeated accusations that I had attempted to poison her. In the dog-eat-dog mood at that time, when attack was so easy and the consequences so dire, she could easily hold me responsible for Mao's illness.

Once more Mao protected me. He asked me to write a medical report on his cold and bronchitis. “I want to clear you of any responsibility for my illness,” he said. “I was the one who did not want to turn on the heat.”

My uneasiness about Mao's relationship with Lin Biao continued, and with it my growing conviction that Wang Dongxing's alliance with Lin Biao was becoming dangerous. I repeated my concerns and still he would not listen. Wang was loyal to Mao, but he was also intent on expanding his own power. He was quick to build bridges to anyone who could further his political ends. Wang's ties with Lin Biao had made sense as the Cultural Revolution evolved. No one was more loyal to Mao than Lin Biao, Mao's closest comrade in arms, the man who had started the campaign to study Mao's thought and who said that one of Mao's words was worth ten thousand of anyone else's. To work with Lin Biao was to work for Mao. The two were inseparable. But the situation was changing, and Wang Dongxing was uncharacteristically slow to catch on.