More than 20 years ago, I learned of a woman’s remarkable deed from Zhu Renxiu, the uncle of Fu Cong. After extensive inquiries, I finally located her home in a modest lane in Shanghai. I sincerely asked her to share her story. She replied: “If you promise not to reveal my name, I’ll talk.” I agreed.
She had no personal connection to the famous translator Fu Lei, but she grew up reading his translated works and came to admire him through his books. She also loved playing the piano and had attended Fu Cong’s performances.
In early September 1966, while learning to play the piano from her teacher, the teacher’s daughter, a student at the Shanghai Conservatory of Music, brought back shocking news: “Fu Lei and his wife have both committed suicide.” She was deeply unsettled by this news. Later, she heard that “the Fu family was classified as one of the ‘Black Five Categories,’ and since they committed suicide, their ashes were not allowed to be kept.” These rumors kept her up at night, restless and unable to sleep.
A brave decision in turbulent times
A sense of justice and outrage at the misfortune that befell the Fu family compelled her to take a series of secret actions — actions so covert that even her parents were unaware. She appeared at the International Funeral Home, claiming to be Fu Lei’s “adopted daughter,” and pleaded earnestly for permission to preserve the couple’s ashes. Her sincerity eventually moved the staff. She obtained the address of Fu Cong’s uncle from the funeral home’s registry. With his help, she placed the ashes in a large plastic bag and transferred them to the Yong’an Cemetery for safekeeping. To avoid any incidents, she labeled the urn with Fu Lei’s pseudonym — Fu Nuan.
Thus, even though the renowned translator and patriotic intellectual died unjustly, a loyal reader risked her life to safeguard his ashes.
Writing to the Prime Minister
Out of indignation, she wrote to Premier Zhou Enlai, detailing the injustice of Fu Lei and his wife’s deaths and declaring that Fu Lei was a patriot. She did not sign the letter. At that time, she was only 27 and considered “unemployed” — serving as her father’s painting assistant and caring for him at home.
Originally a top student at the First Girls’ High School in Shanghai, she had a bright future ahead of her. However, during the Anti-Rightist Movement in 1958, her school fell short of its quota for identifying “rightists.” A female teacher was labeled a “rightist,” but her alleged “rightist remarks” were insufficient, so the authorities pressured her, the teacher’s close associate, to denounce the teacher. She refused, resulting in her being branded as “politically unstable with right-leaning thoughts” in her graduation review, which destroyed her prospects. She had no choice but to stay home and assist her father with his painting.
A price paid for standing up
She had no idea that her letter to Premier Zhou would end up in the hands of rebel factions at the Shanghai Public Security Bureau. After she mailed the letter, she was immediately branded a “counter-revolutionary” for speaking up for an “old rightist.” After extensive investigations, the bureau determined that she acted alone, so she was not labeled an “active” counter-revolutionary. Nonetheless, she lived under the shadow of being a “counter-revolutionary” for 12 long years.
In 1972, her father passed away, and she was assigned to work in a community production team at the age of 33. The stigma of being a “counter-revolutionary” consumed her youth and kept her from finding love. It was not until 1978, when Fu Lei’s wrongful case was redressed, that she emerged from the shadows, but she was already 39 years old.
I published a report titled She, a delicate woman, which narrated her righteous actions. I kept my promise, using only the word “she” throughout the piece.
A modest hero
What moved me even more was that despite sacrificing her education, career, and marriage for her conscience, this woman remained distant and humble about the gratitude expressed by the Fu family. The Fu family wanted to find an opportunity to repay her kindness, but she insisted: “I have nothing to do with the Fu family!”
In October 1997, Fu Lei’s second son, Fu Min, came to Shanghai, hoping to meet the woman he had never seen before. She agreed. As Fu Min began to express his thanks, she immediately stopped him. I brought my camera that day, hoping to take a group photo of her with Fu Min and his wife, but she politely declined — she never allowed me to take her picture. Over the years, the only request she agreed to was to allow her name to be made public — Jiang Xiaoyan.
Translated by Audrey Wang
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