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While I was walking alone along the river bank, I saw a comrade wearing a pair of old-style padded cotton shoes. I immediately fell to thinking of Comrade Li Fen, who also wore such shoes. Li Fen, my dearest and very first friend. As usual my heart missed a beat and my blood began to race. Comrade Li Fen was a student in 1926 on the preparatory course in literature at Peking University. In the same year she joined the Party. In the spring of 1928 she sacrificed her life in her home district of Pao-ch’ing in Hunan province. Her own uncle tied her up and sent her to the local garrison—a good illustration of the barbarity of the old China. Before going to her death, she put on all her three sets of underclothes and sewed them tightly together at the top and the bottom. This was because the troops in Pao-ch’ing often incited riff-raff to debauch the corpses of the young girl Communists they had shot—yet another example of the brutality, the evil, the filth and the darkness that characterized the old society. When I received the terrible news of her death, I was consumed with feelings of deep love and hatred. Whenever I think of her, I have a vision of her pure, sacred martyrdom, with her three layers of underclothes sewn tightly together, tied up and sent by her very own uncle to meet her death with dignity. (It seems rather out of place to talk of such things in tranquil Yenan, against the warbled background of a Yü-t’ang-chün and the swirling steps of the golden lotus dance, but there again the whole atmosphere in Yenan does not seem particularly appropriate to the actual conditions of the day—close your eyes and think for a moment of our dear comrades dying every minute of the day in a sea of carnage.)
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