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墨書 Inktalez
As spring transitioned into summer, a cacophony erupted outside the tranquil classroom.
The first thing that struck the diligent high school seniors was the sudden lifting of the ban on various "enemy broadcasts" that had been prohibited for years. From classmates who were allowed to listen to the radio, I initially gathered that stations like the Voice of America mostly spread rumors or played frivolous music, occasionally airing some mysterious content aimed at subversion or manipulation, spoken in hushed tones and met with skepticism from listeners.
This time was different. In March, the broadcasts were still vague, and listeners were discreet; by early April, they were shouting loudly, and listeners began to swagger about openly. By mid-April, in some areas, loudspeakers were set up to play the Voice of America around the clock. I didn’t pay much attention to the specifics of the content, but it seemed to revolve around calls to "oppose corruption," with varying statements that changed frequently—though not daily, adjustments were certainly made.
Then, a flood of news came pouring in. Speculations about national leaders and their families became mainstream. There were rumors surrounding the death of former General Secretary Hu Yaobang—some claimed it was due to poisoning or pressure from others. There were also whispers about a certain leader's son being a wealthy businessman profiting from state resources, and connections between various leaders through family ties.
Strangely, none of these rumors were verified, nor did anyone step forward to refute them. Coupled with the public's ignorance and curiosity about those in power, along with guidance from certain individuals and factions, the news rapidly fermented and spread, becoming increasingly bizarre. Looking back now, perhaps it was because high school students at that time didn’t have a habit of reading newspapers or because leaders failed to notice the uproar of public opinion; all we could hear came from word-of-mouth gossip.
Not long after, the sounds of marching feet and slogans echoed through the streets. The area was remote, lacking universities and idle youth; logically speaking, there shouldn’t have been any protests. Yet restless youth crossed borders inspired by the historical precedent of Red Guards stirring up revolutions across continents. Students from Dongkou studying in Beijing, Wuhan, Changsha, and Shaoyang returned home. They infiltrated factories, companies, schools, and even government offices and residential areas, eventually organizing two or three marches. Influenced by traditional family values and facing imminent college entrance exams, none of my classmates joined in this commotion; instead, we remained behind a stark white wall, listening to our teacher while also hearing the shouts of some young protestors.
As May approached, the news became even more chaotic and unpredictable. I heard that university students in Beijing had occupied Tiananmen Square for a sit-in; a national leader personally visited them to listen to their demands and affirm their actions. Then reports emerged of a city’s top leader taking decisive action against students planning to block trains—arresting them all while breaking the ironclad rule that "the law does not punish the many," demanding that students sitting in the square return to school immediately or face legal consequences.
A university student from a provincial capital revealed one detail after another about the protests and sit-ins: an oblivious driver had blocked a march; furious students nearly set fire to a car after flipping it onto a roadside embankment; a perceptive department head noticed students looking unwell during their sit-in and brought them sunshades, steaming buns, and porridge—earning cheers of "Long live!" from them; during one march, each student tied a small bottle to their belt; upon reaching the square, their leader shouted for everyone to smash their bottles.
At this moment, however, high-level statements were unclear and even seemed somewhat permissive. The news we received became increasingly unbelievable, reflecting growing chaos.
By mid-May, authorities finally issued their strongest declaration of martial law; yet by then, events had spiraled out of control as disordered information continued to proliferate until early June when this uproar abruptly ceased. With college entrance exams looming closer than ever, my classmates and I had no time left to pay attention to what was happening outside those walls.
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