Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 365

Yulan felt a single tear trickle down her face—how far was too far for the revolution?
“Yulan. I’ll be waiting for you.”
***
The truck rumbled on, the creak of the wheels synchronized with the chanting of the guardsmen. It went on and on, oblivious
to what Yulan was experiencing. A plaque showing a crudely painted “YULAN” was hung on her neck as a badge of
shame—the shame of a pretend-westerner, of a capitalist. But that was not her crime. Yulan had been too naïve, too young,
too seized by the illogical fervor of revolution.
***
Customs House over at the Bund tolled the bells of Westminster Quarters. It was midnight and the revolutionaries lined
Waibaidu Bridge. Yulan was there, waiting. She had never thought that she would live to see China liberated from the specter
of capitalism, yet here she was. Finally, all would enjoy equality; finally, the corruption that had seized China would be beaten
back; finally, Shanghai would be free from its decadent past.
In the distance, she heard screams of adorations accompanied by the quick, agile march. The revolution had come! A
recently commandeered tank—formerly a counter-revolutionary tool of oppression came rumbling forth, filled to the brim
with soldiers. An alien yet irresistible urge grew within Yulan. She wanted to throw herself into the revolution; she had to
drag out every single capitalist in the city; she longed to ransack Shanghai for all that it was worth.
Yulan couldn’t help but to start humming a tune—a tune of the revolution. She listened as the hum grew into a murmur, and
that murmur transform into a chorus. “Stand up, all victims of oppression,
For the tyrants fear your might…”
***
The truck finally reached the Bund. Once again she heard Customs House toll its bells, but what she heard wasn’t Westminster
Quarters. Instead, out came “The East is Red”. The guardsmen began singing.
“The east is red, the sun rises
From China comes Mao Zedong.”
She had expected them to sing of the victims of oppression, of tyrants ages past. Yet that was all gone. The east was red, and
nothing was standing in its path.