编辑文：
The mystery of Li Guangcheng

One day, after checking the cell, I leaned against the window and saw a tall, well-dressed man Sent to the next cell. There is a small hole in the wall between the two cells. We can talk. He said he was Li Guangcheng (Cantonese pronunciation) from Foshan, only 20 kilometers from Foshan, Guangzhou; I have been there many times. Mr. Li talked about the local ancestral hall and Shiwan Ceramics (dolls), which are all familiar to me.He explained that "Baochai pill" (a treatment for cold, diarrhea or vomiting) is known by Cantonese as Li Zhongsheng's product pharmaceutical factory. Now Li Zhongsheng is not only in Foshan, but also in Guangzhou and Hong Kong. These pills and other products are exported to Southeast Asia and to places where overseas Chinese live around the world. He is a member of the Li zongshengtang family, Mr. Lee said. Why is it called "Zhong" (meaning "win together")? Because his generation was rated "honest" (winning) by genealogy. Their father encouraged them to work together to run a pharmaceutical factory, so the name of this factory is bell. I'm interested in what he said. A few years later, I learned that Li Zhongsheng has indeed been passed down from generation to generation. If the bell has what he said, it is not likely to become a member of the generation. But I didn't doubt that. Li went on to say that he was the third generation of traditional Chinese medicine. He and Ma Jianxian (son of Ma Deyu, a famous doctor in Foshan)

原文：
The Mystery of ‘Lee Kwan Shing’
One day after checking the cell, I leaned on the window and saw a tall, neatly dressed man being
sent over and into the next cell.
There was a small hole in the wall between the two cells which allowed us to talk. He said he was
Lee Kwan Shing (as pronounced in Cantonese) from Foshan, a town only 20 kilometers from
Guangzhou; I had been there many times. Lee talked about the local Ancestral Temple and Shiwan
ceramics (toy dolls), all of them familiar to me.
He explained that "Po Chai Pills" (a Chinese herbal formula for treating colds, diarrhea or
vomiting), well-known in Cantonese community, were the product of the Lee Chung Shing Tong
Pharmaceutical Factory. Now Lee Chung Shing Tong is not only in Foshan but also in Guangzhou and
Hong Kong. The pills and its other products are exported to Southeast Asia and around the world
wherever overseas Chinese resided.
Lee said that he was a member of the Lee Chung Shing Tong family. Why was it called “Chung
Shing” (meaning “Together Winning”)? Because his generation in the family tree was ranked "Shing
(Winning)". Their fathers encouraged them to work together to run the pharmaceutical factory well, so
the factory was named Chung Shing.
I was very interested in what he said. Years later I learned that the Lee Chung Shing Tong has
indeed been passed down for generations, if Chung Shing had the meaning he claimed, it was not
possible for him to be a member of the Shing generation. However, I did not doubt this at the time.
Lee went on that he was a doctor of Traditional Chinese Medicine of the third generation. He and
Ma Jianxian (son of the well-known doctor of TCM in Foshan, Ma Deyu) were intimate friends. When
Ma Jianxian got married, he presented Ma with a watch. At that time, the watch was a gift of very high
grade, because its purchase required not only money but also a coupon.
I was much amazed because Ma was my classmate and fellow provincial at the Beijing Medical
College! This seemed like a happy coincidence, running into my classmate’s close friend in a distant
land. So I chatted with him without reservation and often full of emotion and candor. Once Lee sang for
me, "When Will You Come Again" - the song very popular in the 1940s. I remembered some of it and
followed along.
Lee also told me that he had been in Vietnam for more than two years and practiced Traditional
Chinese Medicine in Hon Gai. His business was good. Someone who was jealous may have reported
him, causing the police to nab him. He asked the Vietnamese government not to send him back to
China because he might be killed by stoning or beaten in a disorderly mass assembly.
I shuddered and had little doubt it could happen, but wondered if that was likely.
He said Vietnam was socialist (an official term; the locals usually said "communist"), but unlike
China, he could still practice medicine by himself. I said I felt the same about this.
I was surprised when he told me he might ask to be sent to the Soviet Union. I had never thought
about being sent to the Soviet Union, and told Lee that before coming to Vietnam, I saw a court bulletin
in Guangzhou listing someone sentenced to 10 years in prison for fleeing to the Soviet Union.
Lee Kwan Shing seemed to have growing conflict with the Vietnamese in his cell. They often
quarreled and once he fought with them violently. Afterwards he told me through the hole that he was
skillful in kung fu (martial arts), and even the three Vietnamese together could not match him. I was
naturally inclined to take his side.
Just a couple of days later something happened that made me consider him more carefully. I was
looking out the window when I heard the next cell door open. Leaning on the sill for a better view, I
saw Lee Kwan Shing coming out, followed by the jail aide "pig", and going straight into the office
facing my cell at a distance. Before long, Lee came out of the office alone, left the jail and disappeared!
I was immediately suspicious. Who really was this Lee Kwan Shing? Why could he go out of the
prison by himself?
After many years, I returned to Guangzhou and visited my classmate Ma Jianxian. When I told
him about Lee Kwan Shing, Ma was stunned: "I don't know who Lee Kwan Shing is. When I got
married, no one presented me even a strap, not to say a watch!"
Then it was my turn to be stunned. What kind of person was Lee Kwan Shing? What did he want
with me? Was our meeting secretly arranged? Was Lee’s supposed request to be sent to the Soviet
Union some kind of hint for me?
More than 30 years have elapsed and I still am unable to crack the mystery of "Lee Kwan Shing".
Repatriation
Not long after I was imprisoned, a number of border-crossed Chinese were repatriated without
me. After more than a month, there were whispers of another imminent repatriation of Chinese. One
day after brunch, two policemen came and read the list. Chen and I were called. More than a dozen of
us climbed into a truck and sat on our own baggage.
My mood was heavy and anxious but mixed with a glimmer of inexplicable hope: Let the past be
past, all events ahead of me were unknowns; God would arrange them. Be tough to survive humiliation
and suffering. I believed that time was on my side.
At about one o'clock in the afternoon, our truck was driven to Tien Yen midway and stopped
behind the police station. I did not know why, but the news spread quickly. Many people came up to the
truck, some of them my former patients or their family members, all gazing at me sorrowfully. Qian
also came and gave me a packet of biscuits. Others handed me snacks, one packet after another. No
police was there to interfere. My fellow sufferers in the truck cleared a place for me to store the food
The day was growing cold and my clothes were thin. When I asked if someone might spare me an
extra shirt, a man handed me one. Qian immediately took off his new uniform and gave it to me.
Seeing no police nearby, two young men close to the truck signaled me to jump out and run. I
smiled wryly and gently shook my head. After more than half an hour, the truck started to move slowly.
I forced a smile and waved my hand to bid farewell, noticing someone quickly turning his face away.
Later I learned that when Dong Hoa villagers got the news, some immediately came, but others
were busy preparing food and came after the truck already had left. Others came from nearby
communes but also were too late. For a time people were clamoring: "Alas! Good man, good man,
healed and saved so many patients. Being sent back, he would be killed. How wrong, ah!" Even the
policemen returning to Hong Gai talked about so many people seeing me off at Tien Yen; it was a big
surprise.
I was deeply moved and thankful to the Tien Yen people. During my seven years wandering in
North Vietnam, I spent most of my time in Tien Yen and came to be regarded as a semi-Tien Yenese.
Although our contacts were limited, I had built a profound friendship with many good and honest
people. I did my best to provide health care for them; they gave me their concern, care, warmth, and
protection, and help me resolve so many difficulties. As they say, it was the relationship between fish
and water. The friendship was engraved on my heart and remains unforgettable.
Do not worry, my friends. I would get over even the biggest difficulties. The disgraced evil power
would not last long. The time was on my side. Goodbye! I would always remember you, remember the
days and nights we had been together.
......
At about five o'clock in the afternoon, we arrived at the police station in the city of Mong Cai near
the border of China. We were confined in two cells. To our surprise, the jail walls were emblazoned
with graffiti, writings and drawings cursing Mao, revealing a clenched jaw hatred of him. We talked
privately that, if someone wrote these in China, needless to say he would immediately be pulled out
and shot. However, the Vietnamese police ignored it. That really afforded us food for thought.
Next morning, there was a sudden commotion. It was said that a Yangjiang man had escaped,
possibly by climbing over the low wall of the urinal trough. I admired him for his courage and wit and
silently wished him good luck. Chen in my cell told me the man who escaped was captain of a
production brigade and a Communist Party member. If sent back, he might be somewhat troublesome,
but there would be no big problem.
The Mong Cai police staff was very nervous and became angry when their search proved futile.
Later I heard that the next group of prisoners coming to the Dongxing detention center was handcuffed
together two by two, even while eating, going to the toilet or sleeping at night.
Our group was ordered to line up and walk to the Beilun Bridge which connected the two
countries. Because of the escape, the Vietnamese police were not as friendly as before and rebuked us
for trifling things. But it was not a long distance. In the middle of the bridge, sentries from each country
called out the names of those being handed over.
So, after seven years wandering in Northern Vietnam, I returned to the motherland. It was
December XX, 1975.