(Minghui.org) I would like to share some of my experiences after more than 20 years of cultivating in Falun Dafa.
I was born in the 1950s. My father worked as a government official until the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) labeled him a rightist and sent him to a labor camp at the age of 29. I was only two years old, and my mother was pregnant with my younger brother. During my father’s labor camp term, my mother and I went to live with my maternal grandfather in Chengde City, Hebei Province. To support our family, my mother found a job.
Before the end of his term in the labor camp, my father said, “In my hometown, people don’t have enough to eat.” Just because of these words, the authorities extended his labor camp term. I only saw my father five years later. It was around that time that our family was sent to a rural area on the outskirts of Liaoning Province. In order to reunite our family, my mother resigned from her job in Chengde City.
Our peaceful family life was short-lived. My father was labeled a “counter-revolutionary” soon after and was subjected to public denunciation and beating sessions. Branded “dog’s offspring,” my brother and I lived with constant discrimination. In winter, my brother’s classmates would use stove hooks, heated red hot from the indoor stoves, to burn his cotton-padded clothes and face, saying, “Let’s see you behave, you little rascal.”
My paternal grandfather was labeled a landlord during the Four Cleans Movement [the campaign against landlords and class enemies]. The family was evicted from their residential compound and forced to live in a small mud house of less than 10 square meters. When the Cultural Revolution began in 1966, my grandfather’s family became targets again. My grandfather and several others who were similarly labeled were beaten every day. My grandfather later died from this abuse.
My maternal grandfather owned a factory in Chengde before the establishment of the People’s Republic of China. After the CCP seized power, he was forced to hand his factory over to the state. Although in his 70s, he was subjected to daily public denunciation and beating sessions during the Cultural Revolution, while continuing to work at a factory washing oilcloth. He eventually fell ill, and my mother took my younger brother with her to care for him, leaving my father and I behind.
During those years, my father was forced to attend public denunciation and beating sessions almost every night. Afraid to stay home alone, I often accompanied him to these sessions. I would see seven or eight people, kneeling on a bench only a few inches wide, whipped with leather whips and belts. Other victims would be physically beaten. Those who collapsed were ordered to climb back up and kneel on the bench again, their faces swollen from the abuse.
How I wished for someone to help my father and I! But nobody dared to. I missed my mother dearly and hoped she and my brother would come back soon. I would run to the path my mother had taken when she left the village, desperately waiting each day for her return!
One day, I developed severe mumps. A lump the size of a steamed bun grew around my jaw, forcing me to support the lump with my hands whenever I walked. When my father asked his team leader for time off work to take me to a doctor, the production team leader not only refused but also said, “It’s easier if the brat dies.” When the pain became unbearable, my father took me with him to see his team leader. On seeing the severity of my illness, his team leader finally agreed. At the communal hospital, a fat doctor whose last name was Tong told us he needed to make a small incision to drain the pus and blood. But because of my “bastard” status, they could only operate without anesthesia. My father held me down amid my cries of pain, crying himself as well.
I was studying in elementary school then, and the work team would visit me almost daily, urging me to denounce my father. I told them, “My father only told me to study hard. He didn’t make any counter-revolutionary remarks.” My refusal resulted in a three-month suspension from school.
Around the summer of 1976, a village uncle, unable to endure the prolonged public denunciation and torture, coupled with his daughter’s declaration that she was severing ties with him, committed suicide by drinking alum.
This incident awoke a new terror of losing my father, so I watched over him carefully. One day, not long after Uncle Li’s death, my father ground a bag of sorghum and a bag of cornmeal. He told me, “When it’s hot, leave the grain bags uncovered to prevent the grain from molding and getting infested with insects.”
One night, I woke up and found my father had disappeared. Ignoring my fear of the dark, I ran desperately toward the river bend. At a grove, I saw my father about to hang himself with a rope. I ran up to him and hugged him, crying, “Dad, you can’t die! I can’t live without you!” My father kicked me away and said, “Please let me leave. I can’t take it anymore.”
I scrambled to my feet and hugged my father’s legs, pleading, “Dad, if there’s another session tomorrow, let them beat me. I’ll take the beatings for you! Dad, I’m scared! I want to go home!”
Because I was shouting so loudly, my father became frightened. If the production team found out about his suicide attempt, he would be punished even more severely. Faced with my pleading, my father gave up his suicide attempt and took me home. Only then did I realize my father had prepared the two bags of grain to tide me through the period after his death. Despite the continued torture, my father lived on for my sake.
My maternal grandfather finally succumbed to cancer and passed away. My mother and younger brother returned home from Chengde after handling my grandfather’s funeral.
In all, my childhood, adolescence, and youth were spent under the umbrella of the CCP’s tyranny.
In 1980, the CCP regime considered my father “rehabilitated” and removed his rightist label. In the eyes of fellow countrymen, the CCP had corrected its mistake. But could years of suffering be compensated just by the words “rehabilitation?” Having spent half his life persecuted under the CCP’s tyranny, the torture took a toll on my father’s health. He developed stomach cancer and barely lived past 1985, passing away at the age of 62.
The CCP’s systemic mental and physical torture of my father severely traumatized my mind. I began to suffer from frequent convulsions, which did not improve even after marriage. Over time, I developed even more illnesses, which deepened my suffering.
In 1997, I encountered Falun Dafa (also known as Falun Gong). Falun Dafa purified my body and cured all my ailments. From then on, I vowed to steadfastly cultivate and follow Master Li to the end, no matter the difficulties I faced.
When the CCP began persecuting Falun Gong in July 1999, I was detained in Beijing during my attempt to appeal against the persecution. I was then released. In October 2000, I was arrested again by the police and taken to a county political security office. There, officers said, “We are aware of your situation. You’d better confess.” They said they wanted the identities of my fellow practitioners. When I refused to answer, they ripped off my coat, forced me to kneel on the ground, and held me down. Two officers stepped on the back of my feet while hurling insults.
After a while, they tied me up with a piece of rope, constricting my neck so tightly I could barely breathe. I still have a large lump on my neck from this incident. Then, pulling my hair, they slammed my head against the wall. The pain was so intense I lost consciousness. I later became aware of people shouting at me but could not open my eyes. Then someone shouted, “Pour water on her!” After regaining consciousness, I found myself unable to sit up due to the pain. My head was covered in egg-sized lumps, and my mind felt muddled and heavy. The policemen then kicked my breasts with their leather shoes until I passed out. When I regained consciousness, it felt as though I had soiled myself. I asked to go to the toilet, but the policemen refused, saying I would not be allowed to go even if my intestines spilled out. Although I was nearly 50 years old, the police beat me for more than eight hours.
At around 2 a.m., several policemen dragged me to a cell in the detention center. My legs started cramping all the way until dawn.
The next morning, the police dragged me out of the cell for further interrogation. Six policemen beat me up. When I refused to say anything, they proceeded to dislocate my shoulder. I endured the excruciating pain and remained silent. They then sent me back to the detention center cell.
On the third day, they dragged me out at 8 a.m. Claiming their actions were for my own good, they said, “If you can name a fellow practitioner, we’ll let you go home.” The pain was so bad I was barely able to stay conscious, but I still refused to say a word.
On the fourth day, I was taken to a room where I saw my family. The brigade leader told us we had half an hour, and my younger sister hugged me and cried. My uncle, who was over 70, said, “Just tell them whatever they want to hear! No human could survive this torture.” My brother’s eyes were red with tears. He extended his hands to me and said, “Sister, we’ve spent years worrying about you. How are we supposed to go on if you leave us?” My sister then knelt at my feet, begging me to give in.
My heart was in pieces. Despite its evil deeds, the CCP remained untouchable. Instead, my loved ones were forced to bow to the CCP’s whims and could only persuade me to follow the CCP’s wishes. Only an evil entity would force its people to choose between family and faith. Fighting back tears, I told them to return home without me.
At 8 a.m. on the fifth day, police officers took me out of my cell and beat me. However, when I continued to resist their demands, they changed track and started coaxing me to give in. “Have you seen your Master? Why bother? We have to do whatever Jiang Zemin tells us to do.” “When your Master becomes president of this country, I’m sure you will be named premier.” I replied, “Cultivators don’t care for earthly power.”
I then explained to them why Jiang Zemin was so intent on persecuting Falun Dafa, how Falun Dafa is practiced around the world, and supported by governments of various countries. I told them about the pain I had experienced during the Cultural Revolution, and that Buddhas would descend to Earth at specific periods to save people. I also said, “Each one of us is capable of independent thoughts. If Falun Gong were truly bad, would it require such a massive propaganda campaign and resources to tar the practice? Jiang Zemin planned to eradicate Falun Gong within three months, yet why are there more and more practitioners? Falun Gong transcends national borders, races, cultures, and languages, and it has already been acknowledged by practitioners throughout the world. To safeguard yourselves and your families, please treat Dafa kindly!” Struck speechless, my interrogators helped me back to the detention center. As we traveled down the long corridor, fellow inmates gathered and watched me with great admiration. Some even gave me a thumbs-up and said, “Your Master is truly great!”
On the sixth day, the policemen took me to a room in the detention center. One policeman said, “You’ll definitely be sentenced to imprisonment. You’ll be an old lady upon your release. Can’t you say something to save yourself?” Another said, “Don’t hate us even though we beat you up. If you had told us the information we wanted, we would not have hit you.” I got up to leave, but I almost fell because of my injuries. After they sent me back to my cell, I found myself unable to stand up. Fellow practitioners cared for me, while fellow inmates passed me instant noodles and apples through the cell bars, commenting on how good and amazing Falun Gong is! Unfortunately, I found myself unable to eat anything.
A little over a month later, I was taken to the 5th floor of the county’s Political Security Brigade building. A leader from the city’s 610 Office entered the room, accompanied by several others. Without a word, he pulled my right and left arms behind, handcuffing both arms diagonally across my back. He then stuffed a beer bottle into the gap between my arms and back to tighten the handcuffs. He fiercely said, “Even the toughest person can’t last an hour. A person will be crippled within two hours. This punishment will extract a confession from even the most notorious murderer.” He later said, “We’ve been working on you till the wee hours, unable to go home. What are you trying to achieve?”
They also punched and kicked me repeatedly. My arms and hands were swollen, hot, and numb after an hour of abuse. The leader then forcefully squeezed my hands. The pain was so bad, it felt as though my bones were being crushed. Sweat rained down my face, and I started vomiting. At that moment, I remembered Master’s teachings,
“What I want are disciples who cultivate in a confident and dignified manner, magnificent gods who are indomitable, unbreakable.” (“Drive Out Interference,” Essentials of Diligent Progress II)
I told myself I would never yield.
After a while, the leader came over. While pulling my hair back with one hand, he used the other to force my chin down, saying maliciously, “I’ve been handling cases for over 20 years. Any criminal will talk to me. I don’t believe you won’t.” I remained quiet for the next three hours and ten minutes. Finally, when they unlocked the handcuffs to go for lunch, I passed out. The leader poured cold water on me to wake me up, despite the bitterly cold weather conditions. He then asked, “Did you recite your Master’s scriptures (to get through the session)?” I replied, “Yes.” He skeptically said to the other officers, “She has long arms. We didn’t stretch them to their limit.”
Three days later, they took me out of my cell again. The 610 Office head brought two unfamiliar faces before me and said, “All the important figures from the city and county are here. Will you comply?” I was suffering from a terrible headache and nausea. Just as I was about to vomit, I lost consciousness. Realizing they had injured me so badly I would not pass the medical examination required for admission to a prison or a labor camp, the police extorted 10,000 yuan from my family in exchange for my release.
The injuries I suffered from the last torture session left me unable to care for myself over the next three years. I needed help with everything, such as washing my face, combing my hair, and dressing myself.
In 2010, I was arrested again and interrogated at a police department in the city. I remained calm, clear-headed, and fearless, because I knew Master was by my side. I refused to sign anything and instead told my interrogators about Falun Dafa. I said, “I absolutely will not sign anything.” One policeman retorted, “If you won’t sign, I’ll sign it for you.” I told him, “Child, our meeting was arranged by fate. Without this opportunity, we would have remained strangers. Falun Dafa is the law of the universe. Without Dafa, even Earth would not exist. Your profession has the responsibility to enforce righteousness, so you must be a good person. If you really want to sign for me, just write ‘Falun Dafa is good.’ It will benefit your descendants.” The policeman listened to my advice and wrote “Falun Dafa is good” on the paper. I was moved to tears at that moment.
A few days later, they sent me to Masanjia Forced Labor Camp. I shouted throughout the journey there, “Falun Dafa is good! Falun Dafa is the law of the universe!”
Upon arriving at Masanjia Forced Labor Camp, the guards assigned two people to accompany me 24 hours a day, hoping to persuade me to change my mind. Several former practitioners who had renounced Falun Dafa were also sent to accompany me. On finding out that these former practitioners could not even recite Master’s teaching, “Lunyu”, I took it on myself to teach them, accomplishing the task within 10 days. Afterward, the guards sent various people from other cities to my side, hoping to change my mind. However, because of my strong righteous thoughts, their efforts were in vain.
I spent a year at Masanjia before my release, continuously sending forth righteous thoughts and reciting Master Li’s teachings, such as “Position” and “Lunyu,” from memory.
I usually join my daughter and grandchildren on their summer and winter vacation trips, clarifying the facts about the persecution of Falun Dafa wherever I go. Once, I was on a plane, seated beside a young man. Although I wanted to clarify the facts to him, I knew there was a risk of him reporting me to the authorities. I thought to myself, “Once we get off this plane, I won’t have another chance. I am a Fa-rectification period Dafa disciple charged with the duty to clarify the truth and save lives. I must act accordingly.” I proceeded to clarify the truth to this young man, and he agreed to withdraw from the CCP and its affiliated organizations.
On another occasion, I participated in efforts to rescue a fellow practitioner’s son, who had been illegally detained and denied visitation rights. We took some truth-clarification materials and visited the city’s police department to appeal. The staff receiving us read the materials, then handed the flyers over to the young man next to him. He then asked, “Where did you get these?” I replied, “Receiving these is a blessing. You’ll understand once you read them. They will secure a bright future for you.” My desire to genuinely help all sentient beings moved the staff, who told me, “Take a taxi to the prison administration bureau and tell them that you are allowed to visit.”
I once went to the Intermediate People’s Court to help rescue a fellow practitioner. I felt a bit of fear when I had to hand over my ID card for registration. But I steeled myself with the thought that Master and Dafa would always be by my side. After entering, I met with both judges and told them about Falun Dafa. At first, they turned their chairs and faces away, attempting to ignore me. When I continued to speak, one judge got up and went into the corridor to avoid me. I chased after him and managed to convince him to change his mind. I also convinced the other judge about the goodness of Falun Dafa. Eventually, one of them told me the fellow practitioner I was asking for was on his way to prison. I could catch up with him by taking a taxi. I knew I had little reason to visit the Intermediate People’s Court again, so I went on and asked them to quit the CCP. I said, “My greatest wish is for you to be saved. I don’t want either of us to part with any regrets.” After I talked about “quitting the CCP and its affiliated organizations,” the judge walked over from his large table, shook my hand, and said, “Thank you, elder sister.” I felt deeply moved. In the end, both judges agreed not to sign off on any more Falun Gong cases, and I helped them withdraw from the CCP.
Afterward, no longer crippled by fear, I visited several other cities to rescue other Falun Dafa practitioners.
For over 20 years, Dafa has guided me to overcome trials and tribulations. I am now over 70 years old. My daughter and I firmly walk on the cultivation path arranged by Falun Dafa, heading out to clarify the truth to people almost every day. Looking back, words cannot express my gratitude. Over the years, experience-sharing articles contributed by fellow practitioners have helped guide my way. Today, I too would like to share my cultivation story with fellow practitioners, in the hope that we can continue to improve and cultivate together.