He Jianzhong Photo: Lu Zhiyu/CSST

The stories of veterans who defended China during the Chinese People’s War of Resistance Against Japanese Aggression, etched in hardship and heroism, are a testament to resilience and patriotism. These narratives not only preserve history but also serve as a solemn reminder of the peace they fought to secure.

He Jianzhong: From the battlefield to an academic mission

He Jianzhong, a retired scholar from the Institute of Journalism and Communication at the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences (CASS), is also a veteran of the Eighth Route Army who narrowly escaped death many times. In the summer of 2025, the CSST visited her at the nursing home where she now resides, listening as she recounted those years of blood and fire.

Born in 1935 in Julu, Hebei Province, He Jianzhong’s childhood unfolded in the shadow of war. During one terrifying burst of Japanese machine-gun fire, she was pinned beneath the bodies of fallen villagers and became the sole survivor. As dusk fell, a recovery unit of the Eighth Route Army discovered her faint breath. At just ten years old, she entered the smoke and flames of war, becoming a young scout in the Enemy Affairs Division [which mainly carried out enemy-related work, including defection and persuasion operations, mobilization, intelligence collection, and the management of prisoners of war] of the Zaoqiang County, Southern Hebei (Jinan) Military District.

“When the Japanese carried out a sweep, everyone in our unit was killed,” she spoke with a long sigh, recalling another life-and-death escape. Her eyes grew red, her voice choked: “I was small, and survived only by hiding beneath the stairs… but they weren’t content to stop there, and began flooding the room with water.” In the end, it was the villagers who recognized the young girl soldier and risked their lives to pull her back from the brink of death.

Hunger was another relentless battlefield. When even tree bark had been stripped away by the Japanese occupiers, the young He Jianzhong climbed high into the branches in search of leaves to eat. A fall from one such tree left a permanent injury to her tailbone, a protruding scar that prevented her from ever lying flat. After the founding of the People’s Republic of China in 1949, she was finally able to settle into her studies. In 1964, she began working in the Department of Philosophy and Social Sciences at the Chinese Academy of Sciences [the predecessor of CASS]. In 1978, she took part in establishing the Institute of Journalism [the precursor of today’s Institute of Journalism and Communication], also at CASS.

Following the institute’s founding, He Jianzhong was entrusted by the General Office of the CPC Central Committee and the Publicity Department of the CPC Central Committee with compiling A Collection of CPC Documents on Journalism. She undertook the pioneering archival work herself: for two years, she rose at four or five in the morning, traveled across the city from the institute in eastern Beijing, and after hours of bus rides reached the State Archives Administration of the People’s Republic of China at the foot of the Xishan Hills. There, she combed through mountains of files, tracing documents related to the Party’s news work from 1921 to 1956. At the end of 1980, the manuscript that embodied years of effort was finally published.

During the interview, the elderly scholar picked up a yellowed photograph from her cabinet. In it, five young women in military uniform beamed brightly. Gently stroking the frame, she said softly: “They were my comrades, girls as young as I was, who took up arms against the enemy.” Of the five in the picture, only two remain alive today. Time has taken their youthful faces, but has etched their stories into memory.

Xu Mingquan: Scorched by war, illuminated by knowledge

Xu Mingquan was born in 1930 in Yangzhou, Jiangsu Province. A mere teenager, he enlisted in the army in May 1944; six years later, he joined the Communist Party of China. Today, at 95, he looks back on a century marked by fire and survival.

Xu likens his life to an old book scorched by war, every page inscribed with twists of fate and steadfast endurance. As he recalled joining the New Fourth Army in 1944, his clouded eyes suddenly lit up, as if time had carried him back to that war-torn era. He remembered the smoke of battle around Zhenwu Primary School in Jiangdu eighty years ago, the morning mist over the reed marshes, and the fire and blood of the ambush at Sanduo River.

In 1937, while in third grade in Jiangdu, he was bent over his desk copying new characters when the wail of air-raid sirens suddenly split the sky. Japanese warplanes thundered above—their bombs shattered his classroom, reducing it to ruins within moments. Amid thick smoke, he clutched half a pencil and ran, tears scalding his face.

In the spring of 1944, at just fourteen years old, he encountered the guide who would change the course of his life at the edge of the reed marshes. “Do you want to fight the Japanese invaders?” The simple question left Xu no room for doubt—he followed the troops. From then on, he was part of a New Fourth Army armed unit, assembling firearms in dim caves and transporting ammunition by moonlight. Once, when an operation was betrayed by a collaborator, Japanese bayonets closed in from behind. At the brink of death, Xu plunged into the reed marshes that had been his childhood playground, and once again they shielded his young life.

The ambush at Sanduo River on April 5, 1945, remains etched most vividly in his memory. Disguised as a farmer in a straw hat, bent low as if tilling the fields, he kept his ears sharp for any sign of movement. When the bugle call to charge rang out, he seized a spear hidden in the furrows and, with his comrades, pounced on the enemy. The ambush ended in sweeping victory: 204 Japanese soldiers were killed and seven taken prisoner.

When the war ended and the smoke cleared, Xu laid aside his uniform and devoted himself to education. In the establishment of the computer science department at East China Water Conservancy College (now Hohai University) and later at Shanghai Maritime University, he once again became a pioneer. From hand-cranked calculators to the age of artificial intelligence, he bore witness technological revolutions while always upholding the discipline and perseverance of a soldier. In his teaching, he often recounted those years of fire and steel, turning his own experiences into an illuminating beacon for younger generations.

Shu Tiemin: An artistic life shaped by the flames of war

Shu Tiemin was born in 1929 in Jiangling, Hubei Province, and is now 96 years old. In 1943, at only fourteen years old, he joined the art troupe of the Fifth Division of the New Fourth Army under the guidance of his elder sister, Shu Sai, thus embarking on his revolutionary career. That same year, his father, second sister, and younger brother also followed his sister into the resistance.

During the war, Shu accompanied the army deep into the anti-Japanese base areas behind enemy lines. There, he witnessed both the cruelty of war and the profound bond between soldiers and the people. He recalled that in 1945, his troupe was stationed with divisional headquarters in the Southern Hunan (Xiangnan) anti-Japanese base area. The region, laced with rivers and lakes, was subject to constant “mopping-up” operations by the enemy and their collaborators: burning, looting, and countless other atrocities. The locals lived in extreme hardship, surviving only by fishing, shrimping, and gathering lotus roots.

The troupe often ventured into the lake districts to perform. Because a previous troupe had once been captured in its entirety during a performance, divisional leaders dispatched a guard detail of eight young soldiers under Platoon Leader Wang. The guard detail accompanied Shu’s troup in two light boats, providing protection throughout their journey.

Shu recounted one such mission to Bai Lu Lake region. After a performance for local fishermen, a large merchant vessel appeared ahead, sailing toward them. “Platoon Leader Wang was immediately alert,” Shu said. “Sensing something suspicious, he ordered the rear guard boat to cover the troupe’s retreat into the reed marshes.” Suddenly, a man in plain clothes leapt onto the deck of the ship, unfurled a Japanese flag, and a volley of gunfire erupted toward the small boats of the troupe.

“Only then did we realize that it was no merchant vessel, but a disguised Japanese reconnaissance boat,” Shu recalled.

Prepared for danger, Wang and his men returned fire while steering their boat into the main channel in the opposite direction, drawing enemy fire away from the art troupe. Though the troupe reached safety, Wang and three guards never reappeared.

“Later, the tragic news arrived—Platoon Leader Wang, two boatmen, and three soldiers had all died. Everyone knew it was their sacrifice that carved out a path of survival for us. To this day, I still do not know Wang’s full name…” Shu’s eyes welled with tears as his voice broke.

Reflecting on the reasons for victory in the War of Resistance, he said with conviction: “The reason we ultimately prevailed was because of countless heroes like Platoon Leader Wang. They sacrificed their lives for the sake of the nation, using their bodies as a Great Wall against the invaders. It was through their blood and sacrifice that we won dignity and independence.”

After the founding of the PRC, Shu dedicated himself entirely to the arts. He served as conductor and head of the folk music ensembles at the Beijing People’s Art Theatre and the Central Experimental Opera House (now the China National Opera & Dance Drama Theater). Later, he turned decisively to Chinese opera, where his exceptional talent made a lasting contribution to its development. His works include Hongyun Cliff, The Death of He Long, and Save Her, among many others.

This article was written with input from Cui Naiwen, Sun Meijuan, Zha Jianguo, and Chen Lian.