1993, Qishan.
The new county magistrate Li Jin went down the mine on the fourth day after taking office. There was ankle-deep water in the well, and a key drainage pump had been broken and had not been repaired for two years. On the cement steps of the miners' family area, a retired old miner sat for ten years, waiting for someone willing to listen to him tell the truth.
Someone called me anonymously at night: "Because I don't want to die."
Someone handed over a draft of the maintenance record. The signature area was obliterated, leaving only half of the character "Liu".
Someone said to him in the provincial capital: "You need to check that name that was blacked out by yourself."
Half a year later, Cheng Deming retired. He said: "Before you came, I didn't think Qishan could accomplish anything."
Spring hasn't come yet, but the snow has already started to melt.
This is not a story about a counterattack by airborne cadres. It is the story of a person taking root from scratch in a strange land.
