(Minghui.org) I began practicing Falun Dafa in 1998, and am now 80 years old. Since I began practicing Dafa, my physical well-being and mental serenity have grown by leaps and bounds. In contrast to the hardships of the first half of my life, practicing Dafa felt like entering paradise. Even after the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) launched its brutal persecution in 1999, I refused to give up this wonderful practice.
A Childhood Filled With Suffering
Unable to Afford Medical Treatment
I was born into a wealthy rural family in 1947. That same year, the Chinese Communist Party launched its Land Reform Movement. Because we were classified as rich peasants, the Party confiscated and redistributed my family’s land and property. We also became targets of discrimination, and were relegated to the status of social outcasts.
When I was only a year old, a severe sore developed on my left foot, and seven deep holes filled with decaying tissue appeared on my ankle. Because our family’s assets had been seized, we had no money for medical treatment. I suffered as the wounds festered and oozed pus, crying in pain every day.
It took over four years for the wounds to heal, during which time I was unable to learn to walk. I took my first steps when I was six or seven years old. Eventually, my left leg became visibly thinner than my right. Overusing my leg during the day caused severe pain that kept me awake at night. Even the slightest touch made me scream in excruciating pain.
Entire Family Nearly Wiped Out in the Great Famine
The CCP launched the Great Leap Forward campaign in 1958. People across China engaged in widespread fabrication and exaggeration, and promoted absurd schemes like “yielding ten thousand jin of grain per mu,” “mass steel production,” and “surpass Britain and catch up with the United States.” Crops went unharvested, and rotted in the fields while the populace was starving.
My family’s worst suffering came in 1960. With no grain to eat, the hunger was unbearable, especially for a 13-year-old who was in a period of rapid physical growth. While others stole grain from the production team’s warehouses, my family’s “class label” meant severe repercussions if we were caught. None of us dared to steal, so we became emaciated, and so weak we could barely walk. On occasion, I truly believed I was near death.
In May and June, my mother boiled fallen willow leaves and pickled them in brine. We ate huge bowls of them, only to feel hungry again soon after. In autumn, we ate bare corn cobs, corn-stalk piths, and cotton-stalk bark, things even pigs would not touch.
We looked forward to our weekly visits to my grandmother’s house. My grandmother had a large, fertile plot of land in front of her house, but the CCP forbade her from cultivating crops. Instead, edible wild greens grew on the fallow land in abundance, and wild grains matured. My grandmother harvested and ground the grains on a millstone, then steamed the flour into buns. Once a week, my mother would take my younger brother and me to my grandmother’s home, where we feasted on buns. Somehow, we survived while starving.
A Battle To Survive
Back then, my family was often mistreated. Despite my young age, I stood up and fought back to ensure our family’s survival.
When I was 11, the production team cheated our family by giving us less grain. Seeing how little we were given, I asked, “Why is my family’s share so small?” The person in charge replied, “That’s based on the work points your family earned.” I asked, “Where is your record book? Let me see it. I’ve been keeping track of the work we did, too.” I rattled off calculations on an abacus and asked, “It should be correct now, right?” Having verified the figures, the people in charge had to give us an additional portion of grain.
During that time, everyone ate in a communal mess hall, with pieces of yam allotted to each person at each meal. While other families received large piles of yams, the three of us—my mother, my brother, and I—were only given a few pieces. Upon seeing how unfairly we were treated, I angrily grabbed the scale and demanded, “Weigh it again. How can the three of us get so little?” The people in charge dared not reply. Instead, they tossed us two more large pieces of yam. They treated us unfairly at every turn. If I did not fight for our rights, we would have nothing to eat.
When the Cultural Revolution began, a member of the production brigade ordered my mother to sweep the streets. I approached the brigade leader and asked, “Why are you making my mother sweep the streets?” He replied, “Landlords and rich peasants exploited people in the past, so that’s how it is now.” I retorted, “You all know that neither my mother nor my father exploited anyone. My father spent his days working in the fields, while my mother stayed home grinding flour and caring for our extended family. They were honest laborers who lived by their own efforts. They never exploited anyone, so you can’t make my mother sweep the streets.” Because I argued my case so firmly, the brigade member retracted the order and eventually dropped the matter. My actions earned praise from fellow villagers.
I Became a “Class Enemy” at School
During elementary school, both my teachers and classmates acknowledged my excellent academic performance, yet I was barred from attending a good middle school because of our family’s label. A few students from my elementary school got into good middle schools, but the rest went to ordinary schools. I was relegated to a part-time middle school. The student body consisted of those with poor grades or bad class backgrounds. School would break at the start of the wheat-harvesting season and resume only after autumn had passed, leaving us without schooling for half the year. In this way, I was denied a normal education.
I faced unfair treatment during the high school entrance exams. No matter how well I performed, I was ineligible for admission. Because my scores far surpassed everyone else’s, an agricultural vocational school—a secondary-level technical college—agreed to accept me. I was the only student in my class labeled as poor class. At the time, “class struggle” was an all-powerful catchphrase, and anything I said was easily twisted to brand me as a “class enemy.” Anyone who sympathized with me or showed me kindness would be accused of having a slack attitude toward class struggle. Having been branded by the Communist Party as belonging to one of the “Five Black Categories,” my classmates treated me like a pariah. The mental pressure I endured was immense.
One day, a few of us were hanging out and decided to give ourselves names that reflected the spirit of the times. One girl said, “I’ll call myself ‘Red Fruit.’” Another said, “I’ll call myself ‘Cultural Revolution.’” I said, “How about ‘Li Xin’? It means starting afresh, establishing a ‘New Era.’” The class Youth League secretary sprang to her feet, glared at me and shouted in a shrill voice, “You want to call yourself ‘Establishing a New Era?’ You’re a reactionary who prevents reforms! Those who don’t ‘destroy the old’ are reactionaries.” Another classmate quipped, “Does that mean she wants to be called ‘Destroy the Old and Establish the New’?” I cried as the others laughed.
According to the admissions prospectus for our graduating class, we were assigned to various county agricultural bureaus upon graduation. However, the Cultural Revolution broke out just before we graduated, and everything was thrown into chaos. We were barred from taking up our intended posts, so we simply waited at the school. Eventually, classmates with family connections found jobs. They left one by one until I was the only one left. Because my leg condition prevented me from doing manual farm labor, and because my family’s class background was considered problematic, no one was willing to assign me a job. I waited at the school until the end of 1969 before leaving.
During that time, the locals introduced me to a few potential suitors. However, my poor health and unfavorable family background meant that none of the matches worked out. Later, someone introduced me to a man from the city, who eventually became my husband. With only three years of schooling, he was poorly educated. We had little in common, but given my own disadvantages, I honestly told him, “My family background is problematic.” When he stayed quiet, I added, “My health isn’t good either and will only worsen with age.” He replied, “When you get old, I’ll look after you. Even if you are unable to move, I’ll still take care of you.” Those simple, sincere words touched my heart and tears welled up in my eyes. We got engaged, registered for our marriage, and obtained a marriage certificate. I eventually transferred my name to his family’s household registration.
Forging True Gold
Obtaining a Priceless Treasure
I attended a class reunion during the 1998 Lunar New Year. Zhang Hui (pseudonym), our class’s academic representative, had long suffered from poor health. Her condition remained the same even after she started working. Yet on the day of the reunion, she looked stunning because of her beautiful, rosy complexion. I was absolutely amazed. Strangely, none of our other classmates seemed to be as impressed as me. Looking back, perhaps Master Li chose to reveal it only to me.
When I asked Zhang Hui why she looked so beautiful, she replied, “I practice Falun Dafa (Falun Gong).” I asked, “Where do you practice?” She replied, “At Donghe Park.” I eagerly asked for the start time, and she replied, “5 a.m.” My interest instantly evaporated. I thought, “There’s no way I can get up that early. In fact, I can barely open my eyes at seven.” Severe leg pain kept me from falling asleep until 2 or 3 a.m., so I hated getting up early. On weekdays, my husband prepared breakfast. I got out of bed only after hearing him call me to eat. The early exercise time left me hesitant to find out more about the practice.
One morning, I suddenly woke up a little past four, feeling wide awake and energetic. Unable to fall back to sleep, I decided to visit the practice site. I got dressed, headed to the park, and saw about 20 groups exercising there. Unable to tell which group was Falun Dafa, I chose one at random and headed toward it. When I asked, I learned that I had chosen the right one. I watched from the sidelines for a while, only to find that the pain in my leg had vanished. I said to the practitioner who was welcoming new students, “The energy field here is wonderful. Maybe I should learn too. How do I go about it?” He replied, “If you are interested, you have to read the book Zhuan Falun. You can’t do the exercises without reading the book.” I asked, “Where can I find a copy?” He replied, “A beginner’s class will be held at Xinmiao Kindergarten at 6:30 p.m. Practitioners will play videos of Master’s lectures. If you want to learn, you should go there.”
I went to the venue after dinner, feeling excited. Once the video started, I was struck by how young Master Li looked. The content was unlike anything I had ever heard before. The more I listened, the more captivated I became. We listened to one lecture a day, and hearing each lecture became the highlight of my day.
While listening to the third lecture, I heard Master Li say, “Practice requires dedication to only one cultivation way.” Later, on my walk home, I met a colleague who urged me, “You should chant the name ‘Buddha Amitabha.’ It is an effective cultivation way.” We had never spoken before, yet she was enthusiastically promoting the Buddhist practice to me right at my doorstep. When she refused to stop talking about it, I told her, “I practice Falun Dafa, and our master said the practice requires dedication to only one cultivation way.” She replied, “Alright then. You should stick to Falun Dafa.” This colleague was likely sent by Master Li to test my determination to become a Dafa disciple.
After I watched Master Li’s seventh or eighth lecture, a retired colleague accosted me as I returned home from the exercises. She called out loudly, “Sister! Where have you been?” I replied, “I went to practice Falun Dafa.” She exclaimed, “Oh my, you look so good! Your complexion is wonderful. You’ve changed so much in just a few days. You should continue this excellent practice.”
I live on the third floor. In the past, my legs would ache terribly whenever I climbed the stairs, forcing me to rest after each flight. That day however, I managed to climb the stairs with little effort. Overcome with excitement, I thought, “My colleague praised my complexion. Let me check the mirror.” I looked and discovered that my face was no longer swollen. Because I had difficulty falling asleep in the past, my face and eyes were often pale and puffy. Yet today, I looked to be in perfect health.
My injured left leg had been a part of my life from the age of one until 52, so much so that I had no idea what it felt like to live without pain. Yet after practicing Falun Dafa for just a few days, my chronic pain vanished. I could sleep soundly at night and wake early each morning. The joy I felt was beyond words.
I managed to obtain a copy of Zhuan Falun. The principles of Dafa I found within it healed the deep psychological wounds caused by my family’s discriminatory class label. In Falun Dafa, practitioners are of equal standing. They are instructed to treat others with consideration and to act according to the principles of Truthfulness-Compassion-Forbearance. They need not be on guard against others or fear personal attacks. I had never experienced such comfort, even in my wildest dreams.
My mother visited me on the tenth day of my practice. As soon as she saw me, she exclaimed, “My dear, you look so radiant! Your face isn’t swollen anymore, and your complexion is so rosy.” I told her, “Mom, I’m practicing Falun Dafa.” She replied, “Keep practicing, do keep on practicing. My daughter is saved!” I hugged my mother and told her happily, “My leg has stopped hurting too.” My mother was so happy that tears of joy welled up in her eyes.
Falun Dafa is a practice that helps improve one’s moral character while boosting physical health. To achieve this transformation however, one must first cultivate one’s heart and mind. I soon realized how soul-crushingly painful this process was. Years of bullying had bred a sense of deep resentment, triggered combative behavior, heightened defensiveness, and fostered discrimination and unwarranted suspicion of others. In my quest to erase these negative traits, I began cultivating compassion. Having discovered the true meaning of life, I was determined to live each day to the fullest.
Speaking Up for Falun Dafa
As a Falun Dafa practitioner, I lived in a state of bliss. However, in July 1999, the CCP started its persecution of Dafa and Dafa practitioners. At first, I was deeply distressed, unable to comprehend why such a beneficial practice was being slandered. Having personally experienced the miraculous healing effects of Falun Dafa and its morally upright teachings, my belief remained firm despite the overwhelming barrage of media lies.
To help fellow Chinese citizens understand the truth, I downloaded truth-clarification flyers from the Minghui.org website, printed them at a print shop, and distributed them in my area. Later, I put up posters and banners bearing slogans that revealed the truth about the persecution. I also went to Beijing with three other practitioners to show our support for Falun Dafa. We stood at Jinshui Bridge and shouted, “Falun Dafa is good!” Despite the danger in doing that, we returned home safely.
In August 2001, while putting up truth-clarification posters with a fellow practitioner, I was arrested by police officers and taken to the police station. That night, I noticed the police guard had fallen asleep. I called out that we needed to use the restroom. I thought, “If an officer in the vicinity responds, we will just go to the restroom. Otherwise, I will take it as a sign to leave this place.” The detention area’s main iron gate was locked, and the restroom wall was so tall it was impossible to climb over. Yet when we exited the restroom, we spotted an exceptionally tall aluminum ladder propped beside the doorway. That was strange, because the ladder had not been there when we first entered the restroom. Without further thought, we quickly used the ladder to climb over the wall and escape to the front entrance. A taxi happened to be idling right there. When we asked, “Are you available?” the driver replied, “Yes,” so we got in the car and escaped. Although I rarely carry cash on my person, that day I happened to have a little money, which was enough to pay the driver. Only later did we realize that the mysterious ladder and waiting taxi had been manifested by the power of Dafa and Master Li to save us from the police.
Unable to return home, we went to another practitioner’s suburban home. Days later, we contacted other practitioners who had also been forced to leave their homes. We banded together and traveled to a bustling commercial city. Many migrants from across the country had flocked to this city to do business, making it an ideal place for us to hide, since nobody would question our presence. We used tricycles to transport our supplies, truth-clarification flyers, and CDs without attracting suspicion.
At least 12 displaced practitioners eventually gathered in this county town. We worked on projects to share facts about Dafa and the persecution with the public. Some of us produced informational flyers and CDs, while others packed and delivered them to various distribution points. Some worked to persuade practitioners who had been forced by the authorities to renounce their faith, to resume cultivating Dafa. Despite our harsh living conditions, I devoted those three years to righting the injustices done to Falun Dafa. It was a truly fulfilling experience.
We had conflicts within our small group. For instance, one practitioner didn’t get along with others. Anyone who worked with her would eventually become infuriated. One practitioner was even reduced to tears. I also found myself arguing and clashing with her, without realizing it was an opportunity to improve my character. Back then, I did not know how to look inward and examine my own conduct, so I engaged in senseless arguing and bickering with her.
In December 2004, while another practitioner and I were on a bus returning from another town, a plainclothes police officer spotted her reading her pocket-sized edition of Zhuan Falun. She hurriedly closed the book and slipped it into my bag, but the bus was later stopped and searched. Both of us were taken to a detention center in the neighboring county. With firm righteous thoughts, the practitioner secured her release. The police detained me, but I was also tired of living on the run after being away from home for three years and four months. When the police asked, I voluntarily gave them my real name, then went on a 15-day hunger strike in the detention center. My family members and police officers from my hometown soon arrived, and I was allowed to return home.
Once home, officers from the local police station came to see me. I told them, “I have always held the police in high regard. You serve the people by punishing evil and upholding justice. However, instead of thugs and criminals, most of those imprisoned with me at the detention center were ordinary citizens. They only wanted redress after being victimized by the underhanded dealings of their local authorities. How could the police do that? Why aren’t you arresting the real criminals and instead imprisoning good people?”
The officers just looked at each other without saying a word. One officer remarked, “Auntie, you certainly have a way with words.” I replied, “Our Master teaches us to be good people and to live by the principles of Truthfulness-Compassion-Forbearance. Why are we being suppressed? What crime did we commit to deserve this persecution? After much reflection, I realized that we hadn’t done anything wrong. Rather, the CCP was wrong to start this persecution. The police also failed to assess and act in accordance with the law.” After that, the police stopped bothering me.
I was illegally sentenced to one year of forced labor in 2010, for refusing to renounce my faith in Falun Dafa. One day, the team leader said, “If you feel unwell, just let me know.” The next day, another inmate said, “Auntie, you must be sick.” I shot back, “What illness? I don’t have any.” I wondered if Master Li was giving me hints, but couldn’t quite grasp what I was supposed to do. That night I dreamed of securing my freedom from the labor camp and knew it was time to leave. The next day, I told the team leader, “My leg hurts. I’m terrified I might not leave this place alive.” The staff checked my blood pressure and found it was very high. The team leader then warned me, “Be careful not to fall.” Yet while walking in line, I suddenly fell flat on the ground. Everyone was terrified and rushed to help me up.
I continued scaring everyone over the next few days by falling several times. Besides the falling, staff from the labor camp took me to the hospital for an examination because I was over 60 years old. I silently told Master Li, “I will leave it in your hands. If you want me to leave this place, I will.” After the examination, the labor camp arranged for me to return home and receive medical treatment outside the facility. I returned home over six months ahead of schedule.
How Master Li Extended My Life
My younger brother developed leukemia in 2005, and I went to the hospital to care for him. One day, his wife took me aside and asked, “Sister, I’m really worried about your brother’s illness. What if things take a turn for the worse?” I replied, “Don’t say that. A miracle may still happen.” She mused, “Yes, I’m hoping for a miracle too. After all, a miracle happened for you. If one happened to him too, it would mean the fortune teller was wrong.”
Bewildered, I asked, “What do you mean?” She explained, “Sister, you don’t know this but, a long time ago, your brother asked a fortune teller to read both of your futures. The fortune teller said you would live to be 53 and your brother to 57, but you’ve already passed that age. It would be wonderful if my husband could live past 57.” I suddenly thought about it and said to her, “I began practicing Dafa when I was 52. Master Li extended my life so I could cultivate. All these years are a gift from Master.”
I had previously urged my brother to practice Falun Dafa, but he refused, saying he was unwilling to believe in Dafa’s teachings. My brother eventually passed away at the age of 57, confirming the fortune teller’s prediction.
Race Against Time To Save Lives
After realizing that my life had been extended, I began to cherish it even more. I learned to use the computer and printer and started producing truth-clarification flyers. Initially, I made them at another practitioner’s home, but later, with support from my spouse and eventually my children, I moved the equipment to my place. In addition to distributing the flyers, I supplied them to practitioners in my area.
One day, I noticed many people zipping along the road on e-scooters and decided I wanted one. I usually walked slowly because of my weak leg, so an e-scooter would be helpful. I asked my family members, but they turned down my request, saying, “You’re over 60. Riding an e-scooter at your age isn’t wise. What if you get into an accident?” Undeterred, I kept pleading with my spouse until he finally agreed.
Like an efficient pair of legs, the e-scooter made travel faster and more convenient. Fellow practitioners were amazed, “You look like an 80-year-old when you walk, but ride like an 18-year-old. You go so fast!” My e-scooter has ferried me all over the city over the past 14 years, helping me share the facts about the persecution of Falun Dafa.
Over 20 years of experience has helped me distill the most effective ways to persuade others to quit their Party memberships. When I first started, I would recount the CCP’s shameful history, but this was time-consuming and exhausting. It took two to three hours to explain the facts to one person, with mixed results. Moreover, with so many household chores, I found it hard to make sufficient time for this work. After discussing it with local practitioners, I found I could explain everything clearly in just a few sentences. Since most people lead busy lives, the message had to be concise and clear. For those who wanted to know more, we could then talk in greater detail.
I also stopped greeting strangers with phrases like “sorry to bother you” and “let me tell you.” Stilted and unnatural, these words created distance, making it easier for people to shy away. Instead, I switched to greetings that showed genuine care and consideration, helping people feel that I had their interests at heart. For example, when the weather turned chilly, I would say, “Sister, brother, it’s getting chilly today. Make sure to bundle up; you don’t want to catch a cold. A trip to the hospital could cost you hundreds of yuan; please take good care of your health!” Passersby usually responded with smiles and words of thanks, allowing me to segue into my truth-clarification speech and persuade them to quit the CCP’s various organizations (the Party, Youth League, and Young Pioneers).
I currently go out four or five times a week, persuading 30 to 40 people each time to quit the CCP. Beyond discussing the weather, I tailor my opening remarks to the demeanor or characteristics of the person I greet. By showing genuine concern for their well-being, I build a connection that keeps the stranger from becoming defensive or resentful. This fosters friendly conversation, allows me to explain the truth about the persecution, and helps the person decide to withdraw from the CCP.
