The audience responds with sobs. The opera singer Hao Liang, the lead in The Legend of the Red Lantern, comes forward. Men of courage, he shouts. Let's go to the Politburo, go to where people can hear us, the radio stations, the stages, the newsrooms. Let's voice our deepest wish and petition for Comrade Jiang Ching to be the chairman of the Communist Party and the president of China! Let's make the difference with action. I am sure people will follow us.
The room echoes in one voice. Oaths of loyalty follow. One guest takes out a white handkerchief. He bites his middle finger and writes a line with his blood: Comrade Jiang Ching for the chairman or my brains painted on the Great Wall.
It is a great moment in my life. October 5 in the Hall of Fishermen's Port. The grand passion demonstrated by the great actors. The magic of a stage. Reality is forgotten.
Through my hot tears I see Chun-qiao and his disciple walk into the hall. They call off the party with an emergency message-my enemy has begun their action. Despite Chun-qiao's panic, I take time to say good-bye personally to everyone. I have a feeling that this is the last time.
Hao Liang, I say to the actor, I'd like to thank you for the good work you have done for the film. In the future the films will speak for us. You have brightened my life. Days and nights we have sweated to get the excellence on film. The memory is our gift to each other. I can't offer you enough. But my heart will stay close to you through heaven or hell. The hero you played on stage died in the enemy's hands. Remember me and yourself that way.
At dawn, I call Chun-qiao to touch base. He reports that there have been frequent visits between the old boys and military heads. I ask him to come to my place immediately. Half an hour later he arrives.
Have you spoken with my friends Commander Wu and Commander Chen? I ask. I have cultivated a good relationship with them and they have promised to support me.
You are a fool to think that they will honor the promise they made when Mao was alive. I've checked with them and they don't return my calls.
I am beginning to feel the weight of the sky.
Forget about the army. Chun-qiao grinds his teeth. We have to depend on our own force.
The armed workers in Shanghai?
Yes. But we are short of time.
How long does it take to prepare a takeover? I grab Chun-qiao's hands. We must seize the old boys before they seize us.
At least a few days.
Act now, the ax is dropping! I'm going to Shanghai!
Please, Comrade Jiang Ching, for your safety and health, leave the matter to us.
I don't trust you! she screams. Your pessimistic view disturbs me! The show should be played the other way around, and the characters should be reversed! We are the ones who are holding the ax!
The advancing orders have already been placed. We must leave our faith to Buddha. We must trust… the people. Chun-qiao's voice suddenly loses its energy.
She wills herself on. She tells her secretary that she is going to Jing Hill Park in the afternoon. Get my photographer. Tell him that I'll be at the Quarters of the Apple Trees.
It is a cloudy day. Perfect for pictures. The sky is a natural gauze which helps to even out the light. The park was originally built for emperors of the Sung dynasty. Six hundred years ago Emperor Jing hanged himself here after he had lost his country. I climb to the top of the hill without stopping. Under my eyes is the complete view of the grand imperial city.
The photographer doesn't like the apple trees as the background for my picture. He says that the fruit-laden trees are too distracting. He thinks that I should be by the peonies. But Apple, Ping, used to be my name, I tell him. It connects me to my past. Eternity attracts me today because I smell death. This shot is either going to be my mug shot or the one that replaces Mao on the Gate of Heavenly Peace.
Finally the photographer settles down. He pulls my chair away from the trees as far as he can so the apples will be out of focus. Now he is having trouble with my Mao jacket. I have changed my costume during his battle with the apples. He likes me in the dress better but I insist on looking like a soldier. I'd like to be in these clothes when I die. It is to remind people that I have fought like a man.
The photographer screws his eye into the lens. He asks me to smile. He doesn't want to take pictures of death. But I can't get myself to smile. This morning I saw my face in the mirror. My jaw is shallow and my eyes are blank. I haven't been able to sleep much. The sleeping pills don't work.
The sound of clicking continues. Seven rolls. Finally there is one shot he likes. Which one? The one when you kind of drifted off. Did your mind travel far, Madame? There was this gaze, dreamlike. It brought out the young woman in you. The woman I recognize from the picture of you and the Chairman standing side by side in front of the cave in Yenan.
Oh, that was my favorite.
I studied the image when I was a photography student. I'm glad I have caught the heroine in you again. Your expression moved me. I shall develop the negatives and send you the prints in a few days. You'll know what I am talking about here. It is the best picture I have ever taken.
The negative never makes it to the positive.
October 5, 1976. The war room of the China military headquarters is packed with marshals and generals. With a picture of Mao hanging above the map, action begins. Around the table sits Commander in Chief Marshal Ye Jian-ying. Next to him is Hua Guo-feng, Vice Premier Li Xian-nian, Chen Xi-lian, plus the newly promoted 8341 Garrison head, Wang Dong-xin.
A phone ring breaks the silence. Wang picks up the receiver. After a few seconds he reports. The enemy has made a move. Navy intelligence by the East China Sea has found out that the Shanghai Jiang-nan ship factory has turned two ships into armed vessels. The workers' force have built a defense around the entire bay. A moment ago they came to claim the army's Wu-song artillery base.
The members in the war room sit back in their seats. The only thing that troubles their minds is the consequence of destroying Madame Mao only twenty-seven days after Mao's death. Will the nation agree with the action? Could it backfire?
October 6. Hua Guo-feng calls Jiang Ching to meet at the Hall of Mercy in the evening. Jiang Ching's secretary, Little Moon, asks the reason for the meeting.
The publication of the late Chairman's fifth volume of works. The reply is smooth.
Comrade Jiang Ching will be absent. Little Moon's voice is gentle but clear. Sure, I'll get the message to her as soon as possible.
Madame Mao Jiang Ching appears by the door. She is in a suit with a sand-colored scarf around her neck. My sixty-third birthday is coming, she utters. I've never celebrated my birthdays. There hasn't been much to celebrate. But my life is changing and the people will begin to celebrate my birthday. I trust their judgment.
Like a weed she breaks through the sidewalks. She extends her arms far out and begins to sing like her opera heroine. Cracks the patio pavement, and she will pierce the most desolate corner to find air and light!
Evening wraps the room. Little Moon sits by the phone.
Still no answer from Chun-qiao's office? Madame Mao asks.
No.
What about Yao?
No answer either. By the way, Madame, we have also lost touch with Wang.
There is a sudden collision of thoughts in which fear realizes itself. Madame Mao feels the gradual stifling of her breathing. Pictures pass through her head like a movie, which later proves to match what really happened.