RED DUST, GOLDEN LIGHT
As told to Sophia Bell by Professor Wang Ming
Chapter 12: Through the dark night - confrontation and escape (2) | Excerpt
From the skeptical lens of a scientist to an awakening to Eastern mysteries,
this book is a journey in search of truth amidst the fragile boundaries of life, death, and steadfast faith.
(…)
Caught in the Net - Wang Ming is Arrested
Thanks to the network of kindness and the courage of fellow practitioners and kind-hearted citizens in Shanghai, we had managed to get through many days of hiding and moving in fear. After nearly two weeks since leaving the old hotel, constantly changing temporary lodgings and finding the most discreet ways to move through this vast city, we finally felt we were very close to our goal: the U.S. Consulate.
According to the information we had gathered, the consulate was located in a fairly central area. We had planned to find a coffee shop or some other public place near the consulate, from where we could observe the situation and find the right moment to enter. The hope for safety and an escape began to kindle more strongly than ever.
That afternoon, we had just gotten out of a taxi on a street a few hundred meters from the U.S. Consulate. We had intentionally exited the car at a distance to avoid drawing direct attention. The street was quite crowded with passersby, with many shops and offices. Qing Ling was comforting Xiao Lian, who seemed a bit tired after the journey across the city. I was trying to stay calm, observing our surroundings and looking for a place to rest temporarily before getting closer to the consulate.
Just then, I sensed something was wrong. A few men in plainclothes, who seemed to have been loitering nearby since we got out of the taxi, suddenly began to approach us with clear intent. My heart pounded. My intuition screamed that something bad was about to happen.
"ID check," one of them said, his voice cold, as he flashed a police badge very quickly before putting it away. His eyes swept over us, lingering for a long time on Xiao Lian, who was rubbing her eyes in Qing Ling's arms.
I tried to stay calm and took out my passport and Qing Ling's. Although I had prepared myself for the worst-case scenarios, the fact that it was happening so quickly and at this very moment left me stunned.
"Is this child yours?" another man asked, pointing at Xiao Lian.
"Yes, she is our daughter," I replied, trying to act natural, though in my heart I knew they already knew everything.
"Where are her papers?" the first officer asked again, his voice still even but his eyes now sharper, as if he knew for certain we didn't have any.
This was what we had feared most. We had no documents to prove that Xiao Lian was our child. I was about to start explaining that we were in the process of getting her papers reissued because they were lost... But I knew the explanation was utterly futile. They had been following us, they knew who we were, and they chose this precise moment, just as we were about to reach a place of potential protection, to make their move.
Before I could finish my sentence, one of them gave a signal. Immediately, several more men from nearby street corners rushed over, quickly surrounding us. The atmosphere suddenly became extremely tense. This was it. They had been waiting for this moment.
"You two, come with us to the station," the leader said, his voice now firm. "There are some matters that need to be clarified."
"We haven't done anything wrong!" Qing Ling cried out in panic, hugging Xiao Lian even tighter. "We are American citizens..."
"Quiet! Come with us!" another man shouted, roughly pushing Qing Ling's arm away.
They moved to grab my hands. As a reflex, I took a step back, raising my arms to shield Qing Ling and Xiao Lian. "What do you want? We have the right to contact our consulate! The consulate is right nearby!" I tried to shout, hoping to attract the attention of the passersby.
But that action seemed only to anger them and make them act faster. Two strong men immediately lunged at me, twisting my arms behind my back. I struggled but couldn't resist. A cold pair of handcuffs clamped onto my wrists.
"Ming! Ming!" Qing Ling screamed, trying to rush forward to hold me back but was blocked by another man. Xiao Lian, seeing the scene, began to cry and scream in terror, her heart-wrenching wails piercing the busy street.
"Let him go! What are you doing?" Qing Ling yelled in desperation, tears streaming down her face.
I was dragged towards an unmarked van parked at a nearby corner, which had probably been waiting. I tried to turn my head to look at Qing Ling and Xiao Lian one last time. The image of the two of them, mother and daughter, hugging each other and sobbing amidst the circle of plainclothes men and the curious crowd that had begun to gather, was like a knife stabbing into my heart. Overwhelming pain, helplessness, and worry consumed me. What would happen to me? More importantly, what would Qing Ling and Xiao Lian do in this city without me?
I was shoved hard into the back of the van. The door slammed shut, trapping me in darkness and fear. The van sped away, leaving behind Xiao Lian's cries and Qing Ling's desperate figure, an image that would haunt me in the dark days to come. The net had closed just as we were about to reach for hope. I had been caught.
The Dark Days in Detention
I was taken to a place they called a "Detention and Interrogation Center." In reality, it was a pretrial detention facility located somewhere in Shanghai, a cold, damp place constantly shrouded in a suffocating, fearful atmosphere. After some perfunctory procedures like fingerprinting, having my picture taken, and having all my personal belongings confiscated (fortunately, Qing Ling had the copy of "Zhuan Falun" in her backpack at the time, otherwise it would surely have been taken), I was pushed into a cramped, foul-smelling cell with nearly twenty other people.
The living conditions here were unimaginably terrible. The air was always thick with the smell of sweat, mold, and the unpleasant odor from the open toilet in the corner of the room. We had to lie crammed together on the cold concrete floor, each with only a tattered straw mat. The only light came from a dim yellow bulb hanging from the ceiling, which was never turned off, blurring day and night into one. The food was just meager prison rations, usually dry, hard white rice with some mushy boiled vegetables and a few scraps of tofu, never enough to quell the gnawing hunger.
But the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the mental pressure and the constant interrogations I had to endure. Almost every day, usually at the most inconvenient times like the dead of night or the crack of dawn, I would be dragged from the cell and taken to a small, cold interrogation room. There, under the glare of a bright electric lamp shining directly in my face, I had to face several police officers who took turns questioning me.
They didn't believe my explanation that we were just tourists in China and had taken in Xiao Lian out of compassion. They insisted on accusing me of being an American spy, using tourism as a cover to gather intelligence and colluding with the "evil cult organization" Falun Gong to undermine the Chinese government. They even deliberately twisted the facts, claiming I had kidnapped Xiao Lian for some dark purpose.
"Confess! Who gave you your orders? Who is in your network here?" They slammed the table and shouted, their voices full of threats. "You think having an American passport makes you special? This is China! If you don't confess honestly, you'll rot in prison!"
They used every method to exert psychological pressure. Sometimes they would threaten, saying they knew where Qing Ling and Xiao Lian were, and that if I didn't cooperate, the two of them would be in danger. Other times they would feign a soft approach, promising leniency and an early release if I would "perform a meritorious service to atone for my crimes"—meaning I had to admit to the fabricated charges and give them the names of the Falun Gong practitioners who had helped us.
To increase the pressure, they also used methods of mental and physical torture. While not as brutal as what Sister Lan had described (perhaps they were somewhat restrained because I was a foreigner), it was enough to make a person break down. I was often forced to stand or sit in very uncomfortable positions for hours during the endless interrogations. They deliberately deprived me of sleep, waking me up every few hours for questioning or intentionally making loud noises in the cell. Once, because I adamantly refused to admit to their absurd accusations, an interrogator angrily slapped me hard across the face and kicked me to the floor.
They also forced me to watch crude propaganda videos, full of slander and defamation against Falun Gong and Master Li Hongzhi. They gave me pre-printed materials and forced me to read articles vilifying the Great Law. It was truly a form of mental torture, an attempt to shake the faith that had just begun to form within me.
During those long, dark, and at times seemingly hopeless days—I estimate I was detained there for about a month and a half, perhaps almost two months—when the worry for Qing Ling and Xiao Lian, combined with the physical and mental torment, threatened to break me, it was what I witnessed and contemplated in the detention center that became my greatest spiritual support.
In my cell, there were a few other inmates who had also been arrested for practicing Falun Gong. They didn't say much about their circumstances, but through their soft-spoken words, their gentle gestures, and their unusually calm demeanor in the face of such hardship, I recognized them. I saw them quietly sit in meditation with their legs crossed when the guards weren't paying close attention, even if only for a few short minutes. I heard them whispering poems from "Hong Yin" when they thought no one was listening.
I also witnessed them being dragged away for interrogation and returning with new injuries, yet their eyes still shone with an extraordinary determination, without a trace of resentment or fear. There was an elderly farmer who had been beaten so badly he could barely walk, but when another inmate fell ill, he still tried to give away his meager portion of rice. Their extraordinary Compassion and Forbearance in such an extreme environment had a powerful impact on me.
It was these images, combined with my continuous recitation in my mind of the Fa principles I had learned from "Zhuan Falun," especially the principle of Truthfulness-Compassion-Forbearance, that helped me maintain my sanity and my faith. I began to understand why they could be so resilient. Because they had found the truth, had found the true meaning of life. They knew that these tribulations were temporary, an opportunity to temper themselves, to eliminate karma, and to return to their original, good nature.
Witnessing firsthand the brutal, absurd nature of the Chinese Communist Party in its treatment of the kindest citizens erased any remaining doubts I had about what Uncle Liu, Mrs. Chen, and Sister Lan had told me. I clearly realized that this was not a battle between a government and some "superstitious" group, but a real confrontation between good and evil, between the righteous and the malevolent. And I knew which side I had to be on.
Nearly two months in that dark prison did not break me. On the contrary, it was like a trial by fire, helping my faith in Falun Dafa become ever more steadfast. Though my body was tired and hungry, and I faced an unknown future, my mind held an unusual clarity and determination. I didn't know when I would get out of this place, but I knew one thing for sure: I would never bow to evil, and I would never give up the righteous path of cultivation that I had been so fortunate to find.
Diplomatic Intervention and a Spectacular Escape
In the early days of December, the weather in Shanghai began to turn colder. In the damp prison cell, I had gradually lost all sense of time, clinging only to my faith and the Fa principles I recited in my mind to endure the harshness of my situation and the cold that seeped into my bones. I didn't know how Qing Ling and Xiao Lian were, whether they were safe, or if anyone was helping them in this vast city. That worry often tormented me more than the beatings or the interrogations.
Then one cold morning, as I was trying to sit with my legs crossed on the freezing concrete floor, the cell door suddenly opened. A guard called my name, his voice gruff: "Wang Ming! Out!"
I didn't know what was about to happen. Another interrogation? Or were they planning to transfer me somewhere else? I staggered to my feet, my body worn out from lack of food, sleep, and the cold, and silently followed the guard out of the cell, not daring to hope for much.
But instead of being taken to the familiar interrogation room, I was led through different corridors to an area that looked like an office. There, an official who seemed to be a superior was waiting. He looked me up and down with an unreadable expression, then gestured with his chin towards a set of clean clothes (though not my own) on a table.
"Get changed," he ordered. "You're being released."
My ears were ringing. Released? After nearly two months of detention, torture, and being framed with absurd charges, they were now suddenly telling me I was being released? I couldn't believe my ears. "Why...?" I stammered.
"No need for questions," he cut me off, his voice impatient. "There was a 'misunderstanding' during the investigation. The higher-ups have reviewed your case. You are an American citizen; we respect international law. You may go."
"Misunderstanding"? I knew that was just an excuse. There must have been some powerful intervention from the outside. Could it be... had Qing Ling succeeded? Had the U.S. Consulate here in Shanghai gotten involved? A glimmer of hope began to flicker within me, but I still wasn't sure.
After completing some simple paperwork very quickly, I was escorted out of the detention center gate. The weak winter sunlight hit my eyes, making me squint. The cold air outside struck my face, but it was the air of freedom. I took a deep breath, trying to stand steady.
And then, I saw her. Qing Ling was waiting not far from the gate, her face gaunt and pale from worry and lack of sleep, but her eyes lit up when she saw me. Beside my wife, holding the hand of an unfamiliar middle-aged woman (whom I guessed was certainly a Falun Gong practitioner), was little Xiao Lian. She had gotten thinner too, her eyes still holding a trace of fear, but when she saw me, she softly called out, "Uncle Ming!"
At that moment, all the strength I had been holding back seemed to burst forth. I ran towards them. Qing Ling ran too, throwing her arms around me, sobbing uncontrollably. I held my wife tightly, feeling her frail, trembling body in my arms. I couldn't hold back my own tears—tears of joy and sorrow, of the pain that had passed, and of a happiness of reunion that had seemed impossible.
"I... I did it... You're free..." Qing Ling sobbed in my arms.
"I knew... I knew it was you..." I replied, choked with emotion, stroking her tangled hair.
I bent down to look at Xiao Lian, who was still a bit shy. I gently hugged her. "Good girl, Xiao Lian, it's okay now. Uncle is back with you."
The woman with them smiled kindly. "She has been with us these past few weeks, completely safe. Your wife went through a lot to secure your release."
Later, Qing Ling told me the whole story of her arduous process. After I was arrested, my wife was in a complete panic. But with the help of this kind woman and a few other practitioners Uncle Liu had managed to contact, she and Xiao Lian found a temporary safe place in a discreet part of Shanghai. Immediately after, despite the danger, she tried every way possible to get to the U.S. Consulate in Shanghai. At first, approaching them and presenting her case was not easy; she was met with bureaucracy and a somewhat skeptical attitude. But with persistence, the evidence of my wrongful arrest (she had kept my passport), and the audacity to mention our connection to Falun Gong (knowing full well the risk), my wife finally convinced a consular officer to believe her and get involved. They officially sent a diplomatic note, demanding the Chinese side to clarify the case and release the American citizen, Wang Ming. Nearly two months of continuous diplomatic pressure finally forced the local authorities in Shanghai to concede.
Our reunion was brief but full of emotion. We knew we were not yet truly safe. This was still China, and their "release" could be temporary. We had to leave this place as soon as possible.
With more active support from the consulate after my release, we began a race against time to complete the necessary procedures for all three of us. Obtaining travel documents for Xiao Lian was very difficult, but thanks to the strong intervention of the consulate and the urgent humanitarian grounds, we finally received a special permit to take her out of China with us.
Finally, in the last days of December, as the Christmas spirit filled the air around the world, we were at Shanghai Pudong International Airport, holding plane tickets back to the United States. The journey through the dark night, facing danger, and the final, spectacular escape, was over. We had survived, we had protected Xiao Lian, and most importantly, our faith was not only not destroyed but had become stronger than ever. The light at the end of the tunnel had truly appeared.
(…)
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