Whispers under the Scholar Tree: Who Fed the "Local Emperors"?
The afternoon sun cast a long, slanted shadow against the dirt wall at the entrance of the village. Old Zhang and Old Li sat side by side on a chipped stone bench, puffing away at their dry, cheap tobacco.
A shiny black Audi roared past on the nearby dirt road, kicking up billowing clouds of yellow dust. Through the window, one could catch a fleeting glimpse of a chubby, double-chinned head. The driver didn’t even bother to glance at the two old men eating dust on the roadside, stepping on the gas and vanishing toward the village committee office.
Old Zhang spat out a mouthful of ash-speckled saliva and tapped his pipe against the stone: "Look at that. He got a brand new Audi again. I wonder how many hundreds of acres of our village's harvest it took to pay for that car?"
Old Li let out a long sigh, blowing out a thick cloud of blue-gray smoke: "Lower your voice! If they hear you, your meager low-income subsidy might disappear tomorrow. Last time, Old Wang next door merely asked about the public housing fund accounts during a meeting. The next day, he was summoned to the village office. The cadre slammed the desk, glared at him, and pointed right at his nose, barking, 'Are you looking for trouble?' They even blocked his son's political vetting for party membership. What kind of 'public servants' are they? They are clearly King Yama himself."
The Rising Dust and the Departing Audi
"King Yama is easy to deal with; it's the little demons that are unbearable," Old Zhang packed a fresh pipe, his voice dropping even lower. "You know, it's strange. Over the decades, we've stopped starving, yet why do these grassroots cadres act so much more arrogant and aggressive than before? They resort to intimidation and threats at every turn. If you don't comply, they cut your water, withhold your subsidies, or even threaten to ruin your whole family. Why is this?"
Old Li smiled bitterly, a trace of sorrow in his eyes. "Why do you think he dares to be so overbearing? The reasons run deep. Old bones like us have lived a lifetime, and we've finally seen through the ways of the world."
"What Good Is the Ballot in Our Hands?"
"The first and most critical reason—they don't eat from our bowls, so they don't care about our faces," Old Li said, counting on his dry, withered fingers. "The TV broadcasts every day that the village committee is democratically elected by the masses, that we are the masters of the country. But search your conscience: have you ever cast a real vote in your entire life? When those ballots are printed, the candidates' names have already been pre-selected by the township leaders. On election day, they set up a red box, blast the loudspeaker, and we go through the motions. Some people even fill out the ballots on our behalf.
They weren't chosen by us; they were handpicked by the bosses above. So, does he need to be accountable to you, Old Zhang, or to me, Old Li? Not at all! As long as he flatters the higher-ups, completes their vanity projects, meets the demolition quotas, and fulfills the stability maintenance targets, his position is as solid as a mountain. In their eyes, we aren't voters; we are just stepping stones for their promotion and numbers to show to those above."
Is "Law" Something You Can Eat?
Old Zhang puffed twice and sighed: "That's true. Besides, how many of us in the village actually understand the law? When we want to get even the simplest things done—getting an official stamp, obtaining approval for building a house, or claiming subsidies—the village leaders find every possible way to block us, extorting and demanding favors, gifts, and bribes at every turn. If you don't buy them meals or let them skin you, you won't even get a signature. Then they hold up stamped documents—even if it's just a blank slip—wave them in front of us, and claim it's a 'red-headed official document' or 'state policy.' They say that disobeying is 'opposing the government' and 'violating the law.' Once we hear the word 'illegal,' our knees buckle, and we don't dare to ask whether the document is actually lawful. Those cadres exploit our ignorance of the law, our fear of officialdom, and our desire to avoid trouble. They hold up chicken feathers as arrows of authority, managing us through empty rhetoric, bombast, and intimidation. They aren't governing; they are bullying."
Keeping Our Heads Down and Feeding the Wolf
"But it's not just about knowing the law. Our own docility has spoiled them," Old Li pointed toward the closed doors of the nearby houses, shaking his head in frustration. "Besides, in today's village, except for old and weak folks like us who cannot move, almost everyone who is able-bodied has left the village to find work in the cities, leaving it a hollow shell. Most of the remaining people only care about clearing the snow from their own doorsteps, ignoring the frost on their neighbor's roof. When someone else is bullied by the cadres or has their land compensation withheld, everyone just whispers in private. Nobody dares to stand up and say a word, terrified that the fire might spread to themselves.
Everyone keeps their head down and stays quiet, hoping someone else will play the hero. And what happens? The heroes get ruined by the cadres using every dirty trick in the book, while the rest just watch from the sidelines. This cowardly silence is not tolerance; it is complicity! If a wolf enters a sheepfold, and all the sheep rush forward to clash horns the moment the first sheep is bitten, even the wolf would think twice. But now? The wolf kills one, and the rest just keep grazing. How could the wolf not grow more arrogant and voracious?"
Who Watches the Shepherd?
"Like father, like son; like master, like man," Old Zhang looked toward the distant county seat, deep disappointment in his voice. "How many officials up there actually care about 'serving the people' anymore? High and mighty, they have long treated ordinary folk like sheep in a pen—harvestable crops and money-making tools. Since the lords above view power as a tool for personal enrichment, how could their henchmen below not follow suit?
Worse still, there is absolutely no oversight. In our village, the party secretary is a local emperor. The finances are hidden, the accounts look like hieroglyphics, and the township disciplinary inspectors are drinking buddies with them. If you go to the county to report them, your petition lands right back on the secretary's desk the next day. Power without supervision is like a runaway horse—it is bound to trample the crops to pieces."
The "Niu Yama" of Niutan Village in Ningxia
Old Li pressed his pipe butt against the stone, crushing it fiercely. "Do you remember the news about Niu Changchun in Ningxia? The party secretary of Niutan Village, Yingshui Town, Shapotou District, Zhongwei City. That is a living example of instant karma!
Niutan Village was originally so prosperous and rich! Back then, the village had its own thriving industries, including a busy ironworks and a vast array of income-generating commercial properties along the roads. The villagers had a real future, and the collective assets were substantial. But once Niu Changchun became the village party secretary, boy, the ironworks vanished, those lucrative roadside commercial properties were completely drained and squandered, and the village grew poorer by the day while Niu's own pockets ballooned to the bursting point. He treated collective land, resources, and the wealth built up over generations as his private garden, seizing and selling whatever he pleased. It was incredibly difficult for ordinary villagers to get anything done or receive their compensation; without getting squeezed or giving enough bribes, they stood no chance.
Worse yet, if anyone dared to mutter a complaint or report him, his face would instantly turn hostile. He would unleash all sorts of thuggish methods to threaten them. He took his entire family and relatives along to get promoted and get rich together, lining their pockets, while making life a living hell for the ordinary villagers and petitioners who dared to oppose him, making blatant death threats. He ruled the village with a single hand, utterly fearless. Why? Because in that remote place, Niu Changchun was the rule, and he was the law! How many 'Niu Yamas' have been created by a system devoid of supervision, genuine elections, and top-down moral decay? They impoverished their villages to enrich themselves, trampled the people underfoot, and still expected the villagers to sing their praises."
The sun finally sank below the horizon, and the mountain wind swept in, carrying dust from the fields and a bone-chilling coldness.
Old Zhang and Old Li stood up, patted the dirt off their trousers, and headed home. In the deepening dusk, the red five-pointed star atop the village committee building appeared faded against the gray sky, carrying an indescribable air of desolation.