“The Kuomintang were barbaric towards Yang Kaihui, Mao Zedong’s second wife,” says Jessica, tears welling in her eyes.

 

“Jiang Qing was Chairman Mao’s fourth and most famous wife.” Jessica says as she pours tea into my cup. “Mao’s second wife, Yang Kaihui, was little known and what the Kuomintang did to her was barbaric!”

I take a sip of my tea, send my gaze heavenward and say,  “Tell me more about this Yang Kaihui.”

Jessica rests her elbows on the arms of her chair and steeples her hands. “Kaihui was the daughter of one of Mao’s teachers, Yang Changji. In 1918, when Changji was teaching in Beijing University, Mao met Kaihui when he accepted the post of assistant librarian. Two years later, the couple married.  They had three children. 

“In 1927, Mao was separated from his wife as he had to travel around the country to lead the revolutionary movement. So, Kaihui returned to her hometown Bancang in Hunan Province.  On October 24, 1930, General He Jian of the Kuomintang arrested her. He gave her two options—to publicly denounce the Communist Party and Mao Zedong and be released or to be executed. Despite being tortured, she refused to betray her husband. On November 14, she was executed by a firing squad. Another account said she was beheaded. She was only 29 years old.” Tears well in Jessica’s eyes and leave snail-tracks on her cheeks. “The story did not end there.

“In 1982, the government restored Yang Kaihu’s former residence to turn it into a museum. A worker found a letter hidden in a crack in the wall of her bedroom. The crack had been sealed with wax. In the letter, Kaihui expressed her love for her husband Mao and how much she missed him.

 

“An excerpt of the letter said, ‘I will kiss him a hundred times, his eyes, his mouth, his cheeks, his forehead, his head—he is mine. He belongs to me!’

"Mao was devastated by her death. When he came to power, images of Yang Kaihui appeared in several of his propaganda posters. He also wrote a poem in memory of her.”

 

My gaze glazes into a blur as hot tears scald my eyelids. By the time my tears stop, I am as emotionally tattered as the soggy Kleenex tissue in my hand. 

/end