The Decisive Battle in Korea

Chapter 1: Baekdu Mountain

Korea, meaning the Land of Tranquil Dawn. Legend has it that long, long ago, a bear and a tiger wished to become human. The gods told them that if they could stay in a dark cave on Baekdu Mountain for one hundred days, eating only garlic and mugwort, they would become human. The bear endured the severe test and became a beautiful woman, but the tiger failed due to a lack of perseverance. Later, this bear woman married Dan-woong and gave birth to Dan-gun, who established the kingdom of Joseon in Pyongyang in 2333 AD. Since then, Koreans have called themselves descendants of the bear.

I am now standing on Baekdu Mountain, the legendary birthplace of the Korean ancestors, also known as the sacred mountain by Koreans. The name Baekdu Mountain may be unfamiliar to many, but if you mention its other name—"Changbai Mountain"—I think few people wouldn't know it.

Climbing the not-so-narrow forest path, I am surrounded by lush green trees. Every now and then, groups of tourists walk past me.

The sight of tourists queuing up spontaneously is something you might only see here. But I'm already used to it; compared to what I've witnessed in North Korea these past few days, it's nothing.

Can you imagine a country with only one internet cafe? And internet access costs hundreds of dollars per hour; can you imagine a subway built dozens of meters underground, so it can be immediately converted into civilian air-raid shelters in the event of war; can you imagine a country where television can only receive one channel, and that channel repeatedly broadcasts the founding ceremony; can you imagine the people of this country learning about their leader's life story from childhood? Can you imagine a country filled with red slogans, where the entire nation praises the same person—their great leader?

This is a country shrouded in mystery. Here, only one voice is allowed—the leader's voice; only one ideology is allowed—Juche ideology; only one direction is allowed—the socialist direction; and only one form of worship is the worship of the leader.

This scene, for me as a Chinese person, evoked a sense of déjà vu. Yes, anyone from the older generation who grew up in the 1960s and 70s wouldn't mock its backwardness and isolation upon seeing this scene. Because in the not-so-distant past, we had a similar experience. However, now we can only see it on television or in movies, while what's before us is a living, breathing reality…

"Comrade reporter…" the tour guide's call interrupted my thoughts.

This interview was far from pleasant; all our actions had to be arranged by officials, and each interview required the accompaniment of an official. These days, I've also learned how to speak here. For example, if you say directly, "I want to see what kind of life the children in the school lead," you'll definitely get a sour face in response. But if you say, "Comrade, I want to see how the students here live such a happy life under the guidance of the Great Leader," then someone will quickly smile and take you to the school.

I have to admire my own learning ability and my own stomach for this. I admire my own learning ability because I quickly learned how to conduct interviews smoothly here; I admire my stomach because—I never knew my stomach could be so strong that it wouldn't cramp up after saying all that…

“Comrade reporter…” The tour guide was a thin man who had studied at Shandong University, so he knew some Chinese. However, it would be more accurate to call him a monitor than a tour guide. He walked up to me with a smile and said in broken Chinese, “Ahead is Unity Peak. Once you get there, you can see the Heavenly Lake that you asked about.”

Heavenly Lake is the source of the Songhua River, Tumen River, and Yalu River. It is said that fairies bathe here every year. During my time in North Korea, I had heard countless myths and legends about Heavenly Lake.

“Oh…” I replied casually, frowning slightly, not returning the tour guide's smile.

My dislike for tour guides stemmed from our previous trip to the Osaka branch. On that negotiating table, a symbol of honor, I discovered that there was no Chinese flag on it. In the exhibition hall of the Hansei store, among hundreds of pictures, there was not a single image of the Chinese People's Volunteer Army.

When I asked the tour guide, "Where were the representatives of the Chinese People's Volunteer Army at that time?" the guide, looking bewildered, replied strangely, "Did China also participate in the armistice and sign it?"

After I was speechless for a while, the guide shamelessly pointed to the North Korean flag and introduced to me, "We, North Korea, are the only country that dared to confront the American empire and defeat them. Back then, under the leadership of our great leader General Kim Il-sung, we resolutely refused to bow to imperialism..."

Later, through interviews, I learned that the only mention of the Chinese People's Volunteer Army in their textbooks was: "General Kim Il-sung met with Commander Peng Dehuai of the Volunteer Army," "Commander Peng Dehuai looked at General Kim Il-sung with admiration," "Commander Peng Dehuai said: There are many difficulties. Without your previous battles against the US military, we would have no experience and it would be even more difficult," "General Kim Il-sung said: Our soldiers have experience fighting against the US military, and they can directly help and guide you..."

"Damn it..." Even I, who never liked to swear, couldn't help but curse under my breath: "Who's helping whom here?" Back then, the blood of 336,000 Chinese People's Volunteer Army soldiers was shed generously on this land, but their illustrious achievements were so easily erased. I couldn't calm down at all.

With a heavy heart, I climbed the mountain. I don't know how long it had been when suddenly a cheer came from ahead. I felt relieved, thinking that we must have reached Tianchi. I had heard the legends of Tianchi so many times these past few days that I was tired of them. I really wanted to see what Tianchi was like. Driven by curiosity, I quickened my pace. But as the old saying goes, haste makes waste. Just as I was about to see Tianchi Lake, my toe tripped over something, and amidst the gasps and astonished stares of the crowd, I tumbled down into the unknown.

Perhaps I should feel gratified; in my year-plus as a reporter, this was the most screams and the most stares I'd ever received.

First, a dizzying rush of light, then excruciating pain from hitting hard objects several times—the pain made my stomach churn. Instinctively, I reached out and grabbed wildly, but all my efforts were in vain. I kept tumbling and tumbling… Time seemed to stretch on forever, yet I wished it could last even longer, because when I hit the ground, it might mean the end of my life.

I wondered if I should record this feeling and write an article titled "Thoughts on Falling from a High Altitude." After all, few people have such an experience, so if I could publish this article in a newspaper, it would surely be a bestseller, and I might even become famous because of it…

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, my free trip came to an end. I struggled to open my eyes, which were swollen and barely open, unsure if I was still alive, but certain that I was in a pitch-black cave. A beam of light shone through the cave entrance, illuminating the dense, lush green garlic and mugwort inside.

I immediately thought of that story: a bear and a tiger wished to become human, and God told them that if they could stay in a dark cave on Mount Baekdu for a hundred days, eating only garlic and mugwort… The bear and tiger could become human if they stayed in this cave for a hundred days, so what would happen if a human stayed in this cave? My consciousness was already hazy as I pondered.

I hoed I wouldn't become the ancestor of humankind—a monkey!