In 1968, a 19-year-old Red Guard stumbled through the dense forest, his uniform torn and mud-stained. The fervor that had driven him into these remote mountains, he hoped, could overcome fatigue and doubt. He told himself that he was lost in direction, not in purpose. His Little Red Book kept him going. There was no way he would just drop dead.

As the sun began to set, casting a golden hue over the treetops, he caught sight of something unusual. Red banners fluttered in the breeze, their bold slogans proclaiming, "Serve the People!" and "Revolution is not a Dinner Party!" His heart leapt. Could it be a hidden commune, deep in the mountains, living out the ideals of the Great Helmsman?

He pushed through the undergrowth, emerging into a vast clearing. Everything before him took his breath away. Rows of simple, yet well-kept houses stood beneath blossoming peach trees, their pink petals carpeting the ground like soft snow. Men and women in Mao suits moved about the commune with a sense of purpose, their faces serene and focused.

The Red Guard approached cautiously, unsure of how he would be received. To his relief, the people welcomed him with open arms, offering food, water, and a place to rest. They spoke little of the outside world, but he could feel their shared dedication to the cause. Here, in this secluded sanctuary, was the true heart of the revolution.

But the villagers, now unmasked, refused to follow him. They had no interest in the dogma that had consumed the outside world. The Red Guard's attempts to impose his ideology were met with gentle resistance—doors were closed to him, voices grew silent, and the peace of the paradise remained undisturbed.

Alone and aloof, the Red Guard decided to leave and find a way to bring outside forces to this place, to transform it by any means necessary. But as he reached the edge of the clearing, the path he had taken was no more. The forest seemed to close in around him. Then he simply vanished, leaving behind no trace.

Author & Illustrator: renqiulan