After school, children play while waiting for their parents. by Qiu Dali

May 24: Zhao Yanli (left), a volunteer from a Chongqing-based hospital, gives water to Liao Bo, a student at Beichuan Middle School. by Zhou Hengyi

The Iron Army School. by Chen Jian

A student at Iron Army School. by Qiu Dali

Guo Peng welcomes three more students. by Chen Jian

From May 17 to 24, as a China Pictorial staff reporter, I was working in Wenchuan, the epicenter of the Sichuan Quake. Each of those days, I was deeply moved. Marveling at the fortitude of the survivors and the heroism of the rescuers, I could not help but shed tears. Here I recount part of what I felt and saw, and report on two remarkable persons.
The Tenacious 10-Year-Old
Passing through the Double King Temple, a cultural heritage site destroyed by the quake, and stepping around the rocks dislodged from the mountains above, I and my fellow journalists arrived at a small village by the Minjiang River. In the shade of an expanse of luxuriant trees were several tents. These now served as housing for the primary school known as “Iron Army,” named after those who erected the temporary facility — a local garrison force.
During past natural calamities, the officers and troops of Iron Army brought relief to victims and constructed new homes for the villagers. Realizing that many students would be forced to interrupt their studies due to the destruction of their school, the regimental commander directed his soldiers to erect a temporary installation.
Thanks to the troops, the Iron Army Primary School was established on May18, six days after the quake. “The children’s textbooks are all buried in the ruins, and we are behind in teaching,” said the school master, Lieutenant Guo Peng. Because of a shortage of teachers and volunteers, the school provides regular classes in the morning, while teaching some basic military knowledge in the afternoon.
At the school I met Yu Hui, a 10-year-old then playing with her schoolmates, occasionally breaking out in pleasant laughter. “She was the only survivor from her class,” said Lieutenant Guo. He explained that when her classroom began to shake, Yu swiftly sensed what was happening and leapt from a window. Sadly, 239 teachers and students died in the collapse of the school.
Soon after the tragedy, at the temporary school, the little girl was solemn, not willing to speak with others, according to Guo. Then, as more children entered the school, she gradually cheered up, and even volunteered to look after the younger kids, telling them stories and playing games.
Earlier, Guo Peng thought the girl had mentally stepped from the shadow of disaster and depression, but later he learned from her parents that she still cried every night.
Guo revealed that it was presumed it would not be easy to take care of the children. “But later we found that they were all very good, always willing to help each other, and that made things much easier.” Guo adds, “And Yu Hui is the best.”
Guo called Yu Hui over, so that I might ask about her feelings of the quake. Instead I just looked into her clear, innocent eyes, and suddenly had no idea how to begin. It seemed it would be cruel to ask such questions. Meanwhile, I sensed great “strength” and “responsibility” in her – a 10-year-old setting an example for the younger children.
The Humble Hero
On May 20, I visited Pengzhou Vocational School to interview the Russian International Medical Team stationed there. At 8:30 a.m., before the clinic tents were completely erected, three injured people were carried in for treatment.
Outside the tents, upon learning I was a journalist, the patients’ families emphatically recommended that I interview a particular young man. “He is great! He has saved many children,” said one. “He is a volunteer, but is reluctant to reveal his name, otherwise he would have been famous by now,” said another. Their urgings raised my curiosity, so after several hours of waiting, I finally met him at the clinic tent run by the Russian medical team.
His name is Zhang Lei, a factory worker in Mianzhu. Just 20 minutes after the quake, he and his fellow workers rushed to the ruins of the Huanhuan Kindergarten of the city, beneath which were buried some 100 children. Racing against time, they worked hard to save the survivors, and by the time the rescue troops arrived, more than 20 youngsters were pulled from the ruins.
“Why did you refuse to be interviewed before?” I asked Zhang. “Nothing worthy of mentioning,” he replied. “Some of the kids I pulled out still finally died.” It was clear he blamed himself for not saving more children.
Seeing that he was psychologically upset, I attempted to comfort him, but finally gave up, for fear my application of amateur psychology might actually be counterproductive.
“What is the wound on your head?” I asked him. “It’s OK. I was slammed by a brick while trying to pull some people from a wrecked building.” He disregarded the wound, but according to the Chinese volunteers, the young man was so severely injured that they transferred him to the Russian medical team.
I asked if I could take his photo, but he politely refused. “I am not a hero. I just did what I thought I should do.”