Graduates of the New Fourth Army's radio operator training course pose for a group photo in 1945. Among them is Yuan Jinping, who completed the program that year. Photo: PROVIDED TO CSST

The year 2025 marks the 80th anniversary of the victory in the Chinese People’s War of Resistance Against Japanese Aggression and the World Anti-Fascist War. On this solemn occasion, the Chinese people reflect on the smoke-filled, arduous years eight decades ago, when their forebears fought with unwavering courage and resolve. Their heroic struggles remain vivid in the collective memory of the nation.

Since April, Chinese Social Sciences Today has dispatched reporters across the country to visit and interview surviving veterans of the war. These individuals, who personally endured the flames of battle, have shared their stories—accounts of a distant past, yet indelibly etched in the hearts of the Chinese people.

Lyu Xin: A woman behind the lines

Born in 1925, Lyu Xin joined the Communist Party of China (CPC) at the age of sixteen. From 1942 to 1945, she served as a cartographer at the northern Jiangsu headquarters of the New Fourth Army and later in the staff office of the army’s Seventh Division in the Wanjiang region.

Between February and December 1982, she worked in the General Editorial Office of Social Sciences in China Press. In 2015, the year that marked the 70th anniversary of victory in the War of Resistance against Japanese Aggression, she was awarded a commemorative medal for her contributions to China’s victory. In 2017, she received another medal commemorating the 80th anniversary of the founding of the New Fourth Army.

Although Lyu did not fight on the frontlines, she made quiet yet vital contributions with the pen in her hand. At the time, a cartographer’s main task was to produce military maps—a job made all the more challenging by severe supply shortages and outdated technology. Without surveying instruments or proper drafting tools, Lyu and her comrades traced maps by hand, like schoolchildren practicing their handwriting.

According to Lyu, some of the base maps they used had been captured from Japanese forces. To reproduce them, they often relied on a semi-transparent material known as “qishui paper.” Using fine steel pens—just 7 mm wide with 2 mm tips—they dipped into a special “qishui ink” and meticulously traced every line. The completed drafts were then handed off to lithographers for reproduction.

These materials—“qishui paper” and “qishui ink”—were highly sensitive. “‘Qishui paper’ was very delicate,” she explained. “You couldn’t touch it with your hands. It would expand or contract with changes in temperature. In dry weather it became brittle; in humid conditions, it softened and swelled. ‘Qishui ink’ would drip too fast in the heat, and in the depths of winter, it would harden on the pen tip, making it difficult to draw lines. To maintain quality, my colleagues and I had to be extremely cautious. In summer, we used less ink, constantly wiped our sweat, and placed several towels under our arms to keep sweat from staining the paper. In winter, we had to breathe warm air on the pen tip to keep the ink flowing.”

Military maps had to be drawn with utmost precision—every village, road, river, bridge, and other topographical feature had to be accurately represented. Even evergreen and deciduous trees needed to be distinguished, so troops could make tactical decisions and find proper cover during advances. Lyu had poor vision from a childhood injury that left a white scar on the cornea of one eye, forcing her to rely solely on the other. Yet with steadfast determination, she and her fellow cartographers produced detailed maps of the Dabie Mountains, southern Anhui, and areas along the Yangtze River, including Wangjiang County in Anqing. These maps played a critical role in military operations. Behind each one lay painstaking effort—yet Lyu remained modest, describing herself simply as an ordinary “screw” in the machinery of the army.

Today, as the nation grows ever more prosperous, Lyu reflects deeply on the legacy of the War of Resistance: “The great spirit of the War of Resistance is one of perseverance, unity, and self-sacrifice. It is a spiritual monument built by countless martyrs with their lives. Young people today live in a time of peace. All the more, they should remember history, carry forward the great spirit of the War of Resistance, cherish their hard-won happiness, and dedicate themselves to the nation’s continued prosperity and strength.”

Li Jishen: Photographs and promises

Li Jishen was born in 1929 in Changling Village, Fengyang Town, Pingyi County, Shandong Province. In March 1945, at just sixteen, Li braved the biting mountain winds and walked more than ten li (over five kilometers) to seek out the Eighth Route Army, determined to enlist. Seeing his youth, the commander assigned him to serve as an orderly.

Li’s military journey spanned several units: from the Independent Regiment of the Lunan Military Region, to the 14th Regiment of the 5th Brigade, 2nd Division of the New Fourth Army, and later the 61st Regiment of the 7th Brigade of the East China Field Army. He eventually joined the 221st Regiment of the 24th Army of the Chinese People’s Volunteer Army. Rising from orderly to courier to squad leader, each transition marked both his personal growth and the broader course of the Chinese revolution.

In the chaos of war, Li lost count of how many times he faced life-or-death situations. “Many of my comrades gave their lives—most were only in their twenties,” he recalled, his eyes brimming with tears. Dozens of battles left permanent marks on his body—the shrapnel wound on his waist is still clearly visible. 

In February 1949, Li joined the Communist Party of China and was demobilized in April 1955. In April 1962, responding to a national call to support rural development, he returned to his village to work as a farmer.

During the interview, Li brought out an old, worn leather pouch he had carried since the War of Resistance. Inside were more than seventy years’ worth of cherished photographs—group shots and portraits, about fifty to sixty in total. These photos were exchanged among comrades as parting gifts after the war. On the back of each one were names and handwritten blessings, such as: “To Comrade Jishen as a keepsake—Comrade Zhao Donglin.” These images were like letters from the past—a promise among young, passionate soldiers to one day reunite—and a cherished link to the deep wartime friendships that Li, now in his nineties, still holds dear.

With trembling hands, Li gently spread the yellowed photographs across the table. Under the light, the black-and-white images revealed the determined faces of young men from over seven decades years ago. Touching the photos with his fingertips, Li softly introduced them to the reporter: “This is Tao Jixiang, the one who introduced me to the Party...” His voice, aged but steady and resonant, echoed in the quiet room as though summoning names long buried by time. The crucible of war had forged bonds between comrades as deep as life and death. For decades, Li would often caress the faded photos with both hands, as if reaching across time to those youthful, determined faces marked forever by the fires of war.

Yuan Jinping: An epic in silence

Along the tree-lined paths of Lu Xun Park in Shanghai’s Hongkou District, passersby often notice a lively elderly man. At 97, Yuan Jinping walks with steady steps, needing no cane for support. His voice carries with the power of a bell, his vitality undiminished by age—difficult to imagine he has weathered nearly a century of life’s hardships.

Born in 1928 to a poor farming family in Chongming County, Shanghai, Yuan joined the New Fourth Army in June 1943 at the age of fifteen, shortly after graduating from junior high. He headed to the battlefields of northern Jiangsu, embarking on the path of revolution.

Due to his education, Yuan was assigned to news and publication work, contributing to the printing of Zhandou Bao (Battle News) and Xinwen Bao (News Daily). Recognizing his talent, the army later sent him for training in radio technology—thus beginning a 35-year career in communications and intelligence.

“Though intelligence work didn’t involve the bullets and bloodshed of front-line combat,” Yuan recalled, “it was just as dangerous and challenging. Every signal transmitted could mean life or death for our comrades and influence the outcome of the battle.”

Later, Yuan participated in the War to Resist U.S. Aggression and Aid Korea, deploying to Dandong with his unit at the war’s outbreak. There, he and his comrades worked tirelessly day and night to maintain smooth communications and decipher enemy signals—repeatedly identifying critical intelligence amid a sea of radio noise.

In 1953, Yuan returned from Dandong to Beijing and took up a post as an intelligence officer at the Headquarters of the Air Defense Force. In 1960, he was transferred to the Yunnan Air Force Intelligence Unit. During the Vietnam War, Yuan once again returned to the frontlines. Drawing on his rich experience and technical expertise, he fought fiercely on the hidden frontlines of intelligence, providing vital support to the Vietnamese people in their resistance of foreign aggression. For his outstanding performance in combat, Yuan was personally received by Chairman Mao Zedong, to whom he reported on battlefield conditions and unit operations. In 1978, at age 50, Yuan retired and returned to his hometown in Shanghai.

From a fiery teenager in the War of Resistance to a hidden hero on the invisible battlefield of intelligence, Yuan Jinping’s life reads like an epic poem—etched with the marks of history and illuminated by the light of unwavering conviction.

This article was written with input from Sun Meijuan, Zhang Jie, Zha Jianguo, and Chen Lian.

Edited by REN GUANHONG