In the autumn of 1990, amidst the echoes of gunfire from the Tiananmen Square massacre, the writer Ye Fu, who was on the run in Wuhan, received a secret call from his close friend and senior schoolmate at Wuhan University, Xiong Zhaozheng.
Xiong initiated the establishment of an underground party and launched underground propaganda. Without any suspicion, Ye Fu inadvertently revealed that his friend “Ah Xi” had a batch of confidential documents intended for overseas delivery. Upon hearing this news, Xiong was overjoyed and urgently urged Ye Fu to “bring them immediately”.
A few days after obtaining the documents, Ye Fu was arrested, sentenced to six years in prison, and his family was torn apart; the errand runner Ah Xi was sentenced to eleven years. Meanwhile, Xiong Zhaozheng, who personally received the materials, was released shortly after a brief detention, with his name not even appearing in the indictment. Subsequently, Xiong gained both fame and fortune, even winning the Mao Dun Literature Award.
After many years of silence, Ye Fu spoke out and reviewed the case files, discovering that the judges had questioned why Xiong Zhaozheng was not prosecuted. The response from the Wuhan Public Security was only a few cold words: “He is one of ours.” In 2024, reporter Chai Jing directly confronted Xiong Zhaozheng, who remained silent for a long time without denial.
This is not just a faded literary feud over the years, but rather the contents revealed in the exclusive Epoch Times report “The Walls Have Ears: Study of the CCP’s Special Situation System”.
This exclusive research report of over one hundred thousand words is set to be unveiled. The report strikes at the deepest fears in people’s hearts: when the party-state no longer appears in police attire, but manifests as your most trusted friend, revered teacher, or even a family member you share a bed with – what has become of the basic trust that sustains our civilized society?
Most people’s initial reaction upon hearing this account is one of moral criticism: How could someone betray their friends in such a way? However, the analysis provided in the report is even more chillingly objective: the most terrifying aspect is not the collapse of an isolated conscience, but an entire system that can be systemically replicated and applied within any intimate relationship by the party-state machinery.
Within the operations system of the public security and national security, this process is called “Wu Jian”, which refers to targeting and establishing secret relationships. The objective of “Wu Jian” is known as “special situations” – the formal term within the security system for these types of covert informants.
The operation logic of this system is extremely ruthless; it does not concern itself with conscience, but solely calculates three things:
– Proximity conditions: Who can walk unsuspectingly into the target’s living room and circle of friends?
– Credibility cover: Whose identity is so genuine that even the most vigilant individuals would not be suspicious?
– Control leverage: Whose criminal record, need for a passport, or family vulnerabilities are firmly in the hands of the authorities?
The report reveals that despite the unchanged social interactions such as friendships, marriages, teacher-student relationships, and regional affinities, the relationships have subtly been attached to the control machinery of the party-state behind the scenes.
One unique aspect of the report is distinguishing a highly rigorous academic and judicial boundary: one cannot simply be labeled a special informant based on personal political stance or fortuitously being released after an arrest. What truly determines a case is whether the “relationships, tasks, reports, control, protection, harm” align in reality.
The unavoidable evidence against Xiong Zhaozheng’s case is precisely because it meticulously fit the judgment criteria of the six chains of special informants.
In 1957, the translator Feng Yi-dai was classified as “rightist.” In the eyes of his companions, he was a down-and-out intellectual suffering political persecution, hence they were completely unguarded around him. In the following years, he frequented the living room of the prominent politician Zhang Bojun, where he chatted, drank tea, visited, and poured out his emotions with fellow intellectuals.
However, his later-publicized diary, “Reminiscences of Regrets in Later Life,” completely tore through this facade of warmth. A page from the end of August 1960 revealed the chilling rhythm of special operations: visiting in the morning, reporting back to the liaison at noon, returning in the afternoon if the superiors found the contents insufficient, organizing materials at night, and delivering the report early the next morning.
The diary did not depict camaraderie, but a deep-seated anxiety of “not being able to speak of valuable content” and the urgent inquiries prompted by the liaison’s remark of “not enough.” The superiors’ requirements determined what he should say in the afternoon and how to mold casual conversations into political intelligence overnight.
This is the most insidious aspect of the entire system: the victim’s status became the most potent, most natural cover. The living room, dining table, and bedside where people felt the safest and where defenses could be dropped, paradoxically became the favored operating sites for secret police services.
Another dark revelation from the report is that this system can even transform households into surveillance units, and individuals who have endured imprisonment can be repeatedly called upon by the party after being “reformed.” The experience of the famous actors Ying Ruochen and Wu Shiliang is an extreme example of human trauma.
In 1950, this newlywed couple was approached by public security personnel to gather information on an American teacher. In 1952, the then Vice Mayor of Beijing, Peng Zhen, personally met with Ying Ruochen, deciding the political weight of this mission. For over a dozen years, the couple maintained single-line contact with public security under the aliases “Wu Ying”. Every gathering, every picnic became a natural intelligence scene – briefing before the gathering, reporting immediately after it dispersed.
However, years of loyalty did not yield any returns. In the midst of the Cultural Revolution in 1968, the couple also found themselves imprisoned for nearly three years. What’s more absurd is that after their release, this “intelligence service” resumed after a brief hiatus.
In Ying Ruochen’s English memoir, he expressed an indescribable sense of twisted psychology: even being “allowed to continue working for them” became a form of political trust that required tearful gratitude.
The report unveils the darkest operational mechanism of this special informant system – the “right of contextual interpretation”: intelligence collected within private relationships such as family, friends, and peers that cannot be verified externally, which entirely depends on the informant’s spoken words.
In May 1999, Beijing youth Li Yuzhou began secretly contacting national security personnel, submitting a “report” every two to three weeks in exchange for allowances. The following year in August, he joined the “New Youth Society” composed of a group of idealistic youths. This group had no formal organization but relied solely on scholarly exchanges and pure trust.
However, Li Yuzhou’s joining altered everything. He no longer just relayed casual street chatter but became the “interpreter” for the national security in guiding the group: whose words carried weight? Who was merely boasting? Under the national security’s repeated demands to “fill in details,” his reports ultimately honed in on two key terms – “organizational” and “violent tendencies.”
In 2003, four members of the society were sentenced to heavy prison terms for “subverting state power.” The formal statements signed by Li Yuzhou, handwritten reports, and on-site testimonies were all solid evidence in court.
This revealed a grotesque and terrifying truth: Li Yuzhou possessed a privilege that no other member could – the “right of contextual interpretation.” He could magnify an offhand joke into an armed action manifesto or make a dissenting opinion disappear entirely. As for what was truly said at the table that night, it was long buried in shadows unseen by the judge’s seat.
The report points out that this power allows harm to penetrate corners beyond the reach of high-tech surveillance.
Whether it’s Xiong Zhaozheng’s old friend status, Feng Yi-dai’s living room salon, Ying Ruochen’s household dinner gatherings, or Li Yuzhou’s student camaraderie – these four tragedies spanning decades operate on the same ice-cold logic: find someone whose identity is so genuine that there’s no room for doubt, use ways they are unaware of or cannot refuse to subtly attach a private relationship to the party-state machinery on the other end.
The report reveals that the party-state doesn’t need everyone to become spies; it only needs everyone to live in the uncertainty assumption that “they may be under surveillance” – which is more cost-effective and efficient than any large secret police force.
Epoch Times commentator Li Lin analyzed that the narrative of the report “The Walls Have Ears” consistently maintains academic restraint, devoid of any emotional qualification, yet leaves a haunting question etched in everyone’s mind:
If even the deepest friendships, most intimate family relationships, and loosest school ties can be mechanized and weaponized by the party-state – then, the person sitting across from you at this very moment, either listening to your confessions as a friend, or recording you for a mission?