The “Madness” of Brother Xun 06

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This is a work of narrative nonfiction based on real events.

By December 2017, with New Year’s Day approaching, temperatures in Tilton plummeted. A damp, bone-chilling cold hung heavy in the air.

Over the preceding months, Brother Xun seemed to have evaporated into thin air. Phone calls went unanswered, WeChat messages were ignored, and none of us in his circle of friends had any idea what was happening. In private, we were even trying to set him back up with Li Shan, believing they still held deep affection for each other and might eventually reconcile. But Brother Xun remained off the grid.

Out of nowhere, in late December, my phone rang with a call from Brother Xun. For the first time in memory, his voice carried a hint of festive joy. He announced he was hosting a wedding banquet and insisted that our old group of friends attend.

After hanging up, several physician friends and I marveled in private confusion: How on earth was Brother Xun getting married after missing for only a few months? Who was the bride? And how much cash in a red envelope would be appropriate for such a mystery?

Filled with doubts and embarrassment, we arrived at the hotel right on schedule.

1. The Wedding Banquet

Only three tables were set up in the banquet hall, each lavishly prepared at a cost of 10,000 yuan, featuring lobster, abalone, shark fin, and accompanied by bottles of 53-degree Feitian Moutai.

One table was occupied by leadership and colleagues from the Procuratorate. The other two were filled by our group of doctor friends and former classmates.

Yet, throughout the entire hall, there was not a trace of a bride. No wedding photos, no welcome signs, no floral arches. There was only Brother Xun, clad in a sharp, tailored suit with a bright red Party badge pinned to his chest, weaving briskly between the tables.

Even the Chief Prosecutor of the Municipal Procuratorate had shown up in person. Scanning the room with a slight frown, the Chief Prosecutor pulled Brother Xun aside: “Where’s the bride? What kind of stunt are you pulling, kid?”

Brother Xun smiled warmly: “No monetary gifts today, everyone. Please, take your seats.”

Once the thoroughly bewildered crowd sat down, Brother Xun walked up to a small podium next to the head table. Straightening his tie, he announced in a resonant voice: “I have invited you all today to attend my wedding. Today, I’m not the groom. I’m the bride. Today, I am formally marrying the Communist Party of China. This morning, I officially submitted my application for Party membership to the organization.”

A deathly silence instantly descended upon the hall.

Looking around at the bewildered faces, Brother Xun continued calmly: “The organization showed concern for me before, saying that since I lacked a wife, getting one would solve my ideological issues. The Chief Prosecutor even kindly introduced several candidates to me. I thought long and hard about it and decided to host this banquet today to make my stance clear to everyone — for the rest of my life, I marry only the Party.”

At the head table, the Chief Prosecutor burst out laughing — a laugh carrying three parts embarrassment and seven parts helplessness. Before the feast was even halfway through, he excused himself on official business and left early.

As soon as he departed, colleagues from the Procuratorate began teasing Brother Xun with playful smirks: “You actually played our Chief Prosecutor for a fool!” Brother Xun remained entirely unfazed. People chatted, bragged, and drank. Once the meal finished, the crowd gradually scattered. In the end, only our table of close friends remained, gathered around Brother Xun.

Only then did we finally learn what had transpired over those missing months.

2. The Handwritten Will and “No Response”

“The day I left your place, I went straight to Beijing,” Brother Xun said, taking a sip of tea with a composed expression.

“I took an Uber first toward Shanghai to visit my former professors, then turned toward Zhejiang to meet up with several senior and junior colleagues. After that, I went on a field investigation in Shanxi before heading to Beijing to consult my senior brother. Ever since the Central Committee launched pilot programs in Beijing, Shanxi, and Zhejiang in late 2016, I noticed something off. I work in anti-corruption; I deal with the law every single day. The supervisory commission and the Party’s discipline inspection commission were being placed under one roof — one team, two names. Under such a design, wouldn’t it mean that anyone who isn’t a Party member can’t serve as a Supervisory Committee member? To me, certain aspects of this setup presented obvious legal flaws. I made a point to visit those three areas, and it was just as I suspected. It wasn’t unique to Tilton; the pilot cities were operating the exact same way. I thought to myself: the 19th Party Congress hasn’t convened yet, and the policy is still in the pilot phase. Someone has to speak up about these hidden structural risks from the grassroots level. If we wait until the 19th Party Congress sets the tone and rolls it out nationwide, there won’t be any chance left.”

Saying this, Brother Xun pulled a piece of paper from his pocket — a handwritten will drafted before his journey to Beijing.

I, Suixun Chen, own a small studio apartment and three dogs. I have a total of 20,768 yuan in savings in my bank account. If I do not return within 3 months, I request my younger brother to sell the studio apartment on my behalf. Deduct 100,000 yuan to leave for my daughter, and 100,000 yuan for my parents. Donate all remaining proceeds from the house sale and bank savings to a pet shop as fees for taking care of my 3 dogs. Additionally, please inform my brother: if anyone repays a 100,000 yuan debt owed to me, my brother may accept it without hesitation and keep it for our parents’ retirement; if no one repays it, there is no need to inquire who owes me money — just let it go.

“Haha!” Brother Xun laughed heartily. “As a humanities student, my math isn’t great. I hired an Uber all the way to Beijing, which cost me 10,000 yuan in fare. Including food and lodging along the way, I was left with only a few hundred yuan in my account. The numbers in the will were off by tens of thousands, but those are minor details. Once the house was sold, wouldn’t there be money? The dogs could still live out their days peacefully. As for my daughter, self-reliance is what matters most.”

Brother Xun continued: “I brought a small plastic stool and queued outside the door of the Central Commission for Discipline Inspection for 17 straight hours. While waiting, I didn’t dare drink water or speak a word. If I drank water, I’d need the restroom, and my spot would be taken. I could only sit there frozen through the entire night. So the moment I entered the building, I sprinted straight inside. A staff member rushed over to block me, and I yelled: ‘I need to pee!’ He told me to follow protocol, and I replied that when nature calls, no one stands in the way!”

Emerging from the restroom, Brother Xun confronted the reception staff directly with a critique: “Your current queuing mechanism is severely unreasonable! The weather is tolerable now, but if it were winter, at five below zero at night, what happens if citizens get frostbite waiting like this? I demand that the Central Commission for Discipline Inspection make rectifications!”

The staff member demanded to know who he was. Brother Xun straightened his spine: “I am the people! The people hold the power of oversight — a power granted by the Constitution!”

When asked for his ID and purpose, Brother Xun reached into his jacket and pulled out his red Prosecutor Certificate of the People’s Republic of China. The staff member at the reception window was stunned, immediately placing a phone call back to Fujian to verify his identity. Once confirmed, they asked what his business was.

Brother Xun pulled out the document from his briefcase on the spot and read his handwritten will aloud in front of the entire hall.

After reading it, he produced his legal materials, pointed at the building, and presented his professional legal assessment: “The state is establishing the Supervisory Commission, merging the Anti-Corruption Bureau and the Misconduct in Office Bureau into it. But in my view, if non-Party members are barred from transferring, this violates the spirit of the Constitution. I demand a rectification.”

The staff member became visibly furious, shouting sternly: “You are improperly discussing the decisions of the Central Committee!”

Brother Xun slammed his hand on the counter on the spot, snapping back fiercely: “What do you mean ‘improperly discussing the decisions of the Central Committee’? Do you even understand the Constitution? Citizens exercise their power of oversight according to the law — where does ‘improper discussion’ come into play? High-ranking officials like you who know nothing of the law and boss people around — if this continues, it will bring ruin to both the Party and the state!”

The staff member exploded in fury: “What did you say? You dare provoke a state organ?”

Brother Xun laughed out loud: “You don’t understand the law, shouting and screaming at citizens who come to petition — that is provoking a state organ!”

Soon, someone reported the situation upstairs. Before long, senior officials descended, and a total of three representatives received Brother Xun on-site. Showing not a sliver of fear, Brother Xun recited constitutional clauses from memory, pointed out the systemic risks in the pilot program, and requested a course correction prior to the 19th Party Congress.

After delivering his thorough argument, Brother Xun concluded: “According to relevant statutory provisions, I request that the staff of the Central Commission for Discipline Inspection provide a formal response within six months.”

The three representatives sat in long silence after listening. Finally, one of them looked at him and spoke coldly:

“I will give you our formal response right now. Our formal response is: No response will be given. The matter you raised is officially closed.”

With that, two security guards stepped forward and escorted Brother Xun out of the building.

Reaching the main gate, Brother Xun suddenly turned around: “I need to use the restroom again.”

The guard was baffled: “Didn’t you just go?”

Brother Xun sneered: “I got so angry listening to you that my bladder filled up again. Am I not allowed to go?”

Only after using the restroom again did Brother Xun finally step out of the building.

3. The Provincial Psychiatric Hospital and the City’s Highest Point

“When the 19th Congress opened in October and announced the nationwide rollout, I knew everything was set in stone. I did my best, but I was utterly powerless,” Brother Xun said with a self-deprecating smile. “Stepping out of the building, I looked at the few hundred yuan left in my account — not even enough to buy a train ticket back to Tilton. But I didn’t panic at all. I walked down the line of petitioners waiting outside, asking each of them about their grievances one by one. I told them I was a legal professional offering free guidance. Mind you, these petitioners have commendable spirit, but many are legally illiterate, unable to wrap their heads around the law. I helped an elderly man from Shanxi grasp the core legal points, giving him an instant epiphany. But just as I was about to help a few more, officials from the Tilton government’s Beijing liaison office who had come to intercept petitioners showed up. The moment they saw me, their eyes widened in shock. I patted them on the shoulder and said: ‘Let’s go. As luck would have it, I have no money to get home — I’ll just hitch a ride on your bus.’”

The Tilton officials escorted him onto a specialized long-distance bus used for local retrievals.

The bus traveled south all the way, but instead of returning directly to Tilton, it drove straight into the Provincial Psychiatric Hospital.

Inside the psychiatric hospital, the accompanying personnel and doctors tactfully requested a psychological and psychiatric evaluation. Brother Xun cooperated fully, answering every question clearly and logically throughout the assessment. The hospital issued no diagnosis of mental illness, ultimately signing off to release him.

Only then was he brought back to Tilton. But from that day on, Brother Xun disappeared from our lives again.

“On one hand, they kept tight surveillance on me, terrified I’d head to Beijing again before the 19th Congress; on the other hand, I was genuinely broke,” Brother Xun said, gazing down at his teacup. “I didn’t want to freeload off anyone, nor did I want friends treating me to meals because I couldn’t afford to return the favor. So for these past few months, I went nowhere, staying cooped up in my studio apartment at the highest point of the city, writing my book. I ate at the unit cafeteria every day, saving my salary and bonuses cent by cent.”

“Until this month, when I finally saved up these 30,000 yuan, did I reach out to you all and host this three-table banquet.”

4. The Tea Session After the Banquet

Listening to Brother Xun’s calm narrative, dead silence enveloped the tea table.

The numbers and details were too concrete to dismiss. They sat there on the table, one after another: 20,768 yuan in savings, a 10,000 yuan Didi fare, 17 hours queued at the Central Commission for Discipline Inspection, reading a handwritten will, countering accusations of “improperly discussing the decisions of the Central Committee,” two trips to the restroom, hitching a ride on an interceptor bus, an evaluation at the provincial psychiatric hospital, months of eating at the cafeteria, saving 30,000 yuan to throw a three-table wedding feast.

Back then, official public documents never stated that “non-Party members cannot be transferred.” But in our local practical operations, that phrase had been verbally passed down as an unwritten rule. No document stamped it into law, yet someone had handed the phrase down the chain. When Brother Xun prepared for transfer, he was explicitly told: Non-Party members cannot transfer.

“So…” I looked at the Party badge pinned to Brother Xun’s chest. “You actually submitted a Party membership application? And threw this wedding banquet?”

Brother Xun took a sip from his teacup: “Haven’t they made it crystal clear? A non-Party member cannot enter that position. They thought using this threshold would naturally keep me out.”

Brother Xun tapped the table, his tone even and grounded: “Then I apply to join the Party. I put on a suit, pin on a Party badge, save enough money to throw this feast, and publicly announce that I am marrying the Party. Let’s see how the procedure plays out.”

The tea on the table gradually grew cold.

Outside, the cold December wind of 2017 swept through the streets. The setting sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, falling across Brother Xun’s frame. The Party badge on his chest caught a brief glint in the fading light.

That evening, for the first time, I felt that the man before me could no longer be simply defined by whether he was “mad” or “sane.”

He knew the rules. He knew the rules better than any of us.

Yet he chose a method none of us could comprehend, placing himself squarely back before the rules once more.

Whether this was compliance, resistance, or a high-stakes gamble only he understood — I did not know back then.

I only knew that he had truly laid a Party membership application, along with a bride-less wedding banquet, right before everyone’s eyes.

As the feast broke up, a few old classmates pulled me aside quietly, their expressions grim. Everyone felt he couldn’t be allowed to go “mad” like this any longer. If he were permitted to keep smashing his life and career head-on against the wall, no one knew what would happen next.

“You’re his best friend, and you’re a doctor,” they looked at me, their voices carrying a helpless plea. “Go talk to him. There are things only you can say to him.”

I looked at Brother Xun’s back as he quietly cleared the wine bottles from the table alone, a heavy weight sinking into my chest.

Walking over, I pulled out my phone and dialed his number:

“Brother Xun, let’s find a time for just the two of us to sit down for tea.”

He turned around to look at me, pausing for a few seconds. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, and he said: “Alright.”

Then he let out a soft laugh, adding:

“Haha, everyone thinks you’re here to convince me to stop being crazy. But in the end, I’ll make you crazier than I am.”

(To be continued)

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