Ms. Qiu Xiuying, mother of renowned Sichuan human rights defender Chen Yunfei, dies on March 23, 2026, aged 91

On March 26, 2026, this website learned that the mother of renowned Sichuan human rights defender Chen Yunfei died on March 23, 2026, at the age of 91.

Mr. Zhang Guoqing of Sichuan offered the following assessment: “Chen’s mother used her entire life to exemplify the greatness of a mother’s love, and illuminated the journey home with her simple faith. Now, she has finished her work on earth and returned to her heavenly home, free from pain and tears forevermore. May this mother’s love be remembered by us forever. May Chen Yunfei carry his mother’s hopes and love, act justly and love mercy, and not fail the waiting and watchful devotion of his mother.”

This website republishes Mr. Zhang Guoqing’s article, “Chen’s Mother Rests Smiling in the Spring,” as a tribute to this great mother.

Zhang Guoqing | Chen’s Mother Rests Smiling in the Spring (March 25, 2026)

Chen’s mother is gone. It has been only a little over a year since her son Feifei was released and returned home. This 91-year-old woman of the century has finally laid down the hardships of earthly life and quietly returned to her heavenly home.

Once upon a time, as the years passed, Chen’s mother would count on her fingers and wait through her tears. Relying solely on that last breath of strength and that one cherished hope, she endured eight years of lonely waiting until her son Feifei returned. But the time they had together was far too brief—brief like the red sunset deep in the Daba Mountains. Before they had time to savor it, dusk had already fallen.

As a charitable ministry of the church, beginning on New Year’s Day in 2022, the author would travel every year on the first day of the year to visit Chen’s mother, who was staying with her youngest daughter in a remote mountain village in Dazhu County, Dazhou—often getting up in the dark at a little after four in the morning, taking the earliest high-speed train from Chengdu East Railway Station to Guang’an, then taking a private vehicle arranged by friends in Guang’an, winding more than 100 kilometers along mountain roads, and welcoming the New Year together with Chen’s mother.

The roads in Dazhu wind through 18 bends, while its waterways form nine interlocking loops. As we traveled, even the navigation system would often become confused. Each time, we ultimately found the mountain hollow where Chen’s mother lived only by relying on the primitive method that “feet are river mouths and mouths are roads.” Once, we asked an elderly man for directions beside a field ridge. After a long exchange of words and gestures, the old man finally said thoughtfully, “Are you looking for the mother of that ‘road worker’?” I immediately burst out laughing, lowered the car window, and nodded repeatedly. Only I knew that “road worker” was the occupational cover story Chen’s mother had specially prepared for her son Feifei.

Feifei was a university student in the 1980s. Having leaped over the dragon’s gate like a carp, he naturally attracted the envy of many people. Whenever villagers from near and far met Feifei’s mother, they always liked to ask what her son was doing now and whether he had risen in the world. Whenever this happened, Chen’s mother, who had difficulties she could not speak of, would answer pointedly: “My son is a road-construction contractor. Wherever the road isn’t level, he likes to go over and shovel a few times.”

She said it as lightly as floating clouds and flowing water, but everyone knew how many nights of fear and worry and how many moments of sorrow held back by silence lay behind the words “road construction.” Chen’s mother understood everything perfectly. But under the circumstances, all she could do was use ambiguous humor to shield her son from every question and create a patch of sky for herself.

Chen’s mother raised six children, and Feifei was the youngest. In a barren mountain hollow in the Daba Mountains, she gave almost half of her love to this mischievous yet clever boy. Feifei did not disappoint expectations: he became the first university student from the village. That was Chen’s mother’s finest moment. She hoped her son would bring glory to the family, and that when she grew old she could rely on Feifei to support her in comfort.

Once a son grows up, he no longer belongs entirely to his mother. Having leaped from a basket of chaff into a basket of rice, Feifei, who held a cadre position, nevertheless chose not to follow the usual path. Feifei was not accustomed to sitting in an office and did not want to muddle through life. He simply resigned from public service, started a farm and a nursery, and lived a fairly free life, becoming a “leader in getting rich” in that era. Yet deep inside him was always a strong sense of “standing up when he saw injustice.” He put loyalty first and cared little about gains or losses. He began traveling around to speak out against social injustice. The result was that the farm became desolate, he could no longer keep up with the nursery, and sometimes he rarely even returned home.

It was during this period that Feifei took the first “extended vacation” of his life. Everyone was afraid that Chen’s mother would not be able to bear it, so they kept it from her. Feifei also sent word from inside, falsely claiming that he had taken on a major construction project elsewhere and would be gone for a long time. As Chen’s mother listened, an expression of disdain gradually appeared on her face, and she said scornfully: “That rascal is still trying to fool his old mother. Has he forgotten who gave birth to him?” Her words made everyone present laugh. But as she laughed, her eyes filled with tears.

When Feifei took his second “extended vacation” from life, we visited Chen’s mother with uneasy hearts. Knowing that we could not hide it from her and unable to deceive the old woman again, we told her the truth. Chen’s mother fell silent for a while. Tears made the corners of her eyes swollen and blood-red. She wiped them and said something we have never forgotten: “It’s nothing. Just think of it as his old mother sending him off to serve in the army for a few years!” Although those words could ease her immediate inner pain, Chen’s mother, who hoped her son would live safely, would still sigh from time to time: “Who was the damned fool who gave him the name ‘Yunfei’? Now he’s flying all over the sky. It would have been better to name him ‘Implementation.’”

Whenever this happened, Chen’s mother’s punchlines made us laugh. Indeed, it is not something just anyone can do: an old woman in her eighties describing her son’s tribulations with such wit and vividness. They say that “the son resembles his mother.” The indomitable drive in Feifei may well have been inherited directly from Chen’s mother.

During the years of Feifei’s vacations, Chen’s mother was settled in the countryside of Dazhu, living with her youngest daughter’s family. At first, we worried that she would not be able to endure it, that she would be lonely and become ill from sorrow. But every time we visited her, it was she who comforted us. Her joy and cheerfulness were related both to her character and to her faith. She told us the secret to resisting loneliness: turn yourself into a super girl singer—sing whenever you want, and sing loudly.

Whenever her daughter and son-in-law went out to work and her grandchildren went to school, the house would be empty. At such times, thinking of Feifei would make Chen’s mother cry. She would admonish herself to be strong: only by living well herself could she give Feifei the greatest comfort. So she began to sing, singing the fragments of hymns she had learned at church. She would also compose her own lyrics to the melodies of eastern Sichuan folk songs and sing them herself, from sunrise to sunset. As she sang, her breathing eased and her heart grew lighter. After the pandemic restrictions were lifted in previous years, everyone in the village and the household tested positive. Some people became “Yang Kang” and then “Wang Chongyang” again, but this octogenarian woman alone, as if aided by God, remained peacefully at home, seemingly immune to every virus.

It was truly a miracle of the human world!

In the spring of 2025, Feifei was released and returned home, and the eight-year reunion Chen’s mother had longed for was finally realized. But this family happiness lasted only a little over a year. Chen’s mother, whose complexion was still rosy, seemed to find release after completing life’s great task and, on an afternoon around the spring equinox in March, left without warning.

Some say Chen’s mother held on with one last breath until her son came home. Others say she was too tired; after Feifei returned and she saw that he was safe, she was reassured and could lay down all her burdens...

Whatever the case, Chen’s mother left with a smile. A smile was her customary face to the world, just as I lamented in an article commemorating her: Chen’s mother’s smile, like golden silk nanmu, was the first ray of sunshine we saw in the New Year.

Chen’s mother used her entire life to exemplify the greatness of a mother’s love, and illuminated the journey home with her simple faith. Now, she has finished her work on earth, returned to her heavenly home and rests in the Lord’s embrace; she is free from all cares, pain and tears forevermore. May she rest in peace and joy in heaven. May this profound mother’s love be remembered by us forever. May Feifei carry his mother’s hopes and love, act justly and love mercy, and not fail the lifelong waiting and watchful devotion of his mother.

If this is so, though weeping may endure for a night, joy comes in the morning!

March 25, 2026