Who are these men?
At a little after 5 a.m. on January 13, 1998, the dawn was just beginning to break, but late President Chiang Ching-kuo's mausoleum at Touliao still lay swathed in darkness. The area in front of the mausoleum was deserted save for the sweet osmanthus trees, wafting their light fragrance into the cold, still air.
The lights were already on in the mausoleum's offices. Through the screen door at the entrance, bright flames could be seen rearing up from the kitchen stove. Breakfast was already on the table. In the reception area of the office, dark-suited, strongly built men, some with their families, gathered in small groups and greeted one another. They were waiting for everyone to arrive and eat their breakfast, after which they would pay their respects to Chiang in the early morning light.
This year marked the tenth anniversary of Chiang Ching-kuo's death. But this was not the first time this group of men had come to Touliao to pay their respects in the early morning hours; they've been here every year for the past ten years.
The Chihai Guardians
These men hurrying to pay their respects before the crowds arrive share a common designation, "Chihai Guardians." The name is that of Chiang Ching-kuo's bodyguards. Chihai, which means "seven seas," refers to Chiang's former official residence. Chiang didn't like the name "official residence" and thus called his home the "Chihai Residence."
Away from the glare of the media's flashbulbs, the Guardians paid their respects with great solemnity before saying a few words to old colleagues and making their own way to their current workplaces or retirement homes. They arrived without any fanfare and left without a sound. Though it has been ten years since Chiang passed away, the Guardians still go about their tasks in the same quiet and unassuming manner they employed while he was alive.
While serving as vice-premier in 1970, Chiang visited the US where an attempt was made on his life. This event inspired the creation of the Guardians unit. According to the Guardians, it was former President Chiang Kai-shek himself, Chiang Ching-kuo's father, who asked him to take on security personnel. At the outset, the structure of the Guardians unit and the training of its personnel were under the guidance of President Chiang Kai-shek's bodyguards. It was only later that the Guardians were made a more formal arrangement.
The gradual firming of the Guardians' structure took place between about 1970 and 1980, coinciding with the period in which Chiang Ching-kuo served as vice-premier, premier and finally, president.
It was a period of contrasts, between a closed society and an open one, between restrictions and the desire to break them. The ROC government had been established on Taiwan for 20 years and the fruits of land reform had provided a basis for the greater prosperity of the common people. Economic activity, primarily from public investment, was flourishing. However, the island was still under martial law, political prohibitions such as those outlawing the establishment of political parties had not yet been repealed, and the social atmosphere was tense.
According to Chiang Chih-tai, assistant commander of the Guardians unit at the Chihai Residence from 1971 to 1982, they would occasionally receive reports which indicated that someone might be preparing to plant a bomb or otherwise threaten Chiang's safety at the National Day celebrations or other such public events. On National Day in 1976, then-provincial governor Hsieh Tung-ming lost his left hand when he opened a package containing a bomb sent to his official residence. Chiang Chih-tai says that such letter bombs were sent not only to Hsieh, but also to such political heavyweights as then-KMT Secretary-General Li Huan and Huang Chieh, political advisor to the Presidential Office.
Men of steel
The first group of Guardians began working at the residence in about 1971. At the outset, most of these bodyguards were graduates of the military police academy who were later recruited from the army. Most were young and not long out of school. Some had had training and experience in the ranks while others became Guardians straight out of school. Still others were graduates of schools for non-commissioned officers who had first been recruited to serve at Chiang Kai-shek's Shihlin residence. Having been employed as bodyguards there, they were later transferred to the Guardians.
Chiang Ching-kuo was a man who did important work on behalf of the nation. From 1970 until he passed away in 1988, just how much manpower did the government expend to guarantee his safety? What was the structure of the unit that protected him? Even now, these questions are highly classified secrets. An important reason for this is that similar organizations still exist today. If these questions were answered explicitly, it could affect the safety of the current head of state.
In general terms, the unit had a circular structure which worked in several layers, protecting from the outside in. At the nucleus were the personal bodyguards at CCK's side every day. It was they who had the closest relationship to him. When he was still alive, they were with him 24 hours a day. The outside world saw them most often at his meetings with foreign dignitaries and during his travels. Even after his death, it was these men who dressed him, watched over his bier, supervised the funeral and sealed the coffin. They were his most important protectors.
Whether recruited from the military police academy or from the ranks, all Guardians had to pass through a series of examinations. In addition to being superbly physically fit, they had to possess an unblemished family background. These select soldiers had to undergo further testing of their intelligence, physical abilities and marksmanship after they joined the Guardians unit. Only after passing these tests could they go on to work as trainee Guardians. And after all of this, they still had to undergo several oral examinations.
By today's standards, the training that the Guardians underwent was extremely intensive, and included both marksmanship and Chinese martial arts. Even now, they remember practicing their fighting skills in the midday heat, brushing their teeth while squatting in the "horse stance," and even practicing their "knife-hand strikes" as they walked past the punching bags hung in the corridors.
The shooting skills that are so important to security work were practiced and evaluated every day. "We took target practice every day, standing, prone, at long and short range, aiming, not aiming*. We practiced every which way," says Ho Jung-kun who joined the Guardians in 1975.
"Many of our instructors were veteran bodyguards who were expert marksmen," says Ho. Their demands were high and nobody dared loaf. If anybody had performed poorly in competition, they'd have been too ashamed to return to base. This kind of training ensured that the Guardians' unit won the government security forces shooting competition year in and year out.
Discretion a watchword
Secrecy is in the nature of security work and for those working for CCK as bodyguards, the level of secrecy was exceptionally high. Before being selected, none of those then-20-year-old kids knew that they would be serving as one of CCK's bodyguards. Once they had the "good fortune" to be chosen, every aspect of their life, from dating and marriage to their private family life, became subject to severe restrictions.
One important aspect of the training that CCK's bodyguards underwent was learning to keep their lips sealed. For safety, one had to be like a ball, that is, completely sealed. Not even one opening was permissible. The many things they couldn't talk about included where they worked, what they did, who their commanding officer was and what his habits were.
"Anyone who said, 'I'm one of the Chihai Guardians,' would be arrested because he was obviously an impostor. The real Guardians would never say such a thing," says Chiang Chih-tai. Using the Guardians name or that of CCK to brag was strictly forbidden.
These restrictions affected even the daily lives of the Guardians. Chuo Shih-wang, whose father was a lieutenant commander in CKS's bodyguard and who himself joined the Guardians in 1970, says that when you are protecting the president 24 hours a day, there isn't much time to fall in love. "Some marriages were brought about by CCK," he says. His own wife is a police officer who he met while on duty.
Some other Guardians owe their marriages to CCK's sense of filial piety. When his father, CKS, was ill, CCK visited him at the Veteran's General Hospital at all hours of the day and night, allowing the Guardians to get to know the nurses and bookkeepers who worked at the hospital.
A bodyguard's sealed lips also apply to his family, with whom he is also not able to speak of work. Chaing Chih-tai quotes his wife as saying, "If I didn't see my husband on holidays, I turned on the TV. Wherever CCK was, that's where my husband would be. When I couldn't even see him on TV, then I worried because that meant they had gone somewhere dangerous like the outlying islands or that he had some other important mission."
Their commander made another request of the Guardians: to stay home when they weren't on duty. He felt it better that they go nowhere else. He wanted their lives to be as simple as possible to avoid the chance of their getting involved in "complicated" relationships.
In order to be readily available in case of an emergency, and to make it easy for their respective families to get together, most of the Guardians established their homes near the residence, in Tachih or Neihu. When their colleagues were on duty and couldn't take care of their families, they would help each other out. And when asked, the Guardians' "better halves" all can relate a shared experience: When giving birth, each took the taxi to the hospital alone. When the child was born, its father would come and take a look, then go back to work.
Hiding from the boss?
In the 1970s there was a popular detective novelist known as Fei Meng who wrote novels known for their twists and turns. The Guardians sometimes seem to slightly resemble the characters in these novels. To their classmates from school and their neighbors, they are usually mysterious characters.
Some of the bodyguards are the sons and brothers of soldiers, born in the intimate social atmosphere of the communities for retired servicemen. Yet none of their neighbors knew that they were CCK's Guardians. One time, when Chiang Chih-tai was at home his wife asked him to go to the store to pick up a chicken she had ordered. When he got to the store, the owner looked him over and said, "So you're Mrs. Chiang's husband. You know, I've never seen you before."
In those days, CCK's travels were top secret. Guardians' family members couldn't ask or speak about them. Even fellow Guardians didn't really know where or when CCK was traveling, especially if the trip were to one of the outlying islands. "What you knew, you couldn't talk about. And what you didn't know, you couldn't ask about," says Chiang Chih-tai. He says you'd often see a fellow Guardian with whom you shared a room get up in the middle of the night and pack his bags. You knew something important was up, but you wouldn't ask where he was going.
Li Tzu-yi became head of the Guardian's mobile unit in 1975. He says that one time a television station broadcast the news that CCK was visiting Kinmen, one of the outlying islands. The next morning, they had reports that 12 mainland Chinese jets had taken off along the coast. In view of the news, CCK's whole itinerary was changed. Originally he was to have returned directly to Taipei from Kinmen, but instead they first took him to Penghu, another of the outlying islands, by speedboat before bringing him back to Taiwan.
The Guardians' core mission was to protect CCK's by sticking with him. But CCK didn't like having bodyguards with him everywhere.
Li says that when CCK was serving as Premier, he didn't want to have bodyguards at all. "At that time, we couldn't let him see us. As soon as he opened a door or turned his head, we hid." Li says that he found it rather strange that a bodyguard would have to hide from his boss.
Later, CCK got more used to the idea of having bodyguards with him. But when in public, he still didn't like them to clear a path for him. On many occasions, a bodyguard who wanted to help CCK by doing so got an elbow in the pit of his stomach.
One time while CCK was serving as Premier, he visited Taichung Harbor, but strangely, saw no people there. When he finally discovered a group of people standing behind a building where they had been herded by his security forces, he was outraged. Another time, when visiting Veterans' General Hospital, he exploded on seeing guards push people away. General Chou Chung-nan, a one-time head of security at the Presidential Office Building, quotes CCK as saying, "If I wanted to be a military thug, would I need your help to do it?"
CCK liked to get out of the city to walk and look around. "When he got out of Taipei, he was like a bird let out of its cage." Thus Li describes his boss, a man known for his simple lifestyle and lack of recreational activities. But once he left his office, the work of his bodyguards become much more difficult.
CCK didn't like to have too many bodyguards at his side, especially when he was out in the country. What was a poor bodyguard to do? The commanders came up with the idea of making up one of the accompanying vehicles to look like a taxi, so that CCK wouldn't recognize what it was. On one occasion, he even asked a bodyguard masquerading as a retired soldier now driving a taxi how life was treating him.
Who? What?
According to his security personnel, when accompanying CCK, they not only were not allowed to swagger, but also couldn't accept any favors from anyone outside their circle. When they traveled with CCK, everybody ate the same meals and the cost of drinks was deducted from the money allocated for the trip. The purpose of these measures was to prevent anyone from trying to get something from them in return for a favor.
CCK liked to travel around and see things for himself. He often changed his itineraries spontaneously and the accompanying cars stopped when they were told to stop. They often had to go back on duty halfway through a meal, and some of his bodyguards had bleeding stomach ulcers brought on by the pressures of duty.
The thing most feared by the guards who traveled with him "was missing the accompanying cars. That was an extremely serious lapse," says Kuo Wei-yeh. To avoid missing the cars, no matter what the Guardians were doing, whether it be soaping their body in the shower or using the toilet, when they heard the departure bell, they instinctively grabbed for their clothes and guns and ran for the cars. "Even now when our doorbell at home rings loudly, I jump," says one bodyguard.
But there were also warm moments in their work.
On one of CCK's trips out into the country, while riding in a nine-person van he suddenly got the idea that he wanted to change seats with Li Tzu-yi, who was sitting next to the driver. When the van stopped, Li, who was now sitting in the back, jumped out to get the door for CCK. But he was still holding on to the frame of the back door with his left hand. He didn't stop to think that opening the back door so quickly would make it swing back again catching his hand in the frame. "There was a deep indentation there like the finger had been broken," says Li. CCK apologized with feeling, telling Li, "I really feel bad about this. It was me who wanted to change seats with you." On the trip back, he asked Li several times if he had been to see a doctor.
CCK was from Zhejiang Province in the mainland and spoke Mandarin with a heavy accent. His bodyguards had to get used to this accent before they could really understand him. In 1982, he had eye surgery and there were extra security personnel on duty inside the residence. Among them was Tsai Fu-lai, who is from Kinmen. One day CCK asked Tsai to bring him a robe or paozi, but Tsai instead brought him a baozhi, or "newspaper." CCK couldn't help but laugh and it was only then that Tsai recognized his mistake.
Chiang Chih-tai says that once when he was on duty, CCK asked him to find Speaker Ni of the Legislative Yuan and bring him to him. Chiang misheard this as Director Yen of the Chung-Shan Institute of Science and Technology. "If I had made such a mistake during the CKS era, I would have had to pack my bags immediately," says Chiang. As it was, CCK spent half the day chatting with Director Yen and didn't fault Chiang.
CCK's bodyguards still fondly remember the concern he had for those under him. Tsai, who comes from Kinmen, says that one year around Tomb Sweeping Day the thought came to CCK that Tsai might want to visit his home and family, so he sent Tsai on a trip to Kinmen to bring back some sweet potatoes. In fact, he was giving Tsai the opportunity to go home to help tidy his family's ancestral tomb.
"I know nothing! Nothing!"
Bodyguards work at the side of the person they protect. They must understand his needs and at the same time, not disturb him. It is a fine line to tread and learning how is one of the great challenges of the job.
Li says that once when CCK was holding a meeting, he turned his head as if he wanted to ask Li to do something. Li hurried inside the room and found that something really was up. Kao Chih-wei, a Guardian who was also CCK's personal photographer, also says that whenever he finished taking pictures of CCK meeting and shaking hands with foreign dignitaries, the introduction to the serious matter began with "I'm very happy you all could come*." When he heard these words he knew that discussions were about to begin and he would leave in a hurry.
CCK liked to get out of Taipei and the head of the mobile unit would often be in the car together with CCK and his guests. "CCK didn't avoid talking in front of us. And we would always find a way to make ourselves not hear what we shouldn't," says Li.
These bodyguards were with him when he was healthy and when his health began to deteriorate. He was like an older member of their own families and their moods went up and down with his health.
A country's leader is not at all like an ordinary person; his every move is closely watched. One year, CCK's step was unsteady while he was hosting the National Day ceremonies. This started rumors among the public that his health was failing, and the next day the stock market plunged.
When he was healthy, "CCK's step was firm and he walked with vigor," says Chiang Chih-tai, who was with CCK in the early days. After his surgery, his vision wasn't as good as it had been before. In addition, he suffered from diabetes. His walk became unsteady and his personal bodyguards had to be still more careful. "There wasn't much 'guard' work to do, but there was almost continual 'body' work," says Li. The need for this "body" work made Li exchange his revolver for an even smaller model to avoid having the gun's hard casing poke into CCK's body when he needed to lean on his guards.
In CCK's later years, they worried about his health. Li mentions that before major public ceremonies, CCK would practice the ceremony and his walk across the stage again and again. His security men still recall the annoyed expression that would come to his face when he couldn't perform as well as he would have liked.
And then he was gone
January 13, 1988, the day that CCK died, is a day the Guardians will never forget.
As they describe it, that afternoon, without any warning CCK spit up a great deal of blood and died without saying a word.
"CCK had originally prepared to go to the Central Standing Committee meeting that day," says Tsai, who was on duty inside the residence. But he hadn't slept well the night before, so he asked Tsai to bring Wang Chia-hwa, the director of the secretarial department of the Office of the President. CCK wanted Wang to let it be known that he wouldn't go to the meeting that day.
At noon, CCK felt very ill and didn't get up for lunch. CCK's third son, Hsiao-yung, went into the room to have a look at him. He was sleeping soundly, so Hsiao-yung left the residence.
At 1 p.m., Tsai suddenly felt anxious and went into CCK's room to check on him.
Suddenly, CCK seemed to want to say something. Tsai hurriedly asked, "Mr. Education Director [This was how the Guardians addressed CCK, who at one time was the director of education at Fu Hsing Kang Military College], what is it?" CCK looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead spit a mouthful of blood onto Tsai's clothing. Tsai rang the bell for the doctor, but CCK was already beyond help. He died just like that, in one of his bodyguard's arms.
Soft-hearted men of steel
From their early twenties into their thirties and forties, these bodyguards weathered innumerable storms with CCK. Well trained, possessed of strong bodies and agile minds, these men were ready for anything. But the aging body of the man they protected was weakening by the day. Finally, this candle flickering in the wind was extinguished.
What his guards cannot express is the feeling of having suddenly lost their center, the feeling of uncertainty they felt upon his death. But in taking care of the arrangements that needed to be made after his death, they could not permit themselves to be too emotional.
"Once I knew that he had died, I didn't say two words. I just grabbed my camera and ran," says Kao Chih-wei, describing the situation. Many other Guardians responded in the same way. When they found out that CCK had died, they were shocked at first, "Then there were many things to do," says Shen Hai-jung, who became a Guardian in 1971. In the month following CCK's death, from the funerary chapel at Veterans' General Hospital to the mausoleum at Touliao, there couldn't be even the slightest mistake in handling the affairs both large and small relating to his funeral, says another Guardian. Behind the flawless arrangements lay the efforts of many many Guardians.
Kao was one of these. From the time that CCK died until they moved his body from the funerary chapel, he was there every day taking pictures of those who came to pay their last respects. He shot roll after roll of film until one day everything turned black and he passed out. He slept in the hospital for a day, but as soon as he woke up, he said he had to go back on duty.
In the three months that followed CCK's death, his bodyguards were assigned to duty at the residence, Touliao and the Martyr's Shrine. Their duties were many. "Think about it. There we were carrying guns loaded with live ammunition. If one of us had cracked under the pressure, who would have handled the situation," asks one Guardian. But at the time, none of them complained and those who came to pay their respects saw only the Guardians' typically severe expressions.
But these steely Guardians also have their soft moments. Tsai, who began work as a bodyguard at the Shihlin residence when he was just 17 and served both CKS and CCK, still remembers thinking back to when CCK was alive and crying until his eyes were almost swollen shut.
Shen also remembers that though there were many people paying their last respects to CCK while he was on duty, he often couldn't hold back his tears. Later, when 10 Guardians were chosen to be CCK's pallbearers, everyone felt it was the last mission they would carry out for him. "His coffin was made of bronze and weighed 300 kilograms. Fifteen days before the funeral we put on a steel-reinforced glove, put sandbags inside the coffin and endlessly practiced carrying it," says Shen. "We wanted him to have a smooth journey."
One who recognizes your worth
Ten years. Ten years have passed since CCK died. In that time, the domestic political situation has changed. In moving away from the center of power, CCK's one-time bodyguards have experienced one of life's turns.
Most of them have left the Guardians. Some have continued to work in the military, serving as bodyguards to leading Cabinet officials. Some have gone to work at the mausoleum to continue to be around CCK. Others have gone to work in various departments of the KMT. More have gone to work in the private sector, serving as the directors of corporate security departments.
Times and fashions change. When they see how easily modern bodyguards get into pictures with their charges, how they can whisper in their boss's ear to suggest that he stop and let the media get some pictures-things that they would never have dreamed of doing-the old Guardians are appalled. And when they see the media digging up CCK's secrets and making speculations about his wife, Chiang Fang-liang, who still lives at the Chihai Residence, the old Guardians smile and say nothing. "We believe what we see with our own eyes," comments one.
Kuo, once the head of the Guardians, is now retired and spends his time at home. "I really used to believe that I was an important person, that the preservation of the nation lay in my hands," he says. "But now when I think about it, I have a big debt to my family and children for the past. A really big debt."
After CCK died, Kuo moved to the Tsehu mausoleum in Tahsi where he worked for eight years. He says many big party officials have come to pay their respects over the years. Kuo has seen life's ebb and flow reflected in the changes in the domestic political situation. He has refused a number of job offers and now is giving all of his time to two women: his mother and his wife. He spends his days looking at the mountains and the lakes, gardening and fishing, letting the past flow away with the waters.
Is it possible to bury one's sword in the prime of life, while the body and spirit remain strong? If his children had the opportunity to do so, would he be willing to let them become bodyguards? He answers simply, "That would depend on who they were protecting."
To give your life for one who recognizes your worth*. For the Guardians, perhaps it's not that easy to let go of the past.
p.82
On January 30, 1988, the late President Chiang Ching-kuo's coffin was transported from the Martyr's Shrine near Taipei's Yuanshan to Tahsi. For CCK's bodyguards, it was the last journey on which they were to accompany him.
p.85
On January 13, 1998, the tenth anniversary of CCK's death, the Chihai Guardians, CCK's personal bodyguards, gathered together at the Touliao mausoleum. It almost seemed as if the clock had turned back to those days when they protected him.
CCK's bronze coffin weighed 300 kilograms. In order to carry it steadily, the Guardians who acted as pallbearers wore steel hooks on the inside of their wrists.
(left) An ID badge from Veterans' General Hospital's funerary chapel, a steel hook worn by the pallbearers to protect their hands, a piece of black gauze and the program for CCK's funeral services*. These images will linger in the Guardians' minds forever. (courtesy of Kuo Yan-lu)
p.86
On February 7, 1981, CCK visited the headquarters of the Chihai Guardians. While there, he took pictures together with his Guardians. It was the only time he did so. (photo by Kao Chih-wei)
p.87
"Back in the days when CCK was in good health, he would usually get up, get dressed, grab his briefcase, and head down the steps to go to work," says one Guardian. The picture shows the Chihai Residence. (photo by Kao Chih-wei)
p.89
Do you recognize them? Standing next to Provincial Governor James Soong, but outside the glare of the media's flashbulbs you can see former Guardians Chiang Chih-tai, Yang Cheng-jung and Li Tzu-yi. The photo was taken at the Tahsi mausoleum on the tenth anniversary of CCK's death.
(left) On the first day of the Lunar New Year in 1998, a few of the former Guardians gathered together as they usually do at the site of the old Chihai barracks. Thinking about the old days, they couldn't help but feel the world has changed.
p.90
"The boss could use a straw like this over and over again." CCK's little idiosyncracies are hard for his bodyguards to forget.
p.91
At the crack of dawn, Chiang Chih-tai, the talented former administrator of the Guardians, is already practicing his martial arts. Now retired, Chiang is spending his time promoting Tai Chi, serving as an administrator of the Taipei County Tai Chi Association.
p.92
After CCK's eye surgery, more Guardians were put on duty inside the residence. Kao Ming (left), who works at the Tahsi mausoleum, and the now-retired Tsai Fu-lai were among these.
(right) On the tenth anniversary of CCK's death, many officials came to the Tahsi mausolem to pay their respects. The former Guardians have not forgotten their commitment to their work. The picture shows the director of the Tahsi mausoleum, Yang Cheng-jung.
p.94
Former unit commander Kuo Wei-yeh has turned down offers of positions and has chosen instead to bury his sword. He has gone back to having a family life, gardening and fishing with his wife.
（left） An ID badge from Veterans' General Hospital's funerary chapel, a steel hook worn by the pallbearers to protect their hands, a piece of black gauze and the program for CCK's funeral services. . . . These images will linger in the Guardians' minds forever. （courtesy of Kuo Yan-lu）
On February 7, 1981, CCK visited the headquarters of the Chihai Guardians. While there, he took pictures together with his Guardians. It was the only time he did so. （photo by Kao Chih-wei）
"Back in the days when CCK was in good health, he would usually get up, get dressed, grab his briefcase, and head down the steps to go to work, "says one Guardian. The picture shows the Chihai Residence. （photo by Kao Chih-wei）
（left） On the first day of the Lunar New Year in 1998, a few of the former Guardians gathered together as they usually do at the site of the old Chihai barracks. Thin king about the old days, they couldn't help but feel the world has changed.
Do you recognize them? Standing next to Provincial Governor James Soong, but outside the glare of the media's flashbulbs you can see former Guardians Chiang Chih-tai, Yang Cheng-jung and Li Tzu-yi. The photo was taken at the Tahsi mausoleum on the tenth anniversary of CCK's death.
"The boss could use a straw like this over and over again." CCK's little idiosyncracies are hard for his bodyguards to forget.
At the crack of dawn, Chiang Chih-tai, the talented former administrator of the Guardians, is already practicing his martial arts. Now retired, Chiang is spending his time promoting Tai Chi, serving as an administrator of the Taipei County Tai Chi Association.
After CCK's eye surgery, more Guardians were put on duty inside the residence. Kao Ming （left）, who works at the Tahsi mausoleum, and the now retired Tsai Fu-lai were among these.
（right） On the tenth anniversary of CCK's death, many officials came to the Tahsi mausoleum to pay their respects. The former Guardians have not forgotten their commitment to their work. The picture shows the director of the Tahsi mausoleum, Yang Cheng-jung.
Former unit commander Kuo Wei-yeh has turned down offers of positions and has chosen instead to bury his sword. He has gone back to having a family life, gardening and fishing with his wife.
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