Dongjiang water, a nation's enduring devotion

Most of us know the saying “water is the source of life.” But do we truly appreciate how precious water is today?

This year marks the 60th anniversary of the Dongjiang–Shenzhen water supply project. To tell that story, we must go back to Hong Kong more than six decades ago.

Surrounded on three sides by sea, Hong Kong has always been short on fresh water. In 1963 a rare drought forced the city to ration water to once every four days for only four hours at a time, causing huge disruption to daily life. People turned their eyes to the Dongjiang — the nearest river with abundant flow. At the end of 1963, the late Premier Zhou Enlai personally authorized the project, and the country approved a special fund of 38 million yuan (US$5.3 million) to bring Dongjiang water to Hong Kong.

But there was a problem: Shenzhen and Hong Kong sit at higher elevations than Dongguan — how could the water reach them? The solution was audacious. Six sluice dams were built on the Shima River and, through eight stages of pumping, the water level was raised to 46 meters, allowing the river to be driven upstream for 83 kilometers until it reached Hong Kong.

With limited machinery, workers used explosives to blast through rock and carried heavy loads on bamboo poles that chafed their shoulders. And tens of thousands of workers converged to complete this cross-basin transfer in a year. 80-year-old veteran builder Mo Kangping still recalls the bold rallying cry from those days: “Make the mountains bow, make the river run backward!”

On March 1, 1965, when the gates first opened and clear water surged into Hong Kong’s main pipeline, cheers erupted in the streets — a moment that still echoes today. This March, together with colleagues from Jiangxi Daily and Hong Kong’s Wen Wei Po, our tri-regional reporting team followed the source upstream. I did not expect to be so deeply moved by the devotion people show in protecting a single ribbon of clear water.

High on mist-shrouded Yajibo Mountain, 57-year-old forest ranger He Hongxian patrols a 16-kilometer mountain road on his motorcycle. He has worked faithfully in the job for 26 years and has worn out dozens of rubber boots; his father was a ranger too. “When I’m thirsty I scoop water from the stream,” he says with a sun-darkened grin, hoping to see whether Hong Kong’s tap water tastes as sweet as the source.

Downriver, at Wanlu Lake — the largest lake in South China — technician Ou Zhihai and his team take monthly samples by boat. Holding up his testing meter, he smiles: “The water quality is always Class I — it never changes.”

At the Jinhu aqueduct in Dongguan, Wang Yongjian, who was then deputy chief engineer on the project, runs his hand over the concrete as if greeting an old friend. Their team spent a year to build a world-leading, drip-free U-shaped thin-shell aqueduct.

Today, the old craftsmen’s spirit has been upgraded into a modern, intelligent defense at the Shenzhen reservoir: drones provide full-line aerial inspection; plant-station intelligent patrol systems boost speed and accuracy; unmanned sampling and algae-removal vessels safeguard water quality.

The most unforgettable moment came just before the anniversary of Hong Kong’s return to the motherland. In late June, He Hongxian was invited to Hong Kong by Wen Wei Po. Standing at the first pumping station where Dongjiang water enters Hong Kong, he watched the clear stream flow into the city network and exclaimed, “So clear!” Later, in the home of Hong Kong resident Zhu Guohua, He turned on the tap, cupped the water and drank it, repeatedly saying, “It tastes as sweet as the source.”

I believe this spring that nourishes Hong Kong, a city also known as the Pearl of the Orient, will continue to flow through many more cycles of years. It is more than mountain spring; it is the lifeblood that links a people and their nation.