A hero of compassion, Liu De-wen reunites lost veterans with their ancestral homes, bridging decades of separation.
TAIPEI, (EPICSTORIAN) – Standing amid the bustle of Ningbo Lishe International Airport, Liu De-wen, 58, carries an unassuming yet profound burden—urns containing the cremated remains of Taiwanese veterans.
Over the past 21 years, this modest man from southern Taiwan has devoted his life to reuniting the ashes of over 300 soldiers with their ancestral homes on the Chinese mainland, fulfilling their final wishes of return.
For Liu, the weight of a life is precisely 12 kilograms—the average weight of an urn. On the third day of 2025, he boarded a flight to Nanjing, one urn strapped to his chest, another to his back.
These veterans, who followed the Kuomintang to Taiwan in 1949 during China’s civil war, longed to return to the mainland after decades of political divide. Many were unable to, passing away as outsiders on the island, often unmarried and childless.
Liu’s journey began in 1997 when he moved to a former military housing community in Kaohsiung, home to aging veterans. “They sat for hours during Chinese New Year, gazing toward the mainland. On Tomb-Sweeping Day, they performed rituals facing their hometowns to honor parents they hadn’t seen in decades,” Liu recalls.
One veteran, 87-year-old Wen, entrusted Liu with his dying wish: to bury his ashes beside his parents in Hunan province. Deeply moved, Liu honored this request in 2003, unknowingly embarking on a mission that would consume his life. Word of his selfless act spread, and families began reaching out to him for help, each story adding weight to his commitment.
Liu De-wen Search Cemeteries for Veterans’ Dead Bodies
For Liu, these urns are not cargo but sacred vessels. “They hold the veterans’ souls,” he explains. He often purchases seats or beds for the urns, treating them with reverence.
His work, however, is fraught with challenges. Locating graves in Taiwan’s untended cemeteries, abandoned temples, or unmarked plots requires painstaking effort. One case, involving a veteran named Chen Bi-shou, took months of combing records and archives. Liu’s determination eventually reunited Chen’s ashes with his family in Jiangsu, 25 years after his death.
The physical toll is equally immense. Liu has suffered heatstroke, injuries, and sleepless nights on train station floors. Yet, he perseveres, driven by a profound sense of duty. “Doing good brings blessings,” he says simply, attributing his resilience to the veterans’ unseen support.
Emotional Reunions and Unwavering Resolve
The reunions Liu facilitates are deeply emotional. In Yunnan, an elderly man wept while holding his father’s remains, whispering, “I finally have a father.” In Shandong, a 90-year-old man knelt before Liu, thanking him for bringing his brother home. These moments of closure underscore the humanity of Liu’s mission.
Despite the recognition he receives, Liu leads a humble life. His office, a converted shipping container, bears the motto: “Do good and keep a kind heart.” Each journey, meticulously documented in an online database, helps families reconnect with their lost loved ones.
Racing Against Time
As the veterans age and their stories fade, Liu races to complete their final journeys. In 2024, he escorted a record 47 urns. “I have to walk faster,” Liu says, his voice resolute. “Their children are aging too. They shouldn’t have to wait any longer.”
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Liu’s work transcends political and geographical divides, embodying a universal truth: the longing for home and the ties of family are unbreakable. “We are one family, bound by the same roots and culture. Blood ties can never be severed,” he says.
