Charged with spying for Taiwan, ravaged by selfdoubt, and seemingly betrayed by the very values he held dearest, the 58-year-old began entertaining dark thoughts about suicide in that awful month of August 2005.

'I lost confidence, lost hope, and had low self-esteem. I began negating everything that I treasured before,' said Mr Ching, who returned to Hong Kong earlier this month after being granted parole from a five-year jail sentence.

'For instance, is patriotism still a tenable belief?

'Is honesty still a virtue?

'When you are in such a situation, the downward spiral begins to kick in and the end result is to commit suicide.'

The journalist pulled himself back from the brink with help from I-Ching, the ancient Chinese text also known as The Book of Changes. It, he said, assured him that he had served the greater good despite the legal morass he had landed himself in.

More than a year later, when his family members were allowed to provide him additional reading materials during their prison visits, he was also able to seek solace in modern motivational books, such as Dr Viktor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning.

It was a gaunt and visibly older Mr Ching who greeted The Straits Times on Tuesday. He bore no signs of physical abuse, only mental scars from his three-year ordeal.

These surfaced most obviously in his instant and vivid recall of all the key dates that marked his descent into the darkest period of his life.

The first was April 23, 2005, a day after he was detained in the southern Chinese city of Shenzhen for allegedly leaking state secrets. This is a common enough accusation levied against foreign journalists who report on sensitive political news, such as Mr Ching.

But in his eagerness to prove his innocence, the veteran journalist surrendered his laptop to the investigators that day.

'Since I believe that I have a clear conscience and have nothing to hide, I didn't mind giving them the laptop, which I thought could prove my innocence,' he said.

'Looking back, that was the most naive thing that I could have done.'

In the laptop, Chinese investigators found articles that he wrote for a Taiwan thinktank, the Foundation on International and Cross-Strait Studies (FICS), as well as a record of the writing fees that Mr Ching received from the institution.

Beijing, however, claimed that FICS was a front for espionage activities and added that the articles the journalist wrote involved state secrets. FICS has denied the allegations, while the Chinese authorities gave no explanation on how and why the articles were considered to have contained classified information.

Mr Ching said the information in his laptop prompted investigators to change the initial charge against him to a more serious one of espionage, a development that left him shell-shocked.

The ensuing anxiety and mental stress, he added, was 'worse than physical torture'.

'I had no contact at all with my family, my boss, with any people,' said the journalist. 'My body clock was turned upside down and the investigators applied mental stress so that you voluntarily succumbed to them.'

The next low point came on Aug 5, 2005, when he was officially charged with spying for Taiwan, which Beijing regards as a renegade province.

That day was also the first time he felt the icy grip of a pair of metal handcuffs.

'Being handcuffed was a great insult that shook all of my beliefs in my virtues,' he recalled.

About a year later, he was given a five-year jail sentence after a one-day trial in Beijing. An appeal against the conviction failed, and subsequent applications for him to be released on medical parole were greeted with little enthusiasm by the Chinese authorities.

Beijing, however, agreed to transfer him to the southern Guangzhou Prison in January last year so that his family in Hong Kong could visit him more easily.

In prison, Mr Ching said he was given the relatively light chore of preparing cloth at a textile workshop because of his age and weak health. Day-to-day life behind bars was a regimented routine of roll-calls before and after every meal.

'Ideological sessions' were held twice a week to indoctrinate inmates, but Mr Ching said he was free on Friday and Sunday evenings to read or write down his thoughts - a luxury he was denied in the early days of detention.

It was not long before his journalistic instincts came to the fore once again. He said he managed to draft the outlines for several books while in jail and his observations of the other inmates - who were ordinary criminals - helped deepen his understanding of Chinese society.

'They all came from the underworld, and in that sense, I learnt a lot of the other side of Chinese society,' said a visibly thinner Mr Ching, who lost 20kg while in jail. 'This experience is also fruitful for me as an observer of Chinese affairs.'

On Feb 5, after over 1,000 days of incarceration, he regained his freedom just as abruptly as he lost it nearly three years ago. That morning, a warden ordered him to return to his cell and pack up his things, but would not say if he was going to be released.

After he packed his belongings and books into five plastic containers, the journalist was taken to an office where the deputy head of the Guangzhou Prison showed him a court document indicating he had been paroled.

Two policemen then escorted him to the train station, bought him a ticket, and ensured that he had a smooth exit at the immigration counter. The policemen, however, did not accompany Mr Ching after he cleared immigration at around 10.30am.

That first taste of freedom, after being watched round the clock for almost three years, was more disorientating than liberating. Recounted Mr Ching: 'It was like I wasn't fully awake. I felt numb.'

After the train set off at 11am, he leaned forward from his seat and borrowed a cellphone from a passenger in front of him to call his family with the good news.

He was back in Hong Kong by 1pm. Security officials whisked him away from the Hung Hom railway station to an undisclosed location where friends and family were waiting for him.

'My feelings did not come back until I cried,' said Mr Ching.

Amid the tearful reunion, news of a loss was broken to him - his 82-year-old father died in 2006. His family members had kept the death a secret from him for fear that it would further depress Mr Ching.

'All along, my family members have been telling me that my father is OK, in good health, stable and calm,' said the journalist. 'I just couldn't accept this story. I cried, I kneeled down, and it was a really hard time for me.'

Adjusting to normal life proved difficult as well, added Mr Ching, who said he was less alert about his surroundings and often felt uneasy in a crowded room.

But during a three-hour interview with The Straits Times, the newspaper which he joined in 1996, flashes of the old Ching Cheong were already apparent.

The veteran reporter, whose passionate interest in journalism and China is wellknown, said he would not give up the profession despite his ordeal. He also planned to help campaign, albeit quietly, for the release of other journalists jailed in China.

In his 35-year career as a journalist, Mr Ching has scored innumerable scoops that shed light on the secretive inner workings of China's ruling Chinese Communist Party. It is no secret that Beijing is displeased with many of his stories over the years, but why the authorities chose to act on April 2005 or who ordered the arrest are still questions without answers.

Ironically, the man seen by many as the consummate political insider said he may never solve the mystery surrounding his own arrest and jailing.

'I have no idea,' said Mr Ching when asked if he had fresh clues or revelations about his own case. 'I just don't know the exact reason.'

One thing though was clear - his conscience, he said.

chinhon@sph.com.sg