*Chug-chug, clack-clack!*
*Chug-chug, clack-clack!*
Beneath the blazing sun, a green-skinned train rolled across the vast countryside, speeding along at a hundred kilometers an hour—well, speeding.
Chen Qi was already quite satisfied. Though green trains were fairly common by now, steam locomotives had not yet bowed out of the picture. If luck was not on your side and you ended up on one of those, you simply had to endure it, crawling like a turtle at fifty kilometers an hour.
At present, it was his second day on the road.
He stood in the gangway connecting two carriages, his body swaying to the clattering rhythm as he breathed in the relatively fresh air. In his previous life during his school days, he had ridden plenty of green trains and was thoroughly accustomed to them. Yet life was unpredictable; no one could foresee every misfortune—like a toddler suddenly relieving himself on the floor...
Midsummer, a green train, stench of sweat, smelly feet, shouting, excrement—it truly took the cake!
The full production crew for *Romance on Mount Lu* numbered around a hundred and eighty. The cinematographers and art directors had flown ahead with the expensive equipment, leaving everyone else to take the train. With a single plane ticket costing over sixty yuan, who could afford to fly?
"Xiao Chen? Hiding out here, are you?"
Tang Guoqiang walked over, likely unable to bear the stench in the carriage either. He fished out a pack of cigarettes and deftly offered one.
"No, no thanks. I don't smoke."
"A grown man who doesn't smoke? Come on, take one!"
"I really don't. It's bad for your health, and addictive."
"What addiction? I've smoked for ten-odd years and never gotten addicted..."
Tang Guoqiang, an old smoker, lit one for himself and blew out a cloud of smoke. "First time experiencing life with a film crew, right? It's always like this. You'll get used to it. Going to conferences is much more privileged. Last time I went to Shanghai for a meeting, I flew."
"You've flown on a plane?"
"Of course. They have everything on planes. They handed me five Chunghwa cigarettes and even gave away Maotai!"
"A whole bottle?"
"A whole bottle. I finished it as soon as I reached the hotel. You're still young—plenty of chances to fly in the future."
"Yeah, I'm still young," Chen Qi smiled.
It was now early August. He had transmigrated at the end of March, and more than four months had slipped by unnoticed. In that time, he had written a screenplay, earned eight hundred yuan, and set up a tea stall—that was the sum of his accomplishments.
His original thought had simply been to make life a little better.
Flying on planes, smoking Chunghwa, drinking Maotai, surrounded by beauties... Put crudely, that was all life boiled down to. Of course, since he had traveled back in time with great difficulty, he naturally harbored a few other ambitions.
Tang Guoqiang smoked three cigarettes in one breath before carefully pocketing his pack.
The two of them threaded past a maze of outstretched knees, shoes, and nodding heads to return to their seats. Wang Haowei, Gong Xue, and Zhang Jinling sat together, all drowsy and half-asleep.
They would not reach Mount Lu until evening. Chen Qi could not hold out either; he leaned back against his seat and drifted into a daze.
When he opened his eyes a while later, Gong Xue across from him had just woken up as well. Her eyes met his, and feeling a little awkward, she darted her gaze away a few times. With everyone else dozing and just the two of them awake, and not being particularly well-acquainted, should they chat or not?
She was an introvert, but Chen Qi was an extrovert. A man could drown in the ocean, but he could never let a conversation drop dead.
"Did you ever visit Mount Lu when you were sent down to Jiangxi?" he asked.
"No. I was at Yangqiao Commune in Fenyi County, quite far from Mount Lu."
"I had it a bit easier than you. I was sent down to the outskirts of Beijing. That was just how the policy worked back then—those sent down later stayed in the Beijing suburbs, while those sent down earlier were packed off to the Northeast or Inner Mongolia. Now that was real suffering. You know Liang Xiaosheng from the Literary Department, right? He was in the Heilongjiang Production and Construction Corps, hauling timber day in and day out. With his slight frame, hauling heavy logs—ouch..."
"Don't make light of it. He must have endured a great deal of hardship," Gong Xue said with a pursed smile.
"Oh, absolutely. The Northeast is nothing but boundless plains and primeval forests. Who knows what lurks in there—leopards, tigers, *pi*!"
"What's a *pi*?"
"A *pi* is a man-bear. It's much bigger than an ordinary bear, covered in knotty muscle, and walks on two legs like a person. You think wild boars are fierce? Not even close. If a man-bear catches a boar, with one rip—*shhhk*—it tears it clean in half!"
"Ah?" Gong Xue widened her eyes in astonishment. "Really? That fierce?"
"Of course! The man-bear is the king of the northeastern forests. Wherever it appears, there's bound to be some heavenly treasure, or a big *zongzi*."
"A big *zongzi*?"
"A zombie!"
"A zombie?!"
"A monster!"
"A monster?!"
Gong Xue blinked, her eyes dancing with wonder. In her twenty-odd years of life, her worldview had never experienced such wild twists and turns as in this single minute. "Are there really monsters in this world?"
"Hard to say. If I say too much, someone might report me for feudal superstition and have me shot," Chen Qi teased.
"Hey now, don't leave a story half-told! That's bad manners!" Tang Guoqiang suddenly chimed in from the side.
"Train rides are boring to death anyway. You might as well tell us a story," Zhang Jinling added.
"Xiao Chen, is there any textual evidence for what you're saying?" Wang Haowei asked.
"Wait, when did you all wake up?"
Chen Qi stared as if he had seen a ghost, shaking his head like a rattle drum. "I trust you all, of course, but walls have ears. We can chat privately when there's a chance. Besides, I've already leaked too much heavenly secret just now. No more, no more!"
Seeing his mysterious air, no one pressed him further.
Wang Haowei, however, looked quite intrigued. "Xiao Chen, I've noticed you have a very eclectic pool of knowledge. You dabble in all sorts of strange and curious subjects, yet you seem rather indifferent to the prevailing intellectual trends of the day. Take Liu Xinwu's *The Class Teacher* or Lu Xinhua's *Scar*, for instance—so many people are writing novels like that right now."
"Oh, I'm not particularly fond of that kind of fiction."
"Why is that?"
"If I get started on that, I won't be able to stop. Anyway, I prefer the lowbrow—pah, I mean, the popular."
"Don't you find popular fiction superficial?"
"What counts as superficial? What counts as profound? Who defined superficial, and who defined profound? I only remember one principle: literary and artistic creation must serve the people!" Chen Qi suddenly assumed a solemn expression. "If I must create, I prefer writing things that the broad masses love to see and hear, serving the people."
"Things that the broad masses love to see and hear..."
Wang Haowei nodded. "There's truth in that. If inspiration strikes, feel free to put pen to paper. But let me caution you: the vast majority of literary journals today pursue serious literature, demanding ideological depth and literary merit. If you write popular pulp, you might not even get published."
"I'm just scribbling for fun. You give me too much credit."
Chatting along the way helped the journey pass a little faster.
By dusk, an attendant came squeaking down the aisle pushing a cart stacked high with aluminum lunchboxes. Inside was rice topped with one meat dish and one vegetable, priced at thirty-five cents, no ration coupons needed.
Indeed, buying boxed meals on trains in this era required no ration coupons if the price was under forty cents.
Those with deeper pockets headed to the dining car to order fresh meals cooked on the spot by seasoned chefs. It was said that once, a master chef who had worked at Cuihualou in the capital felt a sudden surge of inspiration and prepared several Western dishes right in the dining car—Russian and French soups, deep-fried cream rolls—leaving the passengers dumbfounded.
Chen Qi bought a boxed meal and ate along with everyone else.
After finishing, they endured another three hours. Night fell completely, until at last the attendant's shout came ringing out:
"Shahejie Station! We've arrived at Shahejie Station!"
Shahejie Station was what would later become Mount Lu Station.
The cast and crew tumbled off the train in disarray. As the mountain breeze blew across them, the air felt both muggy and chilly. Straining his eyes under the dim platform lights, Chen Qi gazed into the distance, but a thick shroud of night obscured everything from view.
Vehicles were waiting to pick them up, and everyone piled into the automobiles in another round of chaos. Rather than a film crew, they resembled refugees fleeing a disaster. At last, around ten at night, they arrived at Mount Lu.
Chapter 37