As the truck raced the dusk into the heart of the Greater Khingan Range, Lian Youming felt himself go completely calm.
All along the way there was nothing but the endless, tangled snow forest and the towering mountains rolling on and on. Most of the dense primeval woods were still untouched, and there was no shortage of signs that wild animals roamed them.
"Once you're inside these mountains, you do exactly as the forest farm tells you, and best not go out at night." The driver was a talkative sort, a half-smoked cigarette clamped between his lips; he could talk and blow smoke at the same time. "Winter especially. It's not only people who go hungry—the beasts in these mountains go hungry too. You could step outside for a piss and be carried off before you knew it."
Lian Youming nodded.
He'd heard his father talk about it. Back when they went to aid the Great Northern Wilderness, this vast black land had been soaked through with the blood and tears of the older generation. It was because those people had feared no hardship and struggled on that this fertile soil had ever been opened up.
At last, in the final moment before dark, the truck reached Tahe.
Lian Youming thanked the driver with real gratitude, then hurried off toward the educated youth point.
A heavy snow had just fallen; night came early and the streets were bleak and empty. By the light of the lamps on every side, Lian Youming braced against the howling wind, wandered a while through the dusk, and found the place.
His hands and feet felt frozen stiff.
When he knocked on the closed door, he heard a footstep inside.
With a creak, the wooden door of the educated youth point was pulled open, and a wave of warm air rushed into his face.
In that instant Lian Youming felt as though he were bathing in a spring breeze.
Before he could speak, a very warm greatcoat was thrown over him and wrapped around his body.
"You brat, I've been waiting half the day for you. Your parents phoned to say you'd be sent down to the countryside out here. I figured it'd be about today. But everyone else arrived, and there was no sign of you."
The speaker was a middle-aged woman in a chestnut-brown turtleneck sweater, her belly slightly rounded, a long braid hanging down her back. Behind her burned a stove of red-glowing charcoal, with potatoes and chestnuts roasting on top.
Lian Youming was startled to see her too. "Auntie Shen? What are you doing here?"
The middle-aged woman laughed out loud. "Didn't expect that, did you? Your Auntie Shen is the head of the educated youth office now—otherwise, with your mother's temperament, would she ever have let you come? Ai, hurry in and talk."
Lian Youming was pulled inside and sat down by the stove.
Her name was Shen Qinghong. She wasn't a comrade-in-arms of his parents, but her husband was his father's brother in life and death—the kind who had taken a bullet for him on the battlefield. The two families lived far apart, yet their closeness had never thinned; every holiday they sent each other things from home, as close as could be.
And she came from a family of scholars. Years ago she had come from Shanghai to aid the Great Northern Wilderness, and had settled here ever since.
Shen Qinghong seemed to have been waiting a long while. She fetched a basin of hot water, then poured a bowl of brown sugar water. "You must be frozen through. Wash up quick."
"Auntie Shen, don't trouble yourself, I can do it." Lian Youming's eyelid twitched; he wouldn't dare put this elder to work. If his parents ever got word of it, he'd be in for a beating. And seeing the shape of Auntie Shen's belly, she was plainly pregnant, which made him all the more careful.
Only after he'd washed the windblown dust from his face did Auntie Shen ask with a smile, "How did you come so late, child?"
Lian Youming smiled wryly. "I got off at Harbin and had to hitch a ride on a truck."
Shen Qinghong scolded him with a laugh, half exasperated. "That's what you get for not paying attention. Worried me to death."
As she spoke she brought out several aluminum lunch boxes and set them on the stove.
"All saved for you. Eat up—two boxes of pork and scallion dumplings, and a box of pork rib soup. It's gone a bit cold, so heat it up first."
Lian Youming took off his hat, revealing a head of crisp short hair, and his already rugged features gained a touch of briskness and vigor. In the firelight one could see that a rather inconspicuous red mole had always sat at the very center of his brow; now, in the red glow, it stood out clearly, red as a drop of blood.
Unlike the bearded faces typical of men from Guanzhong, Lian Youming had thick brows slanting upward, tiger eyes like knives, and cheekbones hard and sharply cut. Though a little coarse, he gave off a fierce, intense masculine air.
"Your Uncle Qin has been by several times already," Shen Qinghong said with a smile, reaching for a half-knitted sweater. "Oh, that's right—did your father not tell you? Your uncle is the manager of the forest farm now."
Lian Youming was eating his dumplings with relish; at that he started. "Don't tell me it's the forest farm I've been sent down to?"
Shen Qinghong said, "No."
Only then did Lian Youming relax. "Good."
Shen Qinghong rolled her eyes. "That scared of your Uncle Qin?"
Lian Youming, his mouth full of dumplings, mumbled, "Not scared. Any fool could figure out that Uncle and my dad are the same breed. If I went there, he'd have me on forced-march drills every single day."
Shen Qinghong smiled. "Don't just eat the food, drink some soup."
At the end she added earnestly, "Being sent down to the countryside is one thing, but you've been a born student since you were small—don't let your studies slide. When Xiuxiu comes back from vacation, I'll have her bring you some materials. Remember to study hard in the mountains."
Lian Youming grunted. "I know, Auntie Shen. I was planning to keep studying anyway."
Shen Qinghong's brows and eyes softened; her smile had a special grace. "That's good. Your mother has been worrying about this all along. When I have a spare moment I'll tell her."
While the two were chatting, from outside came the roar of a motorcycle racing nearer fast, then a muffled voice, hoarse and low, as though something were stuck in the throat: "He's not here yet?"
"He's here, we're just talking." Shen Qinghong's eyes glinted slyly. "The boy says it's a good thing he wasn't sent down to your forest farm."
"You brat, I haven't got the spare time to torment you. I'm so busy I wish I could split myself in two."
The door was pushed open and a man in a fur-collared army greatcoat walked in. He looked refined, not like a soldier but like a desk man. Yet half his face was grim and cold, and the other half bore a shocking field of scars—burn scars, it seemed—and one eye was a flat gray-white, as if covered in white mist.
Seeing him, Lian Youming shivered, then put on a fawning smile. "Uncle!"
The newcomer's single eye swiveled and took him in from head to toe. "Don't think you'll get any special treatment here with me. Whatever the others can do, you'll do too. And if you dare slack off or play tricks, you'll find out what I'm like."
Lian Youming wanted to weep but had no tears. Without the slightest hesitation he said gravely, "Don't worry. I'd even shovel manure and turn compost."
Unexpectedly the man raised an eyebrow. "Shoveling manure and turning compost—hell, that's the women's work. You think that's your turn? Out at the forest farm, someone tops up your essential supplies once a month, and everything else you provide for yourself..."
Auntie Shen couldn't stand it anymore. "Old Qin, what are you doing? Don't frighten the boy."
So this was Auntie Shen's husband, Qin Yuhu, a veteran of the War to Resist US Aggression and Aid Korea.
"This frightens him? Is he a quail? Come off it. I've heard this kid took on seven or eight thugs with knives, all by himself." Qin Yuhu had been keeping a straight face, but as he spoke he started to laugh. "Good boy. All that size wasn't wasted."
He patted Lian Youming's shoulder and said gravely, "All right, enough nonsense. You won't be spending the night in town, that's certain. The forest farm you've been sent down to is a fair way off. Those educated youths are all traveling by horse cart; they're probably still on the road. Good timing—I'll run you out now, maybe you can catch them."
Shen Qinghong said worriedly, "It's so late. Why not let him stay at your place."
But Lian Youming had already wolfed down the dumplings, barely warm as they were, gulped a mouthful of the meat soup, and sent it all down in one lump.
"Uncle, let's go."
"One nest of hotheads." Shen Qinghong didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and simply said no more, only a few parting words: "Go slow on the road. Whenever you want something to eat, come by on your break—Auntie will cook you anything, delicacies and all."
With that she turned and went out to the back yard, and came back with an armful of food and a quilt.
Lian Youming hurriedly waved his hands in refusal.
Qin Yuhu kept his face straight. "Take it all. Once winter sets in, it's easy enough to get into those mountains and hard to get back down. Take care of yourself at the farm, don't go doing anything foolish, and follow the organization's arrangements."
Lian Youming smiled helplessly. "Uncle, don't worry. I know all that."
Outside the door stood an army-green motorcycle with a sidecar.
Lian Youming just slung his luggage aboard and climbed in.
He had truly come fast and gone fast.
As for Qin Yuhu's manner, Lian Youming didn't take it to heart. Maybe that was simply the temper of the older generation. Especially the men of his father's generation, all demobilized soldiers who had been through the fires of war and waded through mountains of corpses and seas of blood. What they hated most was special treatment, and they valued honor above life itself.
And precisely because they cared so much, they demanded all the more of a person.
But the moment he got in, Lian Youming regretted it.
Sitting in the sidecar against the cold wind, he nearly got blown into a gibbering idiot.
The wind cut like a thousand knives. Even wrapped in a scarf with a mask on, Lian Youming's mouth was skewed and his eyes squinted shut, his whole face numb.
Seeing Qin Yuhu charge forward without letup, Lian Youming pressed the scarf to his face, now nearly frozen stiff, and squirmed as if on pins and needles.
Qin Yuhu's hearing was astonishing and his voice was loud, and he talked without stopping the whole way: "The educated youths at the farm—apart from those whose families settled in the Northeast—have basically all gone back to the city by now. Your batch probably won't stay long either before you head back..."
At first Lian Youming assumed Qin Yuhu was an iron-blooded tough who scoffed at the cold, but as he listened, his tongue got thick and his words came out slurred. So he was cold after all.
That chase went on for over ten li before they finally caught up with the group of educated youths heading into the mountains.
Lian Youming huddled in the sidecar, the corner of his mouth twitching, frost and snow clinging to his brows and lashes, his mask frozen into a block of ice. Looking at that crowd of educated youths trudging along the road, he nearly burst into tears.
This fellow Qin was ruthless.
He turned his stiff neck to look. Qin Yuhu's mouth was twitching from the cold too, but he still kept that straight face of his.
"Who goes there?"
Hearing the noise, several militiamen came over, rifles slung on their shoulders.
Qin Yuhu went up and explained the situation, and only then let Lian Youming down.
The educated youths sent down alongside Lian Youming numbered about twenty or thirty, every one of them blue in the face with cold and sniveling, not much better off than he was.
"All right, you walk the rest of the way with them. Remember, from now on you're comrades-in-arms; learn to share joy and hardship... When your holiday comes, I'll come and fetch you."
Leaving that one sentence behind, Qin Yuhu hurried back down the mountain without pause.
Lian Youming wiped his nose, and looking at those strange, young faces, fell in with the group of his own accord.
Now they were on the road into the mountains. Several donkey carts and horse carts loaded with supplies went ahead, the educated youths followed behind, and militiamen guarded them on every side.
Fortunately the rest of the journey wasn't long.
Around eight or nine at night, the group finally reached the forest farm.
No sooner had they found their footing than snow began to fall again. At first it was only a scattering, but in an instant it was blotting out the sky, coming on fierce.
Without a moment's delay, everyone quickly found their quarters—two rooms for the women, four for the men.
Lian Youming was put in with four others. By the time they dragged their weary bodies over, the earthen kang was already heated through.
So tired they seemed to lack even the strength to speak, everyone fell asleep the moment they lay down.
...
The next day, first light.
In the dorm, Lian Youming opened his eyes and heard the sound of someone pissing in the corner.
"Oh, hell, come on, can't you go piss outside? The stink in here!"
Someone complained.
"You think I don't want to? Take a look outside—the snow's buried up to your calves... Besides, isn't there a piss bucket in here?"
At that, someone flung off the bedding and shot upright, cursing in exasperation: "Damn you, that's the water bucket! Did what the militiamen said last night go in one ear and out the other? We're supposed to fetch our own water, or else it freezes solid."
"That's not my fault either. It's too cold out. Your piss freezes into an icicle—don't want to get frozen stuck halfway through."
"Then what about the other business?"
"Other business? Brother, a shit is a shit—don't put on airs like an educated man. If it comes to that, take a stick with you; if it freezes, you can knock on it and hear it ring. Say, where are you fellows from? My brother and I are both from Beijing. I'm Yu Wen, my brother's Yu Wu."
"Shanghai. Wu Kui."
"Tianjin. Liu Dabiao."
...
Listening to the chatter around him, Lian Youming closed his eyes in some helplessness.
After the group had jabbered on for a while: "There's one more of us?"
Seeing it was his turn, Lian Youming answered, "Xijing. Lian Youming."
Seeing that sleep was out of the question, he simply got up briskly, folded his quilt, sorted out his luggage, and pushed the door open.
Looking out, beneath a gray sky, all was ice and snow.
The snow lay several feet deep, and in every direction reigned a dead silence.
While the sky was still not fully light, Lian Youming found a shovel and began quietly, gently clearing the snow outside the door.
"Brother Lian, could I ask you a favor?"
Suddenly a head poked out from inside the dorm—a thin, frail young man wearing thick black-rimmed glasses, with soft, fair skin, like a little scholar.
"What is it?"
Lian Youming remembered his name was Wu Kui.
Wu Kui said, a little embarrassed, "I need to take a dump. Could you come with me?"
"Sure."
Lian Youming didn't refuse. In fact, by age he was a few years younger than Wu Kui; he was simply tall and strongly built, a good six feet, standing out like a crane among chickens in a crowd.
Wu Kui brightened at that and hurried into his clothes, squeezing out through the crack in the door.
Looking at the other's frail frame, Lian Youming genuinely feared the wind would blow him away.
As the two walked toward the latrine, Lian Youming suddenly noticed that in an open patch of the forest farm, a small hunchbacked old man stood in the snow practicing tai chi, his hands moving slow and unhurried, like someone pushing a millstone.
"Are there other people here besides us?"
Wu Kui had his hands tucked in his sleeves and his neck drawn in. Following Lian Youming's gaze, he couldn't help saying, "Leave him alone. Best to keep your distance from those people."
"Why?" Lian Youming was puzzled.
Wu Kui seemed to know something of the inside story, and hesitated: "You don't know? Some farms are laogai farms. Some of the people in them may have come decades ago, their identities unclear. Anyway, we just do our own jobs."
Lian Youming understood at once.
"Tai chi?"
He looked at the old man a few more times.
Wu Kui looked too, and seeing the old man's hand work weak and listless, he curled his lip. "What kind of kung fu is that? I'd say he'd have trouble swatting a mosquito."
The old man had white hair and beard and wore old clothes—black jacket, black trousers, black shoes, black socks, black from head to toe. A long face with sparse brows, a hawk nose, and knife-sharp eyes—nature had given him a fierce look.
But as Lian Youming watched the man's hands now cradle emptiness, now sweep it around, the more he looked the stranger it seemed. It was cold now; as the two spoke, their breath turned to frost, white vapor spilling from mouth and nose—yet the old man seemed not to breathe at all.
There was something strange about this.
Chapter 4