In the year of Ji-Wei, deep within the Qin Chuan region. A steam whistle screamed hoarsely, cutting through the clamor of the platform, as a boxcar train laden with the sorrow of parting was ready to depart. Inside the carriage, it was already a sea of people; the air was thick with the stench of sweat, dry tobacco, and fermenting food, suffocating to the breath. The aisle was jammed with packages of all sizes, and even the luggage racks and the spaces beneath the seats were crammed with people, as if trying to burst the iron can open. Amidst this chaos, a burly youth forced his way out of the crowd. Wearing a cotton hat with earflaps, a stubborn wildness between his brows, he held his heavy luggage high, struggling to pry open the crowd, finally managing to snatch a spot by the window.
Chen Mo wiped the hot sweat from his forehead, straightened his crooked hat, squeezed out a smile for his family on the platform, and shouted, "Mom, Shuang, Lei, you all go back! I might be back in two months!"
On the platform, Mother Chen's eyes were red. She had been wiping away tears, but seeing her son's heartless demeanor, she stomped her foot in anger and scolded, "You brat! If you dare cause trouble in the countryside, I'll break your legs!"
His sister, Chen Shuang, tugged at her mother's hem, her eyes filled with worry as she instructed, "Brother, when you're out there alone, you must endure things. Don't be impulsive."
Eight-year-old Chen Lei, looking sturdy and naive, was held by his mother. He craned his neck and shouted, "Brother, Dad actually came too! He said real men don't regret their actions. He must be hiding somewhere watching you!"
Chen Mo paused, quickly searching the crowd along the line of sight, and indeed spotted a familiar figure standing with hands behind his back by a pillar. He chuckled and waved in that direction, "Alright, I know..."
Just then, the train body shuddered violently. Accompanied by the ear-piercing friction of wheels against rails, the train slowly began to move. Mother Chen anxiously grabbed the window, speaking rapidly, "Mom boiled tea eggs for you in the bag, remember to eat them on the way, don't let them spoil... and when you get to the North, put on that big coat immediately, don't freeze..."
"I remember, don't worry, Mom!" Chen Mo shouted back, but his voice was instantly swallowed by the rumbling of the wheels.
The platform receded rapidly, and the figures of his family gradually blurred. Chen Mo leaned out and waved vigorously until they were out of sight, then pulled himself back in. He reached into his satchel and touched the bag of round tea eggs, smiling wryly, "Good lord, she's afraid I'll starve on the way. There must be at least twenty."
As the train accelerated, several bouts of suppressed sobbing sounded in the carriage. It was a special era; people left their homes for the mountains and wilds, answering the call of ideals. Chen Mo looked around and found that there were only a dozen or so youths like him heading for the countryside. It was already the tail end of the movement; the massive scale of the past was gone, and most people were returning to the cities. As for him, he should have been sitting in a classroom preparing for the college entrance exam, but a sudden incident forced him onto this train.
"I just beat up a few hooligans who were harassing a girl, is that reason enough to be exiled to the countryside?" Chen Mo muttered, though he knew in his heart he had been a bit too heavy-handed. Those hooligans were either broken or crippled; the worst one almost lost his manhood, and he was said to be lying at home awaiting death. If his father hadn't had military merits to protect him, the matter wouldn't have been settled so easily. What chilled him most was that the girl he saved flatly denied it and refused to testify, which led to him being sent away in a hurry.
Having lived two lives, how could Chen Mo not understand the twists and turns involved? The girl was either threatened or paid off. But he did not regret it. If the road is uneven, someone will level it; if things are unfair, someone will manage them. Besides, the other side had drawn knives; if he hadn't fought with lethal force, the one lying down might have been him. As for studying, where could he not study? With the memories of his previous life, given the chance, he would rise to prominence sooner or later.
The smell of smoke and sweat in the carriage grew stronger, suffocatingly so. Chen Mo struggled to squeeze out of the crowd to find a ventilated spot, but accidentally ended up near the toilet. Before he could stand firm, a strange stench mixed of excrement, cold wind, and sour food hit him, nearly knocking him over.
"Damn, this place is intense."
Chen Mo wanted to retreat, but the crowd behind him was surging inward. With the path forward blocked and the path behind cut off, he could only brace himself to stay in this "gas chamber." However, there was one benefit: this palm-sized empty space by the toilet was his alone, relatively spacious. He simply took out two balls of cotton from his bag, plugged his nostrils and ears, and squatting suspended against the carriage wall with his luggage, closed his eyes to rest.
After an unknown time, the sky outside darkened. The sunset was like blood, dyeing the continuous distant mountains red. In a daze, a clear singing voice drilled into Chen Mo's ears.
"The mountain springs beyond the pass are clear and pure, the songs beyond the pass warm the heart..."
Chen Mo opened his eyes to see a group of university students gathered in the center of the carriage. A few female students were singing, accompanied by someone nearby, drawing cheers from the passengers. Having adapted to the surrounding stench, he took out a tea egg, peeled it, and began to eat. As he ate, his movements suddenly paused. In his peripheral vision, he noticed a "neighbor" had appeared in the empty space by the toilet.
It was a middle-aged man with a sallow complexion, squatting in the corner wolfing down food. In one hand he rolled a pancake, in the other he clutched a green onion, eating with a speed like a storm sweeping away clouds, his cheeks puffed high. Every swallow was accompanied by the bulging of blue veins on his forehead, as if he were eating the last meal of his life. Chen Mo swallowed his saliva watching him; the way he ate was truly like a starving ghost reincarnated.
At first glance, the man was disheveled, wearing a washed-out blue cloth shirt, his hands covered in calluses, looking exactly like a farmer from the fields. But Chen Mo's gaze hardened, and he suddenly felt something was wrong. His father came from a scout battalion, and Chen Mo had been influenced by this since childhood, developing a sharp eye for observing people. Added to this was the experience of living a second life, and he keenly caught the anomaly.
He discreetly examined the man's hands again. Those hands were half-hidden in his sleeves. Though rough and thick, the strange thing was—palms, backs, and even the gaps between fingers were uniformly covered with a thick layer of calluses, even smoothing out the palm prints.