Chapter 37: I Only Like to Serve the People

“Rumble, rumble!”

“Rumble, rumble!”

Under the blazing sun, a green train sped across the vast plains at a hundred kilometers per hour—yes, speeding.

Chen Qi was quite satisfied. Although green trains had become fairly common, steam locomotives had yet to be retired. If luck was against him, he might end up on one, crawling along at fifty kilometers per hour. Well, he’d just have to endure it.

At this moment, it was the second day since his departure.

He stood in the passageway connecting two carriages, his body swaying with the clanking sounds, breathing in the relatively fresh air. In his previous life, he had ridden green trains often during his student days and was quite accustomed to them. But life was unpredictable; some things no one could foresee—like a little child suddenly needing to relieve himself...

Midsummer, green train, sweat and foot odor, shouting, excrement—capped with a hat!

The entire crew of “Love at Lushan,” nearly one hundred and eighty people, had already sent the photography and art teams ahead by plane with precious equipment. The rest had no choice but to take the train. A plane ticket cost over sixty yuan; who could afford that?

“Xiao Chen? Hiding here, huh?”

Tang Guoqiang came over, probably unable to bear the smell either. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and expertly handed one to Chen Qi.

“No, no, I don’t smoke!”

“You’re this old and don’t smoke? Come on, have one!”

“Really, I don’t need it. It’s bad for health and addictive.”

“Addictive? I’ve been smoking for over ten years and never got addicted…”

Tang Guoqiang was an old smoker. Lighting his cigarette, he exhaled a cloud of smoke and said, “First time experiencing life on a film crew, right? It’s always like this. You’ll get used to it. Meetings are much better. Last time I went to Shanghai for a meeting, I flew.”

“You’ve flown before?”

“Of course! On the plane, they had everything. They gave me five packs of Zhonghua cigarettes and even served Maotai!”

“Only one bottle?”

“One bottle. I finished it at the hotel. You’re still young; you’ll have plenty of chances to fly.”

“Yeah, I’m still young.”

Chen Qi smiled.

It was early August now. He had arrived at the end of March, four months had passed without him realizing it. He had written a screenplay, earned 800 yuan, and set up a tea stall—that was all he had done.

His original idea was simply to make life a little better.

Fly on planes, smoke Zhonghua, drink Maotai, be surrounded by beauties... If life were to be described crudely, that was the extent of it. Of course, having come through such a strange journey, he naturally had other thoughts.

Tang Guoqiang smoked three cigarettes in a row, carefully pocketing the pack.

---

The two of them weaved through the tangle of knees, shoes, and heads sticking out everywhere, returning to their seats where Wang Haowei, Gong Xue, and Zhang Jinling were all dozing off.

They wouldn’t arrive at Lushan until nightfall; Chen Qi couldn’t stay awake and leaned back, drifting into a daze.

After a while, he opened his eyes to find Gong Xue just waking up. Their gazes met briefly. A little embarrassed, she avoided his eyes. Everyone was drowsy; only the two of them were awake and not very familiar. Should they talk or not?

She was an Introvert, he an Extrovert. People might be lost at sea, but words must not be dropped.

“Did you visit Lushan when you were sent down to the countryside in Jiangxi?” he asked.

“No, I was at Yangqiao Commune in Fenyi County, far from Lushan.”

“I’m a bit better off. I was sent to the suburbs of Beijing. The policy was like that: those who went later were sent to the suburbs, while those earlier were sent to Northeast China or Inner Mongolia. That was real hardship. You know Liang Xiaosheng from the Literature Department? He was with the Heilongjiang Production and Construction Corps, carrying lumber. With his small frame, can you imagine?”

“Don’t say that. He must have endured a lot.”

Gong Xue smiled softly.

“Of course, it was tough. The Northeast is all vast plains and primeval forests. Who knows what’s hidden inside? Leopards, tigers, even ‘bir’!”

“What’s ‘bir’?”

“Bir is a man-bear, bigger than ordinary bears, covered with knobbly flesh. It walks on two legs like a person. You think wild boars are fierce? They can’t compare. If a man-bear catches a wild boar, it tears it in two in a flash!”

“Ah?”

Gong Xue’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really? That fierce?”

“Of course. The man-bear is the king of the Northeast forest. Wherever it appears, there’s usually some rare treasure… or a ‘big zongzi.’”

“Big zongzi?”

“Zombies!”

“Zombies??”

“Monsters!”

“Monsters???”

Gong Xue blinked, her eyes sparkling with excitement. In over twenty years of life, her worldview had never been this stirred. She asked, “Are there really monsters in this world?”

“I shouldn’t say too much. If I talk more, they’ll accuse me of feudal superstition and shoot me,” Chen Qi said.

“Oh, don’t be so secretive. Be honest in life!” Tang Guoqiang suddenly interjected from the side.

“Train rides are boring to death. Why don’t you tell us some stories?” Zhang Jinling said.

“Xiao Chen, do you have any evidence for these tales?” Wang Haowei asked.

---

“No, when did you guys wake up?” Chen Qi shook his head like a rattle, “I naturally trust you all, but walls have ears. We can talk more in private. Besides, I just revealed too much; the secrets of heaven are unfathomable. No more, no more!”

He spoke mysteriously, and no one pressed further.

Wang Haowei, however, was quite intrigued. “Xiao Chen, I find your knowledge quite eclectic. You dabble in all kinds of strange things but seem less interested in the current popular ideological trends, like Liu Xinwu’s ‘Head Teacher’ or Lu Xinhua’s ‘Scars.’ Many are writing similar novels now.”

“Oh, I’m not very fond of those kinds of novels.”

“Why not?”

“If I say more, I won’t stop. Anyway, I prefer the vulgar—ah, pardon me, I mean popular literature.”

“Don’t you think popular writing is shallow?”

“What’s shallow? What’s profound? Who defines shallow? Who defines profound? I only remember one thing: literary creation must serve the people!”

Chen Qi suddenly became serious. “If I must create, I prefer to write things that the broad masses enjoy and that serve the people.”

“Things the broad masses enjoy…”

Wang Haowei nodded. “That’s not wrong. If you get inspired, just write. But I warn you, most journals now pursue serious literature, emphasizing ideological depth and literary quality. If you write popular stuff, you might not even get published.”

“I’m just writing casually. You flatter me.”

Talking like this made the journey feel quicker.

By evening, the attendant pushed a cart with a creak, piled high with aluminum lunchboxes. Inside was a dish of meat and vegetables over rice, costing thirty-five cents—no ticket needed.

Indeed, in this era, eating boxed meals on the train under forty cents required no ticket.

The more well-off went to the dining car where meals were freshly prepared by a master chef. It was said that once, a chef who had worked at Cuihua Building in Beijing whimsically made several Western dishes on the train—Russian, French soups, fried cream rolls—everyone was amazed.

Chen Qi ordered a boxed meal and ate with the others.

After finishing, they endured another three hours until full darkness fell, finally hearing the attendant announce, “Shahejie Station arrived!”

Shahejie Station—that would later become Lushan Station.

The crew disembarked in chaotic fashion. A breeze from the foot of the mountain was both stifling and cool. Chen Qi peered through the dim light into the misty night, seeing nothing.

A vehicle came to pick them up. They climbed aboard in the same disorder, looking less like a film crew and more like refugees. Finally, past ten o’clock at night, they arrived at Lushan.

(The end...)