Chapter Thirty-Six: A Special Berth

“Please, don’t.” Xu Chengjun quickly waved his hands. “I’m just about to leave, and I don’t even know which side Fudan’s gate faces.”

“Don’t worry, I know Professor Zhu Dongrun well,” Su Zhong comforted him. “He can’t stand pretentious, affected writing. What you have suits his taste.”

This man was the classic cold on the outside, warm on the inside. He used to criticize Xu Chengjun’s drafts the harshest, but later on, he was the one who helped Xu the most.

Strictness out of care, perhaps?

“Take this wine with you, drink it on the way—it’ll help pass the time!”

Liu Zuci suddenly shoved over, pushing a wine flask into Xu Chengjun’s hands. “Beijing is all abuzz with ‘obscure poetry’ now. Gu Cheng wrote, ‘The night has given me dark eyes,’ and he’s been fiercely criticized for it. Keep an eye out when you get to Shanghai; this trend is bound to reach there soon.”

“It’s not just obscure poetry,” Su Zhong scoffed. “‘People’s Literature’ just published Jiang Zilong’s ‘The Appointed Director Qiao Arrives on the Scene’—such a grand reputation! The avant-garde of reformist literature, so they say.”

“Tickets, please!” crackled the voice of a woman over the loudspeaker.

As Xu Chengjun was about to have his ticket checked, he heard Zhou Ming call out, “Don’t go imitating those students in Shanghai, acting all refined and dainty. Stand up for yourself when you need to, argue if you have to. We Anhui folks don’t shy away from a fight.”

Everyone turned to look at him, but Old Zhou didn’t even glance back, leading his group away.

That old rascal!

The rest glared after him in annoyance.

...

Hefei Station platform.

White steam from the locomotive rose through the cracks in the wooden canopy overhead. The rusty iron railings at the ticket gate stood sentry, and a ticket inspector in a blue khaki uniform snipped a neat triangular notch in Xu Chengjun’s stiff paper ticket with his brass-tipped punch.

Xu Chengjun paused for a moment.

He almost wanted to ask the inspector to clip another notch for him.

That tiny cut carried memories from his youth, before his journey through time—a long stretch of boyhood recollections.

Ah, nostalgia.

But before he could indulge in sentimental longing, the sudden crush of people entering the station instantly wiped the look from his face.

Men who looked like officials clutched briefcases under their arms;

Young women dressed as educated youth slung faded canvas bags over their shoulders, net bags holding aluminum lunchboxes—no doubt packed with pickles and cornbread by their mothers;

Men carrying bulging burlap sacks, the mouths of which revealed a few feet of floral fabric—rare goods, most likely obtained through favors.

When someone’s net bag snagged on a neighbor’s patched trousers, a voice instantly called out, “Comrade, take it slow!”—mingling with the hoarse “Tickets, please!” from the station broadcast.

Good grief.

It was unbelievably crowded!

Stop pushing!

The steel doors of the green Type 22 carriage were yanked open by the train attendant. In an instant, the waiting crowd surged forward like a tide, and Xu Chengjun was caught in the middle, tossed about like a stalk of straw.

Damn it, here goes nothing!

Gritting his teeth, he forced his way inside, finally squeezing in at the tail end.

Inside the carriage, the dark green metal seats still held the chill of the previous night. The window seats had already been claimed with enamel mugs.

Feet clad in army-green Liberation shoes crunched sunflower seed shells on the floor. Someone shoved a rope-tied wooden crate under the seat, its corner clanging against the metal frame.

“Make room, make room!” A man in a Zhongshan suit squeezed past, carrying a little girl with pigtails, a piece of fruit candy clutched in her hand.

No sooner had Xu Chengjun found his footing than he was jostled aside again.

He turned, ready to glare.

But when the little girl smiled at him, his expression instantly turned wry.

What a look of embarrassment.

Instinctively, he tried to find his assigned seat, ticket in hand, but quickly ran into trouble.

In those days, the Type 22 hard seat carriage was rated for 118 passengers, and seats ending in 0, 4, 5, or 9 were by the window. But with lax management back then, the train was usually over capacity by fifty percent or more.

So—

His seat was already taken.

A woman in her forties, munching sunflower seeds, had claimed it. When she saw him approach, she obligingly shifted her seat a little to the left.

“Don’t worry, young man. It’s not easy for anyone traveling—let’s squeeze in together!”

“Next time, remember to come early for a seat! I got here nearly an hour ahead,” she said, giving the seat a generous pat.

Xu Chengjun’s mouth twitched, but he sat down. Taking the train in those days was quite the spectacle!

Fine—he’d better thank the lady.

“It’s nothing! Sit, squeeze in! No need to stand on ceremony!”

“I’m from Anqing. Where are you from, young man?”

“I’m from Fengyang.”

“Oh, that’s a good place! Xiaogang Village has really made a name for itself lately!”

...

The small table between the hard seats was piled high with enamel mugs.

The lady had brought roasted sunflower seeds, and, ever hospitable, handed some out to those nearby, giving Xu Chengjun an extra handful.

She said, “Young man, you look spirited! You should eat more!”

See? In any era, a good-looking fellow always enjoys the benefits of his looks.

Who wouldn’t be dazzled by someone over six feet tall?

Suddenly, a commotion broke out. A railway worker in uniform walked by carrying a signal lantern, and from beneath the carriage came the clang of metal striking metal.

The steam locomotive began feeding coal, its chimney belching black smoke and sparks that cast flickering shadows across the platform.

An old woman by the window slid open the crescent-shaped pane, and the wind swept coal dust inside. Someone quickly raised a newspaper to shield their face.

Next to the bold headline “Reform and Opening Up,” a blurry footprint had been stamped by some unknown soul.

A snack vendor pushed a tin cart down the aisle, the axles creaking as she shouted, “Orange soda! Twenty-five cents a bottle!” Her cries mingled with the wailing of a baby in the rear and the distant, lingering whistle of a freight train.

When the train lurched into motion, everyone swayed forward.

Someone hurriedly grabbed the iron armrest of the seat ahead, the red paint worn and mottled to the bare metal beneath.

Outside the window, the Hefei Station sign slowly slid past, and at the far end of the platform, the slogan “Grasp the Revolution, Promote Production” loomed faintly through the morning mist atop a water tower.

Inside the carriage, a woman in a blue cloth shirt was striking a match to light the coal stove.

The corn porridge in the aluminum pot burbled, its steam mingling with the carriage’s thick mix of sweat, coal smoke, and cheap tobacco, all carried along by the rhythmic clatter of the green train as it headed east to Shanghai.

...

Xu Chengjun had bought a direct train ticket, but in 1979, the Hefei-Nanjing railway had yet to be completed, so the express to Shanghai had to detour via Bengbu, naturally making the trip longer. The conductor said it would take eleven hours.

The lady next to him scoffed, “Just sit tight—if we’re not delayed by at least two hours, we’ll never get to Shanghai Beach!”

...

Inside, people were packed together. Three-person seats now held four, and that was the lucky side—across from him...

There were five and a half people, adults and children alike!

A man who looked rather official remarked, “This train’s not bad at all—not too crowded! I’ll have to get tickets for this one next time.”

Good heavens!

Not crowded, he says.

Meanwhile, in the aisles, people squatted, sat on folding stools, perched on newspapers, or simply stood.

In short, every inch was full.

Strangest of all, there were even people lying under the seats.

Which seat, you ask?

Why, right under Xu Chengjun’s own.

The lady said that was actually a prized spot—quite nice, really. Ordinary folks couldn’t even compete for it without some real skill!

To be able to lie down, and keep cool under there—what could be better!

Xu Chengjun was amazed.

But as for lying on the floor himself? No way, never!

After sitting for two hours,

He began to marvel at the ingenuity of people in this era, sneaking glances beneath the seat to see if any “berths” were free.

Not for any particular reason.

Xu the educated youth just wanted to experience the life of this age!

Experience above all!

Youth is blameless!