Chapter Two: The Journey Home

As we neared the school, my father suddenly remembered something. "Hey, that's right, Yuan Jie, you probably don't recognize Erwa anymore, do you?"

The man in the front seat turned around and flashed a smile. "True enough. When I used to run around the mountains with the young master, we were only six or seven. It's been seventeen years since we last met."

Six or seven years old? Erwa? I searched my memory, and soon recalled exactly who this person was.

"Liu, the second fool from the Liu family? You're Liu the second fool!" I was so excited I nearly jumped up in the car.

"Haha, I thought the young master wouldn't remember me."

Mentioning Liu the second fool brought back memories of my happy childhood. Back then, we played together almost every day—catching fish in the river, running through the hills, those were mere trifles. Stealing things and spying on newlywed women bathing were certainly not beyond us. My father always spoiled me, and whenever we got into trouble, it was my second aunt who would drag us both to the bench and spank our behinds. I remember this kid was especially daring—he’d do anything, brave to the point of recklessness, reckless to the point of foolishness. But good times didn’t last. Later, I heard his parents had died, and soon after, Liu the second fool left our village as well. I never expected he’d turn up now as my father’s assistant.

Looking closely, I noticed that the naïveté and brute courage he once had were gone, replaced with a sharp, almost cunning wit. We reminisced endlessly about old times, but we both knew things could never be like they were. His constant "young master" made me feel a pang of melancholy.

The big restaurant affair was certainly not as simple as my father claimed. After getting out of the car, it seemed he and Erwa planned to leave Yanjing immediately.

My father and I were men of few words when we parted; it was always straightforward, and I never felt anything special. But this time, for some reason, a faint worry began to stir within me. The five people we met in the private room were strange, obviously not involved in any legitimate business.

"Father, are we still going to pay respects at Grandpa’s grave together?" I asked as we parted. What I really wanted to say was, "Take care of yourself."

"Together," my father nodded, then got back into the taxi.

Erwa seemed to notice my concern and patted my shoulder. "Don’t worry, the old master will be fine. No need to be anxious."

Hearing this, I couldn’t help but laugh. "Your Yanjing dialect is pretty fluent."

"In front of a university student like you, I can’t afford to lose face." With that, Erwa winked at me and climbed into the car as well.

Though I was worried for my father, he was a seasoned veteran and probably wouldn’t run into much trouble. On the contrary, after drinking with him and seeing my childhood friend again, my mood was rather good.

There was less than a month before we received our diplomas. Old Tan had been busy too, and once his own tasks were done, he dragged me along to shop for mountain gear. Good heavens, the trip hadn’t even started and we’d already spent twenty or thirty thousand just on equipment. Fortunately, Tan’s family was well-off, and I wasn’t short on money either. Our plan was half tourism, half adventure, so better equipment meant better safety.

We’d already picked a few places online and planned the itinerary. Once we got our diplomas, we’d first head to Chengdu—mainly for the food, with the local beauties as a bonus. Then we’d go to my hometown to pay respects at my grandfather’s grave and revisit the place where I grew up. And then the real journey would begin. Plenty of online guides described the mountains and rivers of Bashu; we chose the most remote and challenging spots as our destinations.

Soon, the diplomas were in hand. After smashing everything in the dorm that could be smashed, Tan and I shouldered our backpacks and boarded a flight to Chengdu Shuangliu Airport.

Arriving in Chengdu, Tan, used to the dry northern climate, quickly began to feel unwell. Everyone knows the Chengdu Plain is a giant basin surrounded by mountains; in summer, it’s unbearably humid and hot. During our days in Chengdu, Tan’s clothes were never dry.

"With all that sweat, are you sure you’re not kidney-deficient?" I teased him one night as we wandered down Jinli Snack Street.

"Bah! Sweating means I’ve got a healthy excretory system." Tan wiped the sweat from his brow as he chewed on a spicy skewer. "Damn, Chengdu is a great place—delicious food, women everywhere. Why don’t we..."

"Hey, don’t try anything shady. If you bring bad luck, you won’t be joining me to visit my grandfather." I knew exactly what was on his mind and was prepared. But Tan was cunning, so to keep him from straying, after two days in Chengdu, I dragged him onto a coach bound for Dazhou.

We’d flown out of Yanjing, and Chengdu was a flat plain, so Tan’s impression of Sichuan was limited to spicy hotpot and humidity. Only when we boarded the coach did he finally see the lush and majestic mountains of Bashu.

Under the blazing sun, the mountains stretched endlessly, a sea of green filling the eyes. The Sichuan mountains are steep, and their ridges run in peculiar directions; gazing around, you feel surrounded, like an ant searching for a way out of a mountainous labyrinth. Tan was stunned, while I felt a sense of returning to the embrace of the mountains. For a long time, neither of us spoke.

My hometown is in Sanhui Town, Qu County, Dazhou. They call it a town, but I barely ever visited it as a child. Sichuan’s cities are shaped by geography—built either in valleys or carved out of mountains. My home is far from the town; not to mention an hour by boat, just traversing the mountain where my village sits would take at least half a day.

The place is called Sanhui because it’s where three major rivers converge: the Zhou River and the Ba River join to form the Quxian River, which stretches for thousands of miles. The mountains are towering, the waters crystal clear. Around the time of the war and the early days of New China, Sanhui thrived thanks to its geography and flourishing river transport. Back then, factories crowded the town, but with the rise of road transport, its prosperity faded. I never cared much for any of that. To me, home was just those mountains and the shimmering waves in the valleys.

Grandfather’s memorial day was in three days. My father said there were hardly any people left in the village, but he had someone tidy up our old house, so Tan and I didn’t have to worry about lodging. The only thing that bothered me was that I couldn’t reach my father’s mobile. His phone was practically useless—never on for more than five days a year. But as long as he was fine, I figured he’d make it to the village before us.

The journey wore Tan out completely. When we finally reached Sanhui Town, he thought we’d arrived.

"Oh my God, I thought the difficulty of Sichuan roads was ancient history. Turns out even traveling by car is exhausting. The roads here could double as cotton looms." Tan hobbled off the bus, rubbing his backside.

"You were boasting about mountain adventures—this is just the beginning. Let me tell you, we still have to take a boat and a motorcycle. All three rivers are swollen now, so after the boat, we’ll probably have to hike up the mountain." I said this as I bought two bowls of cold jelly and some baked flatbread.

"What? Damn, are you trying to kill me? We just spent six hours on a coach!" Tan plopped down on the ground.

"Stop complaining. Let’s hurry up and try to reach the village before dark."

Tan saw I was eager to get home, so he picked himself up and took the flatbread from me. "Fine, let’s go. But I’m telling you now—when we get to your village, you’re in charge of cooking."

"My hometown isn’t the northern wilderness; you won’t starve to death," I replied.

We joked as we continued on our way. Sure enough, the river had risen. I’d wanted Tan to see what real crystal-clear waves looked like, but when he saw the river, he thought he’d reached the Yellow River. We spent ages at the dock bargaining, and after paying five hundred, the boatman finally agreed to take us across.

Once aboard, Tan fell unusually silent. The dock was in the town center, right at the confluence of the three rivers. After we set out, we soon entered the Ba River, where the channel narrowed and the mountains grew taller.

"Damn, Yuan, you weren't exaggerating. These mountains are really high—and look at that forest..."

Seeing this northern boy’s amazement, the boatman commented, "These mountains are nothing. Later, you won’t even see the peaks. Too bad, though."

I noticed he had more to say, so I handed him a cigarette. "What’s so unfortunate?"

He lit up. "Back in the day, everything relied on river transport. The mandarins grown on the mountain could be shipped out. Now, it’s all trucks. Folks from the mountain villages have moved to town. Only tourists like you come this way now."

"Oh, I’m heading home," I replied in the local dialect.

"Ah, a fellow villager!" The boatman seemed embarrassed, probably realizing he’d overcharged us earlier.

Seeing him about to pull out money, I stopped him quickly. "Uncle, it’s fine. With the water so high, you’re doing us a favor. Without you, I wouldn’t make it home tonight."

He smiled sheepishly and asked which village I was from. I told him Hui Ping Village. Upon hearing this, his face changed instantly.

"What? You two are going to Hui Ping Village now?"