Chapter One: The Southbound Train

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On a snowy evening in January 1990, Beijing was swept by flurries as the loudspeaker on the platform announced: “Train T47 to Guangzhou is about to depart. All staff, please prepare for departure.” With a bruised face, Jiang Fan hurriedly arrived, catching the train at the very last second before the attendant closed the door.

He was just over twenty, about 175 centimeters tall, with a lean frame, wearing a patched cotton jacket and carrying an old travel bag. After boarding, he pressed himself against the door, hunched his head, and breathed heavily onto the frost-covered glass. Wiping a small clear patch with his palm, he peered outside, searching for the old man who had just beaten him into this sorry state.

The crowd on the platform surged back and forth, but the old man was nowhere to be seen.

As the train whistled and began its journey, Li Wine Jug, who couldn’t bear scenes of farewell, stepped out from behind a pillar. He was over fifty, with a head of white hair, a bulbous nose, sunken cheeks, and a face etched with the hardships of time and labor.

Watching the train disappear into the distance, his eyes brimmed with tears as he muttered to himself, “How could such a kind and outstanding child end up with such misfortune?”

Just yesterday, Jiang Fan had been a model student admired by all, only half a year from graduation. But after an accident, his reputation was ruined—he was branded as morally corrupt and expelled from school as a social outcast.

With his academic future cut off, the only path left for Jiang Fan was to venture into society.

His mentor, Li Wine Jug, who loved him like a son, was furious and heartbroken when he learned the truth behind the incident. He struck Jiang Fan across the face more than a dozen times, finally rousing his discouraged apprentice from despair.

After scraping together some travel money from the neighbors, Li Wine Jug handed Jiang Fan an envelope. “Your senior apprentice left the army last year and went to Dongguan. Here’s the address. Go find him. Prove yourself there—live like a man.”

Though the New Year was approaching, tickets to Guangzhou were nearly impossible to get. The train was already severely overcrowded, yet more passengers boarded at every stop and few got off. Every corner—the seats, aisles, luggage racks, washing stations, even the toilets—was packed with people.

At one in the morning, after standing for six hours, Jiang Fan squeezed into the drafty space between train cars. He took out a cigarette, managed only two puffs before the train arrived at Handan Station. Seeing the sea of people about to board, he knew he wouldn’t be able to smoke in peace, so he reluctantly stubbed out his cigarette and put it back in the pack.

Jiang Fan’s family was extremely poor. He had learned to be responsible from an early age and was diligent and studious, always at the top of his class. Every year he was named an exemplary student, and with money raised by the entire village, he gained admission to a prestigious university.

He’d picked up smoking from his mentor, Li Wine Jug, during his first year of college while working part-time.

Li Wine Jug hailed from Cangzhou in Hebei province, apprenticed to a renowned master of the Northern School of martial arts. He possessed impressive skills but was exceptionally unattractive, had remained single his whole life, and had no hobby other than drinking cheap spirits, earning him his nickname.

The two met three years ago when Jiang Fan, working to support himself, found Li Wine Jug drunk and passed out in the snow. Out of kindness, Jiang Fan helped him to shelter and gave him his own patched jacket for warmth.

Deeply moved after sobering up, Li Wine Jug accepted him as his last disciple.

Jiang Fan had endured three winters and summers of relentless training: horse stances, plum blossom poles, and hauling coal for his master. Though his body still appeared somewhat thin due to years of undernourishment, his muscles had become solid and his strength greatly increased.

His skin gradually tanned, shedding the scholarly air of a bookworm, and his whole spirit improved.

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Looking at the cigarettes his master had given him, Jiang Fan began to miss that grumpy old man.

As soon as the attendant opened the doors, the waiting crowd surged into the train in a chaotic wave. Passengers with hard seats, fearing people would climb in through the windows, had closed them early.

In the crush, a girl stood out like a crane among chickens—about 165 centimeters tall, wearing a white trench coat and a red scarf, her presence strikingly distinct from everyone else.

Though not a peerless beauty, she was certainly “pretty” by any standard—her lively, large eyes suggested not only charm but also a clever mind.

For a woman, beauty could often serve as a handy passport, but for these desperate travelers jostling to board the train, it lacked any real advantage. Amid the crowd, the fragile girl was buffeted helplessly, and if nothing unexpected happened, she certainly wouldn’t be able to get on.

Jiang Fan found her appearance pleasing and felt a strange affection surge within him. Tightening his grip on the handrail by the door, he leaned out and stretched his hand towards her. “Here, let me help you. The train’s about to leave.”

Hearing someone call to her and seeing a hand extended in front of her, the girl didn’t think twice—like grabbing a lifeline, she quickly clung to Jiang Fan’s hand.

Bracing himself, Jiang Fan pulled her—and her fashionable combination lock suitcase—cleanly into the carriage, just as the attendant closed the door behind them. She became the last passenger to board at Handan.

After finally squeezing inside, the girl was out of breath and sweating. She quickly unwound her scarf and took off her coat, revealing a thin, pale pink sweater. The snug fit perfectly outlined her pear-shaped figure.

Her skin was like porcelain; her arms long, waist slender, and her full, perky chest drew every eye—undeniably the figure many men dream of.

Catching her breath, she turned to her hero Jiang Fan and sweetly said, “Thank you.”

Jiang Fan wasn’t much of a talker. Though he’d been surrounded by female classmates during three years of college, his poor background and single-parent upbringing made him self-conscious. He’d spent every free moment earning money, leaving little chance for romantic interactions. So, in the face of this girl, he simply nodded politely and said nothing more.

His shy, honest demeanor sparked greater affection in her. She held out her hand warmly. “Hi, I’m Hao Meng. Thank you for helping me get on the train—otherwise, I’d probably have frozen at the station all night.”

“Jiang Fan. It was nothing—don’t mention it.”

“You’re from Sichuan?”

“How did you know?”

“Your Mandarin is a bit more standard than most from Sichuan, but there’s still a hint of the accent.”

Seeing Jiang Fan open up a little, Hao Meng glanced at him furtively. His long underwear was clearly old, the collar drooping almost to his chest. His features weren’t exactly sharp, but his face was pleasant, with a hint of handsomeness beneath the plainness.

Anyone who could pull her and her suitcase out of that crowd so easily must be much stronger than his slender frame suggested.

After taking a closer look, Hao Meng found that what first seemed rustic about him now felt much more agreeable. Thanks to her initiative, conversation between them began to flow.

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Jiang Fan let Hao Meng stand by the door, using one arm to shield her from the pressing crowd and create a small, more comfortable space.

Seeing Jiang Fan stand as her protector, Hao Meng felt a pleasant warmth. Even the strong scent of sweat and tobacco on him, instead of being off-putting, felt powerfully masculine—she’d never found it so appealing.

When the announcement came—“Next stop, Zhaoguan”—Hao Meng, still tucked under Jiang Fan’s arm, sighed with sudden melancholy. “We’ve entered Guangdong now. Only a little over two hours to Guangzhou.”

“Where will you go?” Only then did Jiang Fan realize that, aside from occasional naps, he’d spent the whole journey listening to Hao Meng’s lively tales of the world, never once asking her destination.

“Dongguan.”

Jiang Fan brightened instantly. “Dongguan? I’m going to Dongguan too—Chang’an Town. Where in Dongguan will you be? I’ll come find you.”

She looked happy at first, but then her gaze dimmed. After hesitating, she replied, “I’m in Humen Town. But where I work has very strict rules. I can’t see outsiders, and even if I told you, you wouldn’t find me.”

“Then let’s arrange a meeting—I’ll wait for you.”

“It’s better not to. Sometimes it’s best to leave things as memories. This wonderful journey is enough.” With that, Hao Meng fell silent, unwilling to reveal more.

By evening, the train finally arrived at Guangzhou station. Hao Meng then led Jiang Fan to transfer to a long-distance bus. After several twists and turns, they finally reached Dongguan Central Bus Station past ten o’clock at night.

There were two routes from Dongguan to Chang’an. One went via Guan-Chang Road, passing Niushan and Dalingshan—a shorter trip. The other looped through Houjie and Humen, a longer detour.

Even late at night, the minibuses running between towns were packed. Even at the starting station, the two of them managed only to find a seat on the last row.

As the moment of parting approached, Hao Meng felt reluctant to let go. The feelings she’d kept hidden on the train now overwhelmed her restraint.

With boldness, she made Jiang Fan sit while she slid onto his lap without hesitation, pulling his hands around her waist and holding them tightly.

In this newly opened city of Dongguan, relationships between men and women were becoming increasingly open. Public displays of affection had become commonplace.

Though Hao Meng was more than willing, Jiang Fan—utterly inexperienced—was nervous and dared not move his hands as she held them.

But no matter how shy or awkward he was, Jiang Fan’s body was unmistakably honest. His surging hormones were now impossible to suppress.

Hao Meng felt a certain “troublemaker” stirring beneath her and knew well enough what it meant, but she feigned ignorance and leaned close to his ear, teasing in a low voice, “Why are you carrying a rolling pin with you? It’s poking me—hurry and take it out.”