Chapter 21: The Arrogant Girl, Deep Brotherhood

The twelfth day of the first lunar month, corresponding to February 9, 1987.

The sky seemed pierced by a thousand holes—rain drizzled endlessly, accompanied by a biting north wind, damn cold.

Before dawn, Li Heng was jolted awake by Tian Run’e: “Man Zai, the rooster’s crowed three times, time to get up.”

The house had no watch, no alarm clock. Li Jianguo’s only mechanical watch had broken long ago, and they’d never had the money to fix it; if they needed to leave early, they relied solely on the rooster’s crow and the light outside to guess the hour.

Li Heng, who’d stayed up late writing the night before, was half-asleep, his eyelids drooping open and shut, his whole body limp as if paralyzed, utterly without strength, not wanting to move at all.

But he knew he had to get up—this year, there was only one bus from the town to Shaoshan, and he had to catch it.

Otherwise, he’d need to transfer three times, wasting time and energy, and risk running into pickpockets or robbers, inviting disaster.

Even seasoned travelers warned villagers: some drivers had lost their conscience, colluding with local thugs; after passing Qijiang Town, they’d stop at remote hillside stretches and let the thugs board, robbing passengers clean.

So even though Li Heng was a reincarnated soul, before the tide of the times he was powerless, forced to obey and catch the early bus.

Rumor had it the driver was a Vietnam War veteran, upright and honorable; passengers on his bus rarely had accidents, and his reputation grew steadily, praised by all.

Just as Li Heng finished washing up, Zhang Zhiyong arrived, backpack slung over his shoulder—saved him the trouble; otherwise, going to the Zhang household to call him might’ve meant getting chased by dogs.

Hmm… might even bump into that idiot dad meeting some shady ghost under a locust tree or in a patch of weeds.

This wasn’t just idle talk.

Among nearby villages, there were three legendary playboys, and Zhang Zhiyong’s father unquestionably ranked first.

Even the Liang family’s lecherous old man didn’t make the list.

These three were genuine libertines, never harming decent families, bold enough to boast and joke about their exploits openly; but the Liang man sleeping with his daughter-in-law? Pure filth.

Li Heng took the various bottles and jars handed to him by Tian Run’e and stuffed them into his backpack—every container held food, including the cured pork he adored.

Of course, most were pickled vegetables: sour chili peppers, sour string beans, sour radish.

Li Heng asked Zhang Zhiyong: “Just you? Where’s Yang Yingwen? She’s not coming with us?”

At the mention, Zhang Zhiyong flew into a rage, his face darkening, nearly leaping to confront him: “Go fuck yourself!

I went to call her just now—her mom said she left yesterday afternoon. That bastard didn’t even tell us!”

Li Heng thought for a moment, recalling his past life: “She probably stayed overnight at Xiao Han’s place.”

Ironically, Yang Yingwen was the top student, yet terrified of ghosts.

The road from Shangwan Village to town passed two large graveyards.

One was an old execution ground, filled with people of all ages and all manner of deaths.

Like those hanged, shot, beheaded, women who died in childbirth, children who perished on the road.

Just hearing about it was terrifying—no one without guts dared pass at night.

After carefully checking his backpack—books there, manuscripts there—he turned to bid farewell to Li Jianguo and Tian Run’e:

“Dad, Mom, I’m off. Don’t see me off—it’s freezing out, especially for you, Dad. Go rest.”

“Ah! Walk slow, watch your step, if you see strangers, keep your distance.” The couple promised, yet still walked him to the village entrance.

Their warnings weren’t baseless.

These days, no one went out to earn side income; after dinner in the off-season, families rarely left the village—maybe just a neighborly chat.

Those traveling at midnight were either desperate with urgent business or had ill intent.

Zhang Zhiyong now patted his thigh and boasted: “Uncle Li, Auntie Tian, don’t worry—I’ve got a knife.

If any bastard dares mess with us, I’ll stab him through and through, make him scream and beg for his mama.”

Tian Run’e and Li Jianguo had long been familiar with this fool’s antics; they were numb, merely smiling, having given up even the thought of offering comfort.

About three li from Shangwan Village, they reached Miao Street.

Called a “street,” but not for the living—this place was surrounded by towering mountains, with no human habitation for six hundred meters in either direction, only a small temple tucked under a massive boulder, as wide as a basketball court, dedicated to the Three Lives Goddess.

Behind the rock lay an endless graveyard, stretching beyond sight.

As they reached this spot, a chorus of chilling crow calls silenced the once-chatty pair.

They exchanged glances; Li Heng, practiced, reached into his pocket for a box of matches, frantically striking them—finally, one lit.

Zhang Zhiyong didn’t hesitate, immediately thrusting a bundle of straw he’d carried under his armpit into the flame, setting it alight.

Li Heng tucked the matchbox away, as usual asking: “Ready?”

Zhang Zhiyong tugged his backpack, raised the blazing torch: “Ready!”

In the red glow, Li Heng gave the order: “Run!”

The moment he shouted, both bolted forward, heads down, sprinting blindly ahead.

Don’t look at the earthen graves on either side!

Even if you hear sounds behind you, don’t turn back!

Push through this eerie valley in one breath.

In truth, their courage to walk at night had been forged during the first term of school.

Back then, Liu Shuiwen and his brother often robbed them of their living allowance; without money for food, they couldn’t swallow plain rice alone—what could they do?

They had to run home after evening self-study to fetch food.

Over time, their courage grew, their families grew used to it—even at midnight, no one bothered to see them off.

Frankly, their elders were even more terrified of this place—who was really escorting whom?

Halfway through the run, Li Heng suddenly asked: “Old Yong, you scared?”

Zhang Zhiyong, forcing bravado: “Scared? Fuck no—I’ve got a knife!”

Li Heng teased: “Try blowing out the torch.”

Zhang Zhiyong frowned: “Why?”

Li Heng: “Blow.”

Zhang Zhiyong blew on the torch.

Li Heng asked: “Did you see a bunch of hairy mouths blowing too?”

“You son of a bitch!!!”

Zhang Zhiyong’s spine chilled, his jaw clenched, he surged ahead, overtaking Li Heng.

Li Heng laughed loudly, quickened his pace, and matched him stride for stride: “Sing the national anthem.”

“Sing!”

“Arise, those who refuse to be slaves, with our flesh and blood…”

This was their signature song, witnessed their brotherhood—whenever fear peaked, they screamed it together.

Their singing shook the heavens!

In the darkness, it stood out sharply—wonder if the little ghosts on either side were half-dead with fright?

Amid these nostalgic memories, Li Heng crossed the terrifying mountain path and reached town.

Dawn hadn’t fully broken; the weak light cast hazy shadows along the street’s buildings.

Early vendors had already set up stalls, selling buns, steamed bread, shaomai—quick breakfasts; as people passed, they shouted: “Kid, want breakfast? Fresh out of the oven!”—no originality, just hoping to snag one customer.

The bus station sat on the town’s western edge, small and dilapidated, plastered with slogans about serving the people, with only a few buses arriving and departing daily.

Its toilet had leaked yellow water for years; no one dared enter without dying-and-resurrection resolve, opting instead to slip into the hills behind.

“Kid, where you headed?”

Before they reached the station entrance, the ticket seller sprinted over, practically drooling with enthusiasm.

Li Heng subtly sidestepped, asking: “To Shaoshan? Any seats left?”

“Plenty! Plenty! Get on quick!” The seller grabbed his arm, as overly eager as ever.

Li Heng thought he’d arrived early—turns out he was naive; the seller was clearly lying. He’d forgotten this trick after decades without riding buses.

A quick glance: over thirty people inside, all good seats taken, only three lonely empty ones left in the very back.

Not surprising, but still unexpected—he spotted several familiar faces: classmates from the same Shaoshan No.1 High School entrance exam.

Like Xiao Feng, sitting in the second-to-last row. Though she shared the surname Xiao, she had no relation to Xiao Han—slim, from the Shiqiao Pu gold mine.

She was closest to Yang Yingwen; once, in a mid-term exam, she trailed Yang by just one point, nearly severing Yang’s dragon vein and claiming top rank in the school.

Still, she was a top student—even after entering Shaoshan No.1, she remained a force to be reckoned with. If memory served, she’d gotten into Tsinghua; beyond that, he didn’t know—rarely kept in touch.

Seeing Li Heng board, Xiao Feng, usually silent, quickly glanced at him—clearly, she’d heard rumors of his romantic exploits during the winter break.

Receiving her gaze, Li Heng greeted her cheerfully:

“Good morning, Xiao Feng.”

Xiao Feng, ever terse, said nothing, but kept staring.

“Hehe, Li Heng, you’re so handsome—your legend could be one of the century’s top hundred cases.”

The reply came from another familiar face, Yang Cheng, sitting beside Xiao Feng.

A short, chubby boy; in junior high, his grades soared, consistently top five; in high school, somehow dropped—he now struggled just to crack the top hundred.

Li Heng stopped before him, lowered his fist, and asked: “Complimenting me… or asking for a beating?”

Yang Cheng shrank back: “Heaven and earth bear witness—I sincerely admire you!”

Li Heng withdrew his fist, nodding approvingly: “Indeed, great minds think alike.”

As expected, Yang Yingwen hadn’t left yesterday—now she sat with Xiao Han in the very back, occasionally whispering to the two ahead.

Of course, that Yang was a bastard—no need to waste words on her for not telling them.

Xiao Han wore a red coat today, her eyes bright and deep, long, straight hair swept over her pale neck, matched by pink hair clips and earrings—just as beautiful as ever.

Or rather, this girl was so striking, naturally a mannequin—anything she wore looked beautiful.

Seeing Li Heng stride straight toward her, Xiao Han suddenly gathered courage, lifted her right hand slightly, and smiled: “Hi, Li Heng…”

Just then, the ticket seller bellowed: “Departure imminent! Please prepare your change—we’re collecting tickets.”

It was the conductor and driver’s kindness—they tried not to collect tickets midway, fearing that pickpockets boarding en route might target passengers’ wallet placements.

The conductor’s sudden call distracted Li Heng; he didn’t notice Xiao Han’s subtle movement, nor did he hear her greeting.

He took a long stride over and plopped down on a window seat in the back row, then let out a long sigh, relaxing his body—walking so far up these mountain paths had truly exhausted him!

Xiao Han sat stunned for a moment, then raised her left hand and quietly tugged at her right arm; feeling she was being weak, she pinched the back of her right hand with her left.

She comforted herself: No one noticed, right? It’s fine—I’m still that cool, aloof girl.

Zhang Zhiyong had always suffered from fear of beautiful women; seeing his best friend claim the window seat, he stood frozen in the aisle, too afraid to sit beside Xiao Han.

Zhang Zhiyong shot desperate glances, but Li Heng pretended not to see and closed his eyes to rest.

With no other options, Zhang Zhiyong pulled out his ultimate weapon: “A plate of stir-fried dishes.”

Li Heng remained unmoved, continuing to tease him.

Zhang Zhiyong raised the stakes: “Two meals—you’re going too far.”

Li Heng opened his eyes and said lazily: “Plus a pound of spicy sea flowers.”

In Shaoshan these days, eating spicy sea flowers meant you were top-tier—it cost a full yuan per pound.

Ridiculously expensive!

No one knew why these heartless vendors priced it so high.

Was it because transportation was difficult?

Zhang Zhiyong’s heart bled, but he gritted his teeth: “Deal!”

Having witnessed the entire fake-brother act, Yang Ying spoke after they switched seats:

“Li Heng, Zhang Zhiyong, why are you two only now here? The bus is about to leave.”

Li Heng and Zhang Zhiyong, who had just been at odds, instantly united—they turned their heads together toward the window, ignoring him completely.

PS: This chapter is over four thousand characters—I’ll post it as a combined chapter; too lazy to split it.

Right now, I can only post this much daily for recommendation slots; I’ll unleash after subscription.

(End of chapter)