Chapter 100

After returning to Beijing, we held the Second Congress of Petrograd Party Member Representatives at the old establishment "Delicious Zhai" in Beijing. The meeting was successfully concluded after Pangzi finished three plates of Shanghai-style stir-fried shrimp, passing the resolution to go to Yunnan for grave robbing.

Pangzi wiped the oil from his mouth and said to me: "I say, Lao Hu, Yunnan is a great place, you know. Back then, I was deeply stirred by that tale of the golden-threaded bird flying from the horizon, and I've long wanted to go meet those ethnic minority girls whose hearts burn with passionate love."

I told him: "Yunnan isn't as good as you imagine, and ethnic minority girls aren't all like peacocks. Anyway, when I went to Yunnan before, I didn't see many remarkable ones. At that time, our troops were stationed near the border at Laojun Mountain, where we conducted a month of live-fire drills. That place is the junction of the Hani, Yi, and Zhuang autonomous prefectures, with many ethnic minorities. I think they look quite similar to Vietnamese people. Things like the Five Golden Flowers and Asima are just artistic embellishments from film and TV—don't take them seriously. Don't get your hopes up too high, or you'll be disappointed."

Da Jin Ya said: "How so? Old Hu, the place you went to was probably just a mountain ravine. When I went to Yunnan to join the up-to-the-mountain-down-to-the-countryside movement, I saw plenty of beautiful Dai and Jingpo girls—slender as could be, with tiny waists, tsk tsk, simply... If you married one, you'd be content for life."

The blind man had eaten his fill, listened to our words, slapped the table, and said: "Gentlemen, the Yi women of Yunnan aren't anything special; moreover, among the Miao people there secretly exist gu poison masters. The love gu they control are vicious and hidden, impossible to guard against. You'd better not provoke those women."

Da Jin Ya nodded and said: "The old man's words make sense. When I went to Yunnan to join the up-to-the-mountain-down-to-the-countryside movement, I heard that among the many ethnic minorities, the Miao are the most skilled in using gu, and they further divide into Flower Miao, Green Miao, Black Miao, etc. The Green Miao are experts in medicinal herbs and insect nature, while the Black Miao excel in raising gu and administering poison. These two groups are naturally at odds like water and fire; now the Black Miao are nearly extinct. But if one were to provoke a gu poison master among the Miao women, it would truly be a headache."

Pangzi laughed: "Old Jin, you're seriously underestimating our charm. If there's no 'sa' among the Miao women, it's hopeless; but as long as there is, I'll definitely bring back a few for you to sniff. When the time comes, we'll still be at this spot, and I'll give each of you a Miao honey."

I'd had a bit too much to drink, my tongue started to feel thick, and I hooked Pangzi's shoulder, joking: "Let that seventy- or eighty-year-old old gu poison mistress take a fancy to your arm meat, Pangzi, and she'll surely strip your stinking skin off to make a drum. The place we're going this time is mostly Bai people, and Bai girls are nice—fair-skinned."

Shirley Yang's appetite was also good today. Judging by her ancestral background, her hometown should be in the Jiangzhe region, so the Huaiyang dishes at this restaurant suit her taste. But seeing me, Pangzi, Da Jin Ya, and the blind man together, chatting on and on, the topic always drifted back to Yunnan's ethnic minority girls, and being with these people made it impossible to avoid. So I just went along with it, until I could bear it no longer, and I gave a light cough.

After her reminder, I remembered there were serious matters to discuss. The wine's effect had worn off by a third, so I raised my cup and said to everyone: "Comrades, tomorrow Pangzi, Shirley Yang, and I will depart for Yunnan. This journey will be through high mountains and long roads, through a forest of guns and a rain of bullets, shouldering the heavy burden of revolution, and I don't know when we'll return. But a true man should have ambitions in all directions, ride with sword and sling to roam the world. Gorky said foolish sea ducks don't deserve to enjoy the pleasures of battle; Chairman Mao said ten thousand years is too long—we must seize the day. Now, with fine wine and a beautiful night before us, since we can gather together, we should cherish every minute and second. When we return victorious, we'll set out the feast again, raise our cups, and praise the heroes."

Everyone simultaneously raised their cups, clinking to wish us a smooth journey. Da Jin Ya drained his cup, grabbed my hand, and said: "Old Hu, I truly wish to go with you to Yunnan, but this old body of mine can't endure the hardship—going would only burden you. Your words just now almost made me tear up; shall I sing you a verse of 'Ten Farewells to the Red Army'?"

I was also deeply moved, and said to him: "If Old Jin says that, it makes it seem like there's distance between us brothers. We're going to Yunnan, and we owe it to you for handling the rear logistics—this is our guarantee of success! Rest assured, half of the funerary objects we bring out will be mine, and half will be yours."

Da Jin Ya told me what equipment he had bought and hadn't bought, and the three of us—him, me, and Shirley Yang—discussed what we needed to bring. Meanwhile, Pangzi and the blind man weren't idle, constantly harassing a pretty female server in the restaurant, insisting on telling her fortune. The night before departure passed amidst the noise.

The next day, Da Jin Ya and the blind man saw us off at the train station. After exchanging farewells, with the rumble of the departing train, we parted ways.

I, Shirley Yang, and Pangzi took the train south to Kunming. We stayed in Kunming for three days, during which there was much to do. Following the contact address Da Jin Ya gave me, I found Yingxi Village near Tanhuasi Temple, where a revolutionary comrade of Da Jin Ya's from his up-to-the-mountain-down-to-the-countryside days lives. He has maintained business ties with Da Jin Ya all along. With his help, I purchased three high-quality replicas of the Type 64 pistol, their bodies bearing official serial numbers, made by the Myanmar arsenal imitating Chinese military pistols, then flowed back into China; from the manufacturing process, they qualify as export-turned-domestic sales.

However, these guns have limited killing power, suitable only for police use, and can at best serve for self-defense. I wanted to ask that man to buy two more hunting rifles commonly used by Yunnan poachers, but he said there was no stock, so I had to give up. I'll see if, before entering the Insect Valley, I can find locals to buy a few large-caliber fast guns—because deep in that valley, there's no human trace, and if there are dangerous wild animals, lacking firearms for self-defense would be quite inconvenient.

At the same time, Shirley Yang and Pangzi bought two insect nets and three beige lotus-leaf sun hats. According to our prior plan, we would disguise ourselves as natural history museum staff, enter the forest to catch butterfly specimens—since the Lancang River basin produces many rare butterflies, using this identity as cover to enter the Insect Valley for grave robbing would avoid suspicion along the way.

The rest of our equipment we kept as simple as possible. In Yunnan's mountainous regions, unlike deserts and gravel plains, water and food aren't needed in large quantities. We filled the empty space in our backpacks as much as possible with various medicines, to prepare for dealing with poisonous insects in the forest.

I distributed the three six-four-style pistols to the two of them. Pangzi was dissatisfied, saying this broken gun is useless—can't even kill a rat. In anger, he found materials and made a slingshot. When we were stationed in the Greater Khingan Range of Inner Mongolia for up-to-the-mountain-down-to-the-countryside work, we often used slingshots to shoot birds and hares; with good materials, it's indeed more powerful than a six-four pistol.

After everything was ready, we boarded a vehicle and traveled along National Highway 320, passing through Ailao Mountain, Wuliang Mountain, and the Diancang Shan-Erhai area between them, arriving at the beautiful banks of the Lancang River. Our destination is the place within Yunnan Province where mountain ranges and rivers are most concentrated, still some distance from the China-Myanmar border.

The final stretch of road was steep and narrow, with long-distance vehicles only proceeding along the cliffside. The driver was a veteran, driving carelessly. The road condition was poor, with constant ups and downs, plus many loose stones and potholes. One sharp turn followed another, the vehicle body pitching up and down, repeatedly turning danger into safety, frightening me and Pangzi into breaking out in cold sweat, fearing that if the driver lapsed for a moment, both person and vehicle would plunge into the Lancang River below the cliff.

The other passengers in the vehicle were probably accustomed to riding such vehicles daily, paying it no mind; some chatted and laughed, some snored loudly. Moreover, many people in the vehicle carried baskets of poultry—old women wailing, children crying, various smells mingling, pungent and unpleasant. I'm not someone pampered and delicate, but I couldn't endure this environment; unable to bear it any longer, I had no choice but to open the car window and breathe the outside fresh air? BR>

I poked my head out and saw that below the cliff was the rushing Lancang River, with stone cliffs towering on both banks, standing straight like a natural barrier. The river surface isn't particularly wide; looking down from above, the water is dark red, winding and twisting southward.

Pangzi's fear of heights flared up—his whole body trembled, and he dared not even glance half an eye out the window, merely shouting curses repeatedly: "This damn driver really dares to mess around—is this... driving or is he performing circus tricks? This time I really want to go, Pangzi, Old Hu, if we don't get off the car now, brother's gonna kick the bucket."

Shirley Yang also couldn't tolerate this roller-coaster-like ride, so she simply closed her eyes tightly and refused to look outside; this way, she could at least feel somewhat reassured.

I said to Pangzi: "The revolution hasn't succeeded yet—we still need to strive. Hold on a bit longer. After getting off the car, we still have a long way to walk. Think about how the Red Army persisted when crossing snow mountains and marching over grasslands—your current difficulty amounts to nothing. To be frank, I***am about to let this broken car shake me apart."

A local tea vendor nearby told us: "Look at you all looking like that—take some motion sickness pills to shake off the dizziness; after riding a few more times, you'll feel solid. Where do you want to go?"

The local Yunnan dialect is complex and hard to understand. Since we didn't want to have much contact with locals this time, I didn't understand a word the tea vendor said, nor did I know how to respond.

Seeing that I didn't understand his words, the tea vendor switched to stiff Mandarin and said to me: "I'm saying you look miserable, still not used to this kind of vehicle—once you get used to it, it'll be fine. Where are you guys headed?"

Seeing this person was a local native, I thought I could ask him about the route, so I said to him: "We're going to……go……go to the museum, no no, we're natural history museum people, wanting to go to Snake River to catch big butterflies. Let me ask you—how far is it from here to Zhelong Mountain? Where would be best for us to get off the car?"

The tea vendor pointed with his finger to a high mountain on the distant riverbank: "Not far—after turning past that mountain bend and getting off the car, you'll be at the foot of Zhelong Mountain, by the Snake Crawler River. I'm also going there to collect tea leaves—just follow me and get off the car."

I followed the direction of his finger and saw a grayish, giant bowl-shaped mountain mass towering at the end of the road, its peak sealed by clouds and locked in mist. From inside the car, looking past it, I truly felt the sense of lofty mountains inspiring awe. Although it was already in sight, the saying goes 'gazing at the mountain runs the horse to death,' and the road is winding and twisting, so this stretch is still quite far—looks like we'll have to endure another hour of suffering in this broken car.

We were all sitting in the back of the vehicle. Just as I was speaking with the tea vendor, the vehicle body suddenly shook violently, as if it had run over something. The driver slammed on the brakes, and the passengers lurched forward and backward, instantly thrown into chaos. Amid the confusion, someone shouted that someone had been crushed to death. Pangzi cursed, saying this nervous-driving driver—of course he'd crush someone, it'd be strange if he didn't. Then I, together with Shirley Yang, went to the rear window to look out onto the road.

I only glanced backward once, and immediately felt my scalp go numb. I quickly looked away—if I kept looking, I'd surely vomit—damn it, what the hell is this thing that got crushed to death?