Chapter 4: The Ancient Tomb in the Mountains

Although it's Inner Mongolia, it's actually not far from Heilongjiang, almost reaching the Outer Mongolia border. The residents are mainly Han Chinese, with only a few Mongols and Manchus. If you haven't been to Ganggang Yingzi, you can never imagine how harsh that place is. Our group of educated youths numbered six in total—four men and two women. Upon arrival, we were dumbfounded: the surroundings were nothing but rolling mountain ranges and endless primeval forest. After leaving the village and walking over a hundred li, we still couldn't see a single person.

There's no road here, let alone electricity. Even lighting an oil lamp is considered a cadre's privilege. Using a flashlight here is equivalent to staying in a presidential suite nowadays. In the city, we couldn't possibly imagine it; back then we still thought every part of the motherland had upstairs and downstairs, electric lights and telephones.

Still, it felt novel at the time. I'd never seen such huge mountains before, and many of the mountain products were things I'd eaten for the first time. The mountains here are relatively rich, yielding plenty of mountain goods, and you can even catch fish in the river, so we never worried about going hungry. Later, when I returned to the city and heard from educated youths who had gone to Shaanxi for re-education say that their place was truly bitter, I realized we hadn't seen a single decent grain of food in years.

The work of the educated youths wasn't too heavy, because here they live off the mountains, and few crops are grown. In summer evenings, we took turns watching the fields in case wild animals ate the crops, so one or two of us had to stay overnight in the fields each night.

The crops in the mountains aren't like the endless blue cloth of the North China Plain; instead, there's a patch here, a patch there—wherever the land is flat, they plant a field. So we had to go out and walk around often in the evenings. That night, I happened to be paired with Pangzi. He was sleeping in the grass hut, I went out for a walk, saw nothing unusual, and went back to sleep.

As I approached the grass hut, I saw a large, puffy white mass not far from it. I rubbed my eyes and looked again—surely not an optical illusion—but it was too dark to tell what it was. I didn't believe in ghosts then, so I thought it must be some animal. I picked up a wooden stick, intending to drive it away.

In the pitch black, a puffy white object was faintly swaying. What on earth could it be? It didn't look like an animal, but if it weren't an animal, why would it be moving? It was pitch black, and I had no kerosene lamp for light, so I couldn't make out what it was.

Although I'm not afraid of ghosts, facing the unknown still triggers some psychological fear, so I didn't dare swing the stick directly at it. The stick in my hand was actually just a rough branch I'd picked up casually from the field. I poked the white mass lightly with the branch—it felt very soft… Suddenly, in the darkness, Pangzi shouted: "Ah… what are you doing? Hu Baitian! Why are you poking my butt with a stick?"

It was a false alarm. Pangzi had eaten something unclean during the day, had diarrhea at night, and was squatting there defecating. In the dark night, his big white buttocks were very noticeable.

The next morning, Pangzi insisted on compensation, claiming I had scared him into losing over a million brain cells the night before. I said, "With your brain, could you possibly have that many brain cells? We're both penniless, having accepted the highest directive to come to the countryside for necessary re-education of poor and lower-middle peasants. What do you want me to compensate you with? Let me tell you in advance: as your close revolutionary comrade, all my worldly possessions amount to nothing more than the pants I'm wearing now. You're not going to make me give you these pants, are you?"

Pangzi grinned mischievously and said that wasn't necessary. Yesterday, in the old forest of Tuanshanzi, I saw a huge beehive. You go with me to poke it—we'll get some honey to mix with water and drink, and we can even trade honey with Yanzi's father for rabbit meat.

Yanzi is a girl's name. Her father is a well-known old hunter in the village. Pangzi and I stay at the educated youths' point in her family's home. Her father and daughter often go into the mountains to hunt, and they occasionally treat us to game. We've always felt a bit guilty about constantly eating other people's good things, but we're really too poor to have anything to repay Yanzi's father and daughter.

Pangzi found a large beehive, so we decided to get some honey to bring back and give to Yanzi. Both of us are quick-tempered—we say we'll do something and then do it. Back in the city, Pangzi and I were famous throughout the military district as troublemaker kings. Poking a beehive is nothing; we often pulled off stunts ten times more daring.

Afraid of getting lost, I borrowed Yanzi's hunting dog. It's a half-grown puppy, raised by Yanzi herself, who named it Chestnut Yellow. She hadn't brought it out hunting yet, but when she heard we wanted to go to Tuanshanzi for fun, she lent it to us.

Tuanshanzi isn't far from our village in a straight line, but because there's no road, we had to cross mountains and ridges for half a day to get there. This forest is enormous; the villagers had warned us not to enter, saying there were bears inside. We'd seen a man in the village with only half a face—he'd encountered a bear here as a child. Fortunately, Yanzi's father arrived in time, fired his gun to scare the bear away, and saved him. But the bear had licked his face, its tongue full of backward-growing meat spines; one lick tore off a large chunk of flesh. His left eye, ear, nose, and mouth are all missing or twisted. He's over forty and still can't find a wife. When the village elders talk about him, they tear up.

Although we're bold, we didn't dare recklessly enter the primeval forest. Pangzi said the beehive he mentioned was found by him and some villagers while collecting pine seed oil at the forest edge, on a large tree near a small stream outside the forest.

But unexpectedly, this beehive was huge—bigger than all the ones we'd poked before combined. From afar, it looked like a small, legless calf hanging from a tree. Inside, swarms of giant hornets flew back and forth, their buzzing deafening.

I said, "Little Pang, you son of a bitch, just screw me over, will you? Is this a beehive? This is practically a wasp atomic bomb! If we poke it and it explodes, what then?" Pangzi said, "Exactly. If it were an ordinary beehive, would you need to come find me? I could handle it myself. How about it—do you still dare to do it?"

I said, "What's the big deal? Our unit is invincible—we're not even afraid of American imperialist planes and tanks, so why fear a few little bees? They're all paper tigers—damn it, today we're definitely getting that honey."

Having said that, we couldn't just rush in—one mistake and we'd be stung to death by these hornets. These hornets are so huge they must be poisonous; even one or two stings would be fatal. Fortunately, there was a small stream nearby—heaven was helping me. I first took out a bun, broke it into two pieces, and fed them to Chestnut Yellow, sending it running far away. Then we each put on our military overcoats, wore dog-skin hats, wrapped scarves, put on gloves, and covered the front of our hats with a transparent silk scarf borrowed from a female educated youth. After checking that no skin was exposed, Pangzi found two hollow reeds, one each, preparing to use them for breathing when we jumped into the river to escape the hornet swarm.

After preparations, we two looked like two bloated bears, staggering three steps at a time as we approached the tree. I held a bundle of winter seed grass and matches, ready to strike. Pangzi held a long pole and counted: "One, two, three." At three, he thrust the pole hard into the part where the beehive connected to the tree trunk. After fewer than four or five stabs, the huge beehive snapped and fell to the ground below. The countless giant hornets inside immediately exploded out like a disturbed nest, filling the sky with a black mist, buzzing loudly as they swarmed over our heads.

I had prepared relatively well. Regardless of the hornet attack, I lit the winter seed grass with a match and placed it downwind of the beehive. The hornets flying out lost their sense of direction in the smoke and flew around in confusion. Pangzi and I then piled dirt around the burning grass to form a firebreak, to prevent a mountain fire.

By now, the hornets not smoked out had identified their target and swarmed at us. I felt like hail was pounding my head—crack, crack, crack—so I didn't dare linger. Pangzi and I rushed toward the nearby stream. The water wasn't deep—less than a meter deep. We each dove straight to the bottom; the hornets on us were washed away by the current. I held my dog-skin hat in place with one hand to keep it from being swept away, and with the other hand took out the reed to breathe.

After a long time, we finally surfaced. The hornets weren't drowned—they were just stunned by the smoke and no longer dangerous. Although it was midsummer, the mountain stream was icy cold; my whole body was shivering from the cold. With great effort, I climbed onto the bank, lay on a stone, and gasped for air. The sunlight on my head warmed my whole body—an indescribable comfort.

Not long after, Pangzi also couldn't hold on. He staggered up the bank, and just as he climbed halfway, he cried out in pain, suddenly raised his arm—his hand had been gashed open by something, and blood poured out.

I hurried into the stream to help him. Pangzi, still gripping his wound, said: "Be careful—there seems to be a broken bowl in this river. Damn it, it stabbed me to death."

There's no one living around here—how could there be a broken bowl? Curious, I stripped naked, dove into the stream, and felt around where Pangzi had been stabbed. I pulled out half a broken porcelain bowl. Looking at its pattern and bluish-blue floral design, it somewhat resembled the Northern Song blue-and-white porcelain my grandfather used to collect.

My grandfather's antiquities and paintings were all smashed by the Red Guards during the destruction of the Four Olds. I never expected to see fragments of such antiquities in this deep mountain old forest—it even gave me a sense of kinship. But this thing is useless to me, so I raised my arm and threw the half-broken bowl far into the woods.

Pangzi also took off his soaked clothes, crudely bandaged his hand wound, jumped back into the stream, and we both washed up. Then we hung our clothes, shoes, and socks one by one on the pebbles by the stream. I whistled to call Chestnut Yellow back.

Chestnut Yellow came running from afar, still holding a fat gray wild rabbit in its mouth. I don't know how this unlucky rabbit ended up colliding with Chestnut Yellow, this hunting dog still in training. Seeing the rabbit, I was overjoyed—I hugged Chestnut Yellow and rolled around on the ground with it several times. What a good dog! I broke off a large piece of honeycomb from the beehive, coated in honey, and gave it to him as a reward.

Pangzi said: "When we get back, let's also find someone to get us a few puppies to raise—then we'll have rabbit meat to eat every day."

I said: "You're dreaming—no matter how many rabbits there are in the mountains, you can't satisfy your big appetite for eating. Stop the nonsense—I'm actually getting hungry. Hurry up and prepare the rabbit; I'll go gather firewood."

Pangzi washed and cleaned the rabbit by the stream. I gathered a bundle of dry pine branches and lit a bonfire. I rubbed the skinned rabbit with a thick layer of honey, then skewered it over the fire to roast. Soon, the aroma of honey-glazed roasted rabbit meat filled the air. I cut off the rabbit's head to feed the dog, then split the remaining meat in half and ate it heartily with Pangzi. I've never eaten anything this fragrant in my life—I almost swallowed my own fingers along with it. Although there was no oil or salt for seasoning, the wild rabbit meat, coated in wild honey and roasted on pine branches, had a unique natural flavor. In the city, I could never imagine in a lifetime that such delicious food existed in the world. The life of educated youths is like this—bitter and sweet. We were sent by society to remote mountain areas, losing some things but gaining others unobtainable in the city. It seems some things in life cannot be measured by gain or loss.

After eating, seeing that it was getting late and our clothes were mostly dry, we used rough branches to string up the huge beehive, carried it front and back, and sang revolutionary songs as we returned to the village: "The heavens are vast, the earth is vast—nothing compares to our great resolve! Parents are dear, parents are dear—nothing compares to the Communist Party's gracious kindness!" This was truly the sound of golden shoes striking stone, singing triumphant songs. The only discordant note was Chestnut Yellow's excited barks mingling with our loud revolutionary singing, making me feel like we were in the atmosphere of a movie where Japanese devils enter the village.

Back in the village, I saw that less than half the people remained. I asked Yanzi: "Yanzi, where did your father and the others go?"

Yanzi, while helping us carry the beehive, replied: "The Qarqan River flooded, the timber at the lumber yard was all soaked, and at noon most of the villagers went there to help move the logs. The party secretary told me to tell you: watch the fields well, don't cause trouble—they'll be back in seven or eight days."

I dislike hearing people tell me not to cause trouble, as if I were born to cause trouble everywhere. So I said to Yanzi: "The party secretary must be drunk and confused—what trouble could we possibly cause? We're all good children of Chairman Mao."

Yanzi laughed and said, "You still won't cause trouble? Since you city educated youths came here, the village hens have been so disturbed by you they've stopped laying eggs."

The other two male educated youths in our group also went to the lumber yard, leaving only me, Pangzi, and two other female educated youths. Since we went out to play and weren't assigned to work at the lumber yard, we felt lucky. We stored the honey in jars—filled over ten large crocks. Yanzi said the leftover honeycomb could still be used in cooking—tonight she'd make stir-fried deer meat with honeycomb for us.

As soon as eating was mentioned, Pangzi lit up, saying: "Today our little life is almost like New Year's—we just ate roasted rabbit this afternoon, and tonight we'll have stir-fried deer meat with honeycomb—I'm already drooling." Yanzi asked where we'd roasted the rabbit. I told her the whole story. Yanzi said, "Oh dear, you boys better not mess around—roasting wild rabbit at the edge of the old forest, the meat smell might draw out a bear—what would we do then?"

Hearing that, we realized it was indeed extremely dangerous—lucky today the bear might have been asleep and didn't smell the roasting meat. While helping Yanzi light the fire, I mentioned Pangzi's hand being gashed by a broken bowl in the stream. How could there be a Song dynasty blue-and-white porcelain bowl in such a remote mountain wilderness?

Yanzi said that wasn't surprising at all—when girls in our village get married, every family has several bottles and jars as part of their dowry, all fished out of the river.

The more I listened, the stranger it seemed—could you really fish antiques out of the river? Yanzi also pulled two porcelain bottles from under the bed for me to see: "They're not grown in the river—they're washed down from upstream. The sources of the several rivers near our village are all in the Ox Heart Mountain of Lama Gully. Old folks say that mountain is the burial site of some empress of either the Liao or Jin dynasty—the burial goods have long been looted, and many people have tried to find that tomb, but either they didn't find it, or once they entered Lama Gully, they couldn't get out. Lama Gully is so densely forested that my father once saw wild people in there, and others say the Ox Heart Mountain is haunted. Anyway, in recent years, no one dares to go in anymore."

As they spoke, night fell. Yanzi had finished cooking the meal. Pangzi went to call the other two female educated youths to eat, but as soon as he left, he came running back panting, along with one named Wang Juan. I hurriedly asked what had happened.

Wang Juan panted for a long time before she could explain: originally, she and the other educated youth, Tian Xiaomeng, had received a letter from home saying Tian's mother had been hospitalized with asthma, and the condition was quite serious. Tian Xiaomeng had heard that the Buddha's fruit growing in Lama Gully was effective for asthma, so she went alone to Lama Gully to pick the fruit that morning and still hadn't returned by nightfall.

My veins bulged on my forehead—Tian Xiaomeng was really too reckless. That place is all primeval forest; even experienced hunters from the village don't dare go in casually—how could she just go alone?

Wang Juan cried, saying she couldn't stop her, and we must hurry to look for her—what if something happened to her?

But right now, the village's labor force is all at the lumber yard, leaving only the old and the young. To go look for someone, only Pangzi and I can go. Yanzi also brought Chestnut Yellow and her hunting rifle to join us, leaving Wang Juan in the village to watch the fields.

Having a dog in the mountains means you won't get lost. We didn't dare delay—we lit torches, led Chestnut Yellow, and rushed into the mountains at night. Deep in the primeval forest, there's no path at all—I truly can't understand how a single girl like Tian Xiaomeng dared to venture alone into the deepest part of these mountains. Pangzi said she might have been muddle-headed from anxiety—who wouldn't rush when their mother is ill?

Because it was dark and we needed the dog to track scent, Chestnut Yellow hadn't received professional tracking training, so it often lost the trail and had to double back to re-find it. So we moved very slowly—what used to take four or five hours took us the whole night. By dawn, light appeared in the east, the morning wind in the vast forest made our skin prickle with gooseflesh, the fresh air refreshed our spirits, and Yanzi pointed westward and said: "Look— that big mountain over there is Ox Heart Mountain."

I and Pangzi looked westward—amidst the boundless sea of forest, mountain ranges rose, and there stood a strange-looking giant peak. The whole mountain resembled the shape of an ox's heart, with nine great waterfalls like white silk jade dragons pouring down from its slopes. The pottery the villagers picked up came from these very waterfalls, so it seems the tomb of the Liao dynasty empress mentioned in the legend might indeed be inside the mountain—but for so many years, no one has found the entrance.

Seeing this majestic peak, I suddenly felt I had seen such a mountain before, and I promised Chairman Mao in my heart. Then I remembered: while idly flipping through my grandfather's old broken book, I'd seen a passage describing this mountain-water layout as an excellent feng shui treasure spot—front open, back supported, the nine waterfalls like nine dragons drawing water, dividing the hills like a blooming lotus. Yes, it must be called something like "Nine Dragons Covering Jade Lotus."

These nine waterfalls on the mountain—if one more or one less, or if the water flow weren't that great, they wouldn't achieve the pattern of Nine Dragons Covering Jade Lotus. Nine is the greatest single-digit number, carrying the hidden meaning of supremacy; its pronunciation is the same as "long-lasting," symbolizing eternity, and it has always been regarded as the most auspicious number. Moreover, if the water flow of the waterfalls were smaller, they wouldn't be called dragons—they'd be snakes.

This kind of feng shui treasure spot also has another name: "Luo God's Palanquin." According to the book, it's most suitable for burying women; if a man is buried there, his family will suffer great misfortune.

At this moment, I faintly felt that my grandfather's book, *The Sixteen-Character Yin-Yang Feng Shui Secret Technique*, wasn't just random rubbish from the Four Olds—the content in it was actually substantive, and when I return, I should read it again carefully.

However, I don't think this feng shui technique has any practical value—China has had so many emperors, generals, and ministers since ancient times; which one of them was buried randomly after death? With dynastic rise and fall, the historical torrent of prosperity and decline—could it really be influenced by whether ancestral graves are well placed or not?

Yanzi pointed to the valley before Ox Heart Mountain and said: "This is the famous Lama Gully—legend says there are wild people inside, and it's haunted at night."

Pangzi gazed at the valley, where the primeval forest blocked out the sky, furrowed his brow, and said: "If Tian Xiaomeng really entered Lama Gully, she'd definitely get lost. With just the three of us and one dog, finding her won't be easy."

Seeing their discouragement, I said to cheer them up: "As Marxist-Leninists, we shouldn't believe there are ghosts in the world—whether ghosts or wild people, if I encounter them, I'll consider them unlucky. I'll capture a few alive, bring them to Beijing, and present them to Chairman Mao—he'll certainly be surprised."

Pangzi and I both come from military families; there's a fearless component in our blood by nature. When he heard me say that, he also got energized, rolling up his sleeves and preparing to enter the ravine.

Only Yanzi was worried and anxious. As a local, she had heard countless terrifying legends about this Lama Ravine since childhood, so she naturally had an innate fear. But now saving lives is urgent, so she could only push those thoughts to the back of her mind.

The three of us first sat down to eat some dry rations and prepare our equipment. We had two hunting rifles in total. These two guns were used by Yanzi and her father when hunting. One was a triple-barreled gun, the other a type commonly used by the Oroqen people called a "lifting rod." Both guns were outdated, all muzzle-loading black powder firearms. Their close-range killing power was great, but when shooting targets beyond thirty-five meters, their power and accuracy could not be guaranteed. They were only really useful for hunting small game like hares or roe deer.

I started playing with guns at the shooting range at age six under my father's guidance, and I'm quite familiar with the standard long and short firearms of the People's Liberation Army. But this type of muzzle-loading flintlock hunting rifle—I had no confidence I could control it. Pangzi and I had similar experience, so we discussed it: Pangzi and I would each take one hunting rifle, and Pangzi took a wood-chopping machete. With preparations complete, the three of us plunged into the dense forest of the Lama Ravine.

In the Lama Ravine, compared to the legendary wild men and mountain ghosts, the most real and direct threat comes from the bear-men. Although bear-men are bears just like the black bears, they like to walk upright on two legs, hence their name. Bear-men are huge in size, with thick skin and tough flesh. Hunters only dare to attack bear-men when they come in large groups and bring many hunting dogs. If a person with a broken rifle encounters a bear-man in the primeval forest, it's almost equivalent to being sentenced to death.

After walking through the forest for most of the day, the sound of the nine great waterfalls on Ox Heart Mountain rumbled louder and louder. Looking ahead, we could see that the Lama Ravine was coming to an end, and we were about to reach the foot of Ox Heart Mountain.

We hadn't seen any bear-men or wild men, nor any trace of Tian Xiaomeng. Pangzi was so tired he plopped down on the ground: "I can't go on... really... can't walk anymore."

Yanzi said we should rest for a while. The chestnut-yellow dog also seemed unable to find Tian Xiaomeng's scent anymore. Sigh, what are we supposed to do? If we can't find her, the party secretary and my father will scold me to death when they return.

I was also exhausted. I picked up the water flask and gulped down a few mouthfuls, then said to the two of them: "Could Tian Xiaomeng have been eaten by a bear-man? Or maybe she was captured by wild men to become a chieftain's wife?"

We were resting and chatting idly when suddenly the chestnut-yellow dog barked furiously into the deep forest. Hunting dogs are of excellent breed and will not bark like this unless in extreme danger.

I asked Yanzi: "What's wrong with the dog? Did it detect some wild beast?"

Yanzi's face turned pale: "Quick, climb the tree—it's a bear-man."

As soon as I heard it was a bear-man, I scrambled up a large tree in two or three moves. Looking down, I saw Yanzi straining to lift Pangzi's buttocks. Pangzi couldn't climb trees, so he struggled, hugging the trunk and inching upward bit by bit. I quickly slid down from the tree and helped Yanzi lift Pangzi's buttocks. Pangzi finally managed to climb onto the lowest major fork of the big tree, drenched in sweat, lying there and saying: "I... this damn tree... is too high!"

The chestnut-yellow dog's barks grew more urgent. Before Yanzi and I could climb up, we saw a black-furred bear-man burst from the thicket. Upon seeing humans, it immediately became excited, standing upright and roaring like thunder.

Yanzi had hunted with her father in the mountains for years and was extremely experienced. Without hesitation, she raised her hunting rifle and fired at the bear-man. With a pop, sparks flew, and the bullet struck the bear-man's belly.

Because the distance was very close and the bear-man's abdomen was its softest part, this shot blew a large hole in its stomach, and blood and intestines gushed out. The bear-man was wounded and furious. It used its massive paws to shove its intestines back in, then lunged violently at Yanzi. Her hunting rifle couldn't fire repeatedly, and behind her were trees and thorns with no escape. She could only close her eyes and wait for death.

Saving lives was urgent—I didn't have time to think. I quickly raised my rifle and aimed at the bear-man's head. If this shot missed, Yanzi would be done. Thinking this, my hand trembled slightly. I gritted my teeth and pulled the trigger. With a boom, the tremendous recoil of the flintlock rifle almost knocked me over, and I landed on my buttocks on the ground. I don't know if the gun's killing power was insufficient or if I aimed off, but although I hit the bear-man's head, I only blinded one of its eyes.

Though not fatal, this shot saved Yanzi. The bear-man was blinded in one eye, its face covered in blood, with half an eyeball still dangling from the socket. It became even more frenzied, abandoned Yanzi, and charged straight at me.

At this moment, the chestnut-yellow dog lunged from behind and bit the bear-man's hind leg. The bear-man turned its head to grab the dog, but the dog was alert—seeing the bear-man turn, it darted away, snarling and provoking it from a distance.

Seizing this brief respite of a dozen seconds, Yanzi and I each grabbed the opportunity and climbed up separate large trees.

The bear-man was also badly wounded—its intestines had been blasted out, a large segment trailing behind, and it had lost one eye. In the mountains, even tigers fear it by three parts. Having suffered such a loss, it wanted to grab the chestnut-yellow dog, but without hunting dogs to run fast, it thought of biting the three of us. But those fellows had all climbed up the trees. It paced in circles beneath the tree, full of rage, yet momentarily at a loss—jumping and roaring violently, shaking the valley with its cries.

I lay on the large tree and saw the bear-man below frantically turning in circles. Forgetting I was in a restricted area, I found it amusing and shouted to Pangzi on another tree: "Little Fatty, why hasn't your second uncle left yet? What are you wandering around down there for? Go persuade it—don't give up."

Pangzi wasn't afraid of the bear-man but of heights. In modern terms, he might have a bit of acrophobia. He lay trembling in the tree fork, but when I teased him, he refused to back down and started arguing with me: "Hu Bazi, you damn well lack virtue, you. Who is that down there supposed to be my second uncle? Look closely before you speak—isn't that your wife?"

I laughed loudly, pointing at the bear-man below and said to Pangzi: "Oh, I mistook it. Actually, this is your old aunt—I won't be your brother-in-law."

Pangzi was furious and wanted to throw pine cones at me from the tree, but both hands were tightly gripping the branches, afraid to let go and fall. He dared not make big movements, so he could only glare at me dryly.

Seeing Pangzi like that made me laugh even more, but then my smile froze instantly—the bear-man below was now climbing up the very tree I was on without hesitation.

Although it was clumsy, its strength was enormous, and having been severely wounded, pain had completely robbed it of reason. In its eyes, only we three people and one dog remained. It stared with a single blood-red eye, the flesh spikes on its massive paw firmly gripping the trunk. Its huge body climbed over a meter with each lunge. I silently cursed: "Who the hell told me bear-men can't climb trees? Isn't this just setting me up?"

In the mountains, there's an old saying veteran hunters tell young ones: Better to fight a fierce tiger than a mad bear. Because when a bear is wounded and goes completely mad, its destructive power and explosive force are terrifying. I was shocked and had no mind left to joke with Pangzi—I kept calculating how to escape.

At this moment, Yanzi reminded me: "Quick—quickly load the iron sand, shoot its other eye!"

Only then did I remember the hunting rifle on my back. I cursed myself for being useless, then climbed further up the treetop. I untied the waistband used to secure my trousers, fastened it to a thick branch capable of bearing my weight, gripped the rifle with one hand to balance my center of gravity, and used the other hand to pour gunpowder into the rifle. I poured most of the remaining powder from the horn tube into the rifle's barrel.

The bear-man was climbing fast, getting closer and closer. Yanzi and Pangzi were both sweating with anxiety for me. I focused all my attention on the motion of loading the rifle, trying not to think about the bear-man climbing up below.

After loading the powder came tamping the iron sand. I used an iron rod to ram the powder and iron sand firmly. Sweat soaked my nostrils and temples. This hunting rifle is truly troublesome—a broken rifle is literally life-threatening. In the vast forests of Northeast China, how many hunters have lost precious lives due to lacking a fast rifle? If I had a Type 56 semi-automatic rifle now, even two or three more bear-men wouldn't be a problem. In this situation, even a pistol would help.

Just as I finished loading the iron sand and powder and replaced the flint and steel, the bear-man's claws had already reached my feet. I quickly pulled back my leg, instinctively turned the muzzle downward, aimed at the bear-man's head, and fired. Because I'd put in too much powder, smoke and flame surged, blackening my face.

The firearm relies on the explosive force of gunpowder to propel the iron sand, but the angle was too low, causing the iron sand packed in the barrel to loosen and fail to deliver its full power. Also, since I was firing one-handed at close range with no support, the shot still went wide despite the proximity—it didn't hit the head, only smashed the bear-man's shoulder into a bloody mess. The bear-man fell from over ten meters up the tree, crashed heavily to the ground. The ground was covered in deep layers of dry twigs and rotting leaves, and with its thick hide and flesh, the fall didn't injure it much.

The bear-man got up again. This time it didn't climb the tree—like a heavy tank, it roared and slammed its bulky body into the tree, shaking it so violently that pine needles and cones rained down like rain.

Fortunately, I had looped the waistband around my arm, so I wasn't shaken loose. I worried this tree wasn't thick or strong enough—another few blows and it might snap at the roots. I thought: today I might die deep in these old mountains and forests. Facing death, I couldn't lose face—I had to summon the righteous spirit of a revolutionary. So I tore open my throat and shouted to Yanzi and Pangzi: "Looks like I'm off to see Marx—sorry, comrades, I'm going ahead to save you seats over there. If you have anything to say to the revolutionary mentor, I'll be sure to pass it along."

Pangzi shouted from another large tree over ten meters away: "Old Hutong Zhi, go ahead with peace of mind—the revolutionary cause neither loses nor gains by having you or not. When you reach Old Marx's place, study revolutionary theory well. I heard they always eat stewed beef with potatoes—can you handle that?"

I replied: "When have we revolutionaries ever been picky about food? Comrade Little Fatty, as long as the little cart of revolution doesn't overturn, just keep pushing forward—red flags rolling over serfs' halberds, black hands high on the tyrant's whip, the remaining two-thirds of suffering masses under heaven all need *you* to liberate them. I'll just eat stewed beef with potatoes every day from now on."

Yanzi burst into tears: "What time is it now, and you two still have the leisure to chat about nonsense? Hurry up and think of a solution!"

Just as we were at a loss, the bear-man stopped using its body to ram the tree, sat down on the ground, and breathed heavily. It had lost a lot of blood and kept exhausting itself—though its strength was astonishing, it too had its limits. Now it had calmed down from its frenzy, learned caution, and adopted a wait-and-see strategy, sitting at the base of the tree to wear us down.

The chestnut-yellow dog had also witnessed the bear-man's ferocity and dared not approach to snarl or bite anymore. It crouched far off to one side, also hungry, but out of loyal devotion to its master, refused to go find food on its own. Yanzi felt sorry for her dog, whistled for it to go find something to eat, and the chestnut-yellow dog finally left.

The three of us lay in the trees discussing strategy, but after thinking it over, there really was no feasible option. Climbing down to fight hand-to-hand with our old-fashioned rifles would undoubtedly be suicide. Most villagers weren't around, and no rescue was coming. To avoid falling from the trees, we each used our belts to tightly bind ourselves to the trunks, waiting to see who could endure longer.

This created a stalemate, which was most disadvantageous for us in the trees. After that intense struggle with the bear-man, we had exhausted most of our strength. It was already getting late—we three had gone two days and one night without sleep, had only eaten a few cornmeal pancakes during the day, were hungry and exhausted, and might not make it to tomorrow morning—we could faint from hunger and fall from the trees.

Seeing this, I recalled a line from the Chairman's poetry: "Enemy forces encircle in myriad layers, I remain unmoving." But down below there were no banners in sight—only the bear-man keeping watch.

As I idly wondered, I unknowingly dozed off leaning against the trunk. Soon I felt unbearable hunger in my stomach, waves of pain, and woke up. I saw the night sky thick with stars, a crescent moon like a hook—it was already deep midnight. The whole forest was silent. By moonlight, I saw the bear-man was gone from beneath the tree—I didn't know when it left. The branches were dense, I couldn't tell if Yanzi and Pangzi were still in the tree, so I shouted at the top of my lungs: "Yanzi! Little Fatty! Are you still up there?"

I shouted several times, my voice echoing through the midnight valley, but there was no response from the two. Though I'm bold, the thought of being alone in the primeval forest made my skin crawl. I thought these two were really inconsiderate—forgetting me and leaving without even calling me.

I shouted twice more from the tree—still nothing. I grew restless, scanned my surroundings, and saw a flicker of lights not far ahead. I hadn't expected anyone to live in such a place—had they also seen the lights and gone to find people?

In the dark I couldn't tell direction, only heard the water roaring. I oriented myself by the North Star—those lights seemed to come from the direction of Ox Heart Mountain. I slid down from the tree and walked toward the lights, one step deep, one shallow.

I began imagining the owner of those lights was an old mountain hunter with a white beard, kind, warm, and hospitable. Seeing me, a lost educated youth wandering the forest, he would surely welcome me warmly—first brew me a cup of hot tea, then roast a venison leg for me to eat... The more I thought, the hungrier I got, so I wiped the saliva from my mouth with my sleeve.

While thinking about food and walking, I soon reached a huge cave mouth. Inside, lights blazed brightly—strange, because just moments ago I had seen those lights nearby, now they seemed deep inside the cave. Had I hallucinated from hunger?

Driven by the great temptation of roasted venison in my fantasy, I walked into the cave, took three steps as two, and arrived at the dark, damp, and endless end of the cave. I found the interior of the mountain hollowed out into a vast space, suddenly opening before my eyes. Then I saw opposite me five or six girls from years ago walking side by side, chatting and laughing. Now it was clearly summer, yet they wore luxurious fur coats, ancient in style—definitely not modern clothing. Only one wore season-appropriate blue khaki cloth. She had her hair tied in two braids and slung a military-green canvas bag over her shoulder, printed with "Serve the People." Ah—wasn't that Tian Xiaomeng?

Yes, it was definitely Tian Xiaomeng. She was an educated youth from Suzhou. Pangzi and I are from Fujian, so we said we were all southerners, but we weren't really close. Mainly because Pangzi and I are troublemakers, always causing problems, so honest, quiet girls usually don't dare get close to us.

But seeing a familiar face in this strange mountain cave put my mind at ease. I hurried two steps forward and shouted to Tian Xiaomeng: "Little Tian, how did you end up here? Do you have anything to eat?"

Tian Xiaomeng turned, saw it was me, and waved me over. I walked up and said: "You're having a great time here, while we almost got eaten by a bear-man looking for you. What place is this? Do you have anything to eat? I'm so hungry my front and belly are stuck to my back."

Tian Xiaomeng said: "I'm really sorry—it's all my fault. I came to Lama Ravine to gather herbs and got lost. These kind sisters rescued me. They're about to perform a shadow puppet show now—you came at just the right time. Let's watch the show together before heading back." She then introduced me to the several young women beside her. They spoke with the local accent, were polite and courteous, and handed me some dried venison to eat, inviting me to join them for the show.

I followed them deeper into the cave. In the vast central chamber stood a city-like structure—magnificent pavilions and towers, lights blazing, surrounded by piles of ancient jade and artifacts stacked like mountains.

Before the gate, they had set up paper lanterns and white cloth. Behind them sat over a dozen musicians in charge of gongs, drums, locks, and horns. In front stood an ancient-style long table, with tea sets and cups, all exquisitely made. Another red agate tray was heaped with fruits and pastries.

Three chairs were placed before the table. The few girls in fur coats earlier had invited me and Tian Xiaomeng to sit on the left and right. The center chair remained empty, as if reserved for someone important yet to arrive.

Tian Xiaomeng noticed only three seats were available, with the others standing behind, and felt a bit uneasy, wanting to decline. But I was exhausted and starving, too tired for formalities. Anyway, the people's江山 belongs to the people—since there are seats, it doesn't matter who sits where. So I plopped down, grabbed the food in front of me, and started eating.

Possibly from extreme hunger, the food, though exquisite, tasted like nothing—like chewing wax. After a few bites, the more I thought about it, the stranger it seemed.

At this time, two girls supported an elderly lady dressed in splendid attire with white hair tied in a bun as she walked out from the main gate and took her seat in the central position.

I and Tian Xiaomeng stood up to greet the host, but upon seeing the old lady's appearance, I felt even more strange in my heart—what era is this now, how could there still be a landlady?

The old lady nodded at us two, then sat down in the center without a word, silently waiting to watch the performance.

The young female attendant standing behind us clapped her hands; the musicians and puppeteers of the opera troupe, hearing the signal, all exerted themselves in performance. Shadow puppetry originated in the Han and Tang dynasties, also known as "lamp shadow play," is a folk art widely popular among the people, where figures and animals from the play's script are carved from donkey hide, and artists manipulate them behind a white screen, accompanied by percussion and instrumental music, singing verses; it has developed to include no fewer than several hundred full plays.

However, this art form naturally suffered during the Cultural Revolution, criticized as a great poisonous weed promoting scholars, beauties, emperors, and generals; who would dare to perform it anymore? I never imagined I would actually witness such a performance today—during that era of zero cultural life, it was truly captivating. I was so engrossed in watching the play that I completely forgot everything else.

The various grand plays performed in shadow puppetry are all exceptionally splendid repertoires; first came an act of "Emperor Taizong's Dream Tour of the Guanghan Palace," followed by the beginning of "Di Qing's Night Seizure of Kunlun Pass."

On the stage, swords flashed and shadows moved, soldiers came and generals went, the spectacle was dazzling, further enhanced by the stirring drum music, causing the audience to involuntarily shout applause. I watched, my spirit stirred and my mouth dry, so I reached for the teacup on the table to drink water; unintentionally, I glanced at the old lady beside me and saw her also watching with brows relaxed and eyes smiling, as she took fruit preserves and snacks from the table to eat, her chewing motion extremely peculiar—her cheeks puffed out like an old monkey's, sucking and chewing repeatedly.

My grandmother had no teeth in her old age, but she certainly did not eat like this—was this old lady human or monkey? My mind in turmoil, the teacup in my hand fell to the ground and shattered into pieces; though the breaking of the teacup mattered little, the old lady's head also dropped onto the ground with it, her head still fixed on watching the shadow play, her mouth continuing to chew without pause.

The old lady's attendant maid hurried forward, respectfully lifted her head, and then placed it back onto her body.

I realized in my heart that we had encountered a ghost; I grabbed Tian Xiaomeng and ran toward the cave's exterior, stumbling and colliding in the pitch darkness as we burst out of the cave, hearing continuous booming tremors in my ears, the earth constantly shaking, the cave behind us sealing into a massive stone wall; had we come out half a minute later, we would surely have been crushed to death between the stone walls.

Outside, the sky had already grown bright; I pulled Tian Xiaomeng to run to the stream at the mountain's base, when suddenly I felt an excruciating pain in my abdomen, so painful that cold sweat poured from my forehead, I could not help but crouch down; it seemed the food they gave me was problematic—I recalled my grandfather telling me about ghosts inviting people to eat, where monsters used stones, frogs, and maggots transformed into delicacies to deceive people into eating them; I wondered what ghostly bird I had just eaten, the more I thought about it, the more nauseous I became, and I could not help but vomit loudly.

In the midst of pain, I dimly saw two people walking ahead; the girl in front looked somewhat familiar—it was Yanzi; seeing her made me feel at ease, before my vision darkened and I fainted.

When I woke up, it was already three days later; that day, Yanzi and Pangzi had stayed in the tree until dawn, while the person bear at the base of the tree had died from excessive blood loss. However, no matter where they searched, they could not find my trace; finally, by the riverbank, they discovered me and Tian Xiaomeng unconscious.

I had remained in a coma for these three days, running a high fever of over forty degrees; Pangzi ran over a hundred li of mountain路 to fetch the county doctor to treat me; my physique was strong, so I eventually woke up, but Tian Xiaomeng remained unconscious, so we had to notify her relatives to take her home for treatment; as for how she turned out later, we are not entirely clear.

I recounted my experience to Yanzi's father; he told me that what I encountered might have been a "ghost market," also called "ghost opera"; there is a legend in the mountains that when that empress dowager died, many folk performers of various杂耍 were buried alive with her as companions; in the past, some people had indeed seen the same thing as I did on Niu Xin Mountain.

However, these events are vague in my memory; sometimes I myself am not entirely sure whether they truly happened.

My educated youth life lasted only over half a year, not very long, but the memories left behind will never be erased in my lifetime; in the spring of 1969, it was my turn to return home for family visit during the Spring Festival, and my fate underwent another great turning point.