In the spring of that year, the Chinese government’s leadership felt the threat from international hostile forces and began to make strategic adjustments. The military expanded, preparing for war and potential disasters. They dug deep shelters, stockpiled food, and the public actively participated in drills for nuclear, chemical, and air raid defenses.
When I returned to the city to visit my family, I heard some inside news: my parents’ issues would soon be clarified by the government, proving that my grandfather was not considered a landlord but a middle peasant. This meant they would be released sooner or later. At that time, due to the large-scale conscription by the People’s Liberation Army, an old comrade of my father helped me enlist through a “backdoor” way.
Uncle Chen, my father’s comrade, was the chief of staff in the military district. He had fought in the Korean War with the Ninth Corps, where hundreds of thousands of volunteer soldiers surrounded the elite U.S. Marine Corps. The U.S. Air Force dropped a massive amount of bombs, turning the night sky into daylight. Despite the heavy firepower from the American forces, the volunteers charged forward like a tide, launching wave after wave of attacks.
During that brutal battle, my father braved temperatures below minus twenty degrees to carry the severely injured Uncle Chen out from a pile of corpses. When they reached the medical station, their bodies were frozen together by the blood. The nurse had to use scissors to separate them. Their friendship went beyond mere life-and-death bonds. Now that my parents’ historical issues were close to resolution, arranging for the son of an old comrade to join the army was not a difficult task for a military district chief of staff.
Uncle Chen asked me what branch of the military I wanted to join. I said I wanted to be in the Air Force because I heard the pilots had good food. He laughed and gave me a playful tap on the head, saying, “Flying a fighter jet isn’t that easy. You should go to the field army and train hard for a few years. Once you get promoted, we can transfer you to work in the military district.” I replied that I’d rather not work in an office; I preferred to stay with the grassroots troops.
I wanted to say goodbye to my friends at Ganggang Camp, Fatty and Yanzi, but time didn’t allow it, so I wrote them a letter. I felt a bit guilty about leaving them behind while I went to the army, especially since they were still working in the countryside. It felt like I wasn’t sharing their hardships. However, that feeling faded after three months when I realized how comfortable life was in the mountains as a educated youth.
I was assigned to a unit that was about to be restructured into an armored division. Unexpectedly, after enduring three tough months in basic training, the Central Military Commission issued an order to transfer our unit to the 62nd Class Post at the Kunlun Mountain Pass on the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau, where we would be restructured into an engineering unit.
This wasn’t surprising given the circumstances at the time. All military units across the country were digging shelters for civil defense—various types of shelters for air defense, ammunition storage, and strategic concealment. Almost every unit was involved in digging, but my unit transitioned from amateur digging to professional digging. Our task was classified as top secret: to build a massive underground combat readiness facility deep in the Kunlun Mountains. Although the soldiers weren’t explicitly told the purpose of the facility, anyone with a bit of common sense could guess. There were strict confidentiality rules in the unit, so we never discussed this matter openly. There were rumors that once we completed this engineering task, we would be reassigned back to the field army.
The Kunlun Pass, stands at an elevation of 4,767 meters. From a geological perspective, it is classified as a “permafrost desert landscape,” formed from ancient, heavily eroded metamorphic rocks. Our division, from top to bottom, knew how to dig trenches but had no knowledge of civil engineering or construction. Therefore, many engineers and technicians were sent to guide us, providing five months of intensive training for the commanders and soldiers. My squad was chosen as an advance team to head south through the Unfrozen Spring into the depths of the vast Kunlun Mountains. Our mission was to find suitable concealed locations for construction.
The Unfrozen Spring is located on the northern bank of the Kunlun River, also known as Kunlun Spring. Its granite walls form a pool, with crystal-clear water continuously gushing forth, never freezing even in the harshest winter. No one knows where the spring leads underground. The higher-ups issued strict orders forbidding soldiers from bathing there, as the local Tibetan people regard the spring as sacred and often worship the water. In the early days after Tibet was liberated, when the army passed through this area, there were no such regulations. Three soldiers who bathed in the spring drowned, reportedly due to the high levels of nitrous sulfur in the water. Their graves are located not far from the supply station, which also served as our squad’s final supply point.
Once we finally entered the Kunlun Mountains, nearly everyone experienced severe altitude sickness. Our faces turned purple, and our vision became blurry; it felt like we were all hallucinating. The majestic Kunlun Mountains, with their countless peaks and valleys, resembled a series of massive silver-gray dragons rolling forward. In comparison, our small team of just over ten people felt like tiny ants in this vast and imposing mountain range.
As I marched along the path, I recalled the book passed down from my grandfather. It mentioned that the Kunlun mountain range, with its peaks reaching five thousand meters, is considered the ancestral dragon vein of the world. These mountains have hidden countless secrets since ancient times. According to Tibetan mythology, the tomb of the hero King Gesar and the gateway to the demon realm are said to be concealed within these rolling hills.
The mission of the advance team was to find suitable construction sites. Accompanying us were two engineers, a surveyor, and a geological explorer. After abandoning our vehicles, we trekked through the mountains for two full days. By the evening of the second day, we set up tents to rest. The sky was overcast with leaden clouds, and light snowflakes began to fall, indicating that a heavy snowfall was on the way.
The four engineering personnel were all bespectacled intellectuals, one of whom was a woman. They were struggling to adapt to the harsh conditions of the plateau, gasping for breath inside the tent. Their labored breathing made me worry for their frail bodies.
The team leader, along with the squad leader and the medic, busied themselves pouring water and distributing medication to them, urging them to eat something. They reminded everyone that the less they ate, the more they would feel the effects of oxygen deprivation.
The soldiers were strong and had undergone rigorous training during basic training, including ten kilometers of armed cross-country runs every day. They adapted well to their environment and had mostly adjusted to the low oxygen levels. The troops used special white coal balls to start a campfire, gathering around it for warmth. They ate half-cooked noodles and compressed biscuits, as the high altitude made it impossible to boil water completely.
Among my closer friends were a tall guy from Heilongjiang in Northeast China, a Tibetan soldier named “Gawa” who had enlisted from the Tibetan region, and a sixteen-year-old communications soldier named Xiao Lin from Jilin. After we finished our noodles, we rested, panting. It felt like the effort it took to eat a meal on the plateau was greater than that of marching on the plains.
After resting for a while, Xiao Lin said to me, “Brother Hu, you’re from the city and know a lot. Why don’t you tell us some stories?”
The tall guy chimed in, “Yeah, Old Hu, we rarely get to hear you talk. It’s really exciting! Since we have to hold a class meeting later anyway, we might as well not rest yet. Go ahead and share something with us.”
Gawa struggled a bit with his Mandarin but understood well enough. He seemed to want to say something but couldn’t find the words. Finally, he just waved his hand at me, which I took to mean, “You go ahead; I’ll listen.”
I said, “With the air so thin, how come you all still have so much energy? Alright, since you all want to hear something, I’ll share a story. But when we have the class meeting later, if the squad leader gives me a hard time, you all better help me out!”
I said this because our squad leader didn’t like me much. He had enlisted from a rural background and had spent five years in the army, before becoming a small squad leader. He particularly disdained me, a “backdoor soldier” from a privileged family. Whenever there was a meeting, he would make me speak, and then he would pick apart my words, criticizing me for a long time. It had almost become a routine, and it really frustrated me.
But what should I talk about? I had read fewer than ten books in total, including four by Mao, one of his quotations, a dictionary, “The Red Sun,” and “The Young Guard.” But I had already shared those stories. I also had a book on Feng Shui secrets, but I doubted they would understand that.
After racking my brain, I finally remembered a book I had borrowed from Tian Xiaomeng when I went to the countryside. It was a popular hand-copied book of folk legends at the time, mainly focusing on the deeds of the Plum Blossom Gang, but it also included many strange tales from society. One story about a hundred beautiful women left a particularly deep impression on me.
The story begins on a train traveling from Beijing to Nanjing. A female college student named Zhao Pingping was on this train to visit her family. Sitting across from her was a young and handsome officer from the People’s Liberation Army. They struck up a conversation. Zhao Pingping was captivated by the officer’s charm and eloquence. During their chat, she learned that he came from a good family and had received a higher education. Zhao Pingping even began to fantasize about marrying him.
The train arrived at Nanjing Station. The officer invited Zhao Pingping to a nearby restaurant for a meal. During dinner, he stepped away to make a phone call. When he returned, he handed her a letter, asking her to deliver it to his home in Nanjing. He explained that he had an urgent task and couldn’t go home himself. Without hesitation, Zhao Pingping agreed, and they parted reluctantly.
The next day, Zhao Pingping went to the officer’s home to deliver the letter. She was greeted by an elderly woman who read the letter aloud. The woman then warmly invited Zhao Pingping inside and poured her a cup of tea. After sipping a few mouthfuls, Zhao Pingping suddenly felt dizzy, and before she knew it, she collapsed to the floor.
A bucket of icy cold water splashed over Zhao Pingping, waking her up. She found herself naked and bound to a stripping bench, with walls adorned with human skin. Surrounding her were several people, including the elderly woman and a few burly men. The woman held the letter in front of Zhao Pingping, revealing its chilling message: “Deliver the one hundredth piece of beautiful skin, please check.”
With a cold smile, the elderly woman said, “You’re about to meet your end. To make it clear, we are undercover agents. We skin women to pack explosives inside their skins. We need a total of one hundred pieces, and today we finally have enough.” As she spoke, she pulled out a special knife designed for skinning and handed it to one of her henchmen. The man raised the knife above Zhao Pingping’s head, and amidst her screams…
Just as I was getting into the story, the second squad leader interrupted me, saying, “Everyone, stop talking! Hu Bayi, you’re just making things up again. We’re having a class meeting now, and since you like to talk so much, let’s have you speak first, okay?”
I stood up straight and mimicked the squad leader’s accent, replying, “No way, no way! Why is it always me? It should be Gawa’s turn to speak; everyone should be equal, that’s the principle of socialism!”
The second squad leader shot back, “why do you have to be so difficult? I told you not to mimic me. I’m the squad leader, and if I say you should speak, then you speak! Don’t bring up any nonsense about absolute equality!”
I looked around at my comrades, who were all sitting there seriously, waiting for me to speak. Gawa, taking advantage of the squad leader’s distraction, stuck his tongue out at me. These guys were so untrustworthy! I had to find a way to backtrack: “Report, Squad Leader, what are we discussing today? You haven’t said yet, so how can we speak?”
At that moment, our instructor, Li Jian, walked over. In his thirties, he was of average height and quite refined. A veteran of over ten years, he treated the soldiers well and had no airs about him. He approached us and said, “Are you comrades having a meeting? I’d like to listen in.”
The second squad leader quickly saluted the instructor, who waved his hand, saying, “You all continue; don’t let me interrupt your discussion.”
The second squad leader, feeling nervous with the instructor nearby, didn’t know what to say. Thinking singing might be easier, he suggested, “Comrades, let’s sing a revolutionary song to boost our spirits, okay?”
The soldiers replied in unison, “Suger!”. The instructor nearly laughed out loud but quickly coughed to cover it up.
The second squad leader, oblivious to the humor, raised his hands and began conducting: “Alright, I’ll start us off. One, two, three, sing!”
”…”.
As the snow fell heavier from the sky, the voices of the ten or so soldiers echoed through the vast, snowy Kunlun Mountains. It was hard to tell whether the majestic mountains enhanced the grandeur of the military song or if the soldiers’ voices brightened the desolate beauty of Kunlun. For a moment, even a few engineers in another tent were drawn in by the singing, forgetting their altitude sickness as they gazed at the endless peaks, lost in thought.