The battle was nearing its end, with sporadic gunfire still echoing in the air. The battlefield was filled with smoke, and the trenches were littered with bodies.
In the tunnel, there were about six or seven remaining Vietnamese soldiers. I led my team to block all the exits. Standing at the entrance of the tunnel, I shouted inside, “Lay down your weapons and surrender!”
The other soldiers joined in, chanting, “Lay down your weapons and surrender! Lay down your weapons and surrender!”
The surrounded Vietnamese soldiers responded from deep within the tunnel with a burst of gunfire.
I threw my helmet to the ground and cursed, “Damn it, why won’t they let me capture them alive?” Turning to the soldiers behind me, I ordered, “Use the cluster grenades and flamethrowers! Let’s take them out!” The cluster grenades and flamethrowers were the most effective means to deal with the stubborn enemies hiding in the tunnel. First, we would suppress them with a barrage of grenades, then finish them off with the flamethrowers.
Bundles of grenades were thrown into the tunnel, followed by a series of loud explosions. The Chinese soldiers then aimed their flamethrowers at the entrance and unleashed a fierce spray.
The smoke and the smell of burning made it hard to see. I grabbed my submachine gun and led the way into the tunnel.
As I moved deeper inside, I discovered a large bundle of unexploded cluster grenades. I quickly signaled to my soldiers to retreat, but it was too late. A heavy explosion went off, and the shockwave knocked me down. My vision went black, as if a layer of mud had been smeared over my eyes, and I couldn’t see anything.
I frantically groped around, feeling an overwhelming panic. Suddenly, someone grabbed my wrist and said, “Comrade, wake up! Were you having a nightmare?”
I opened my eyes to find two train attendants and a car full of passengers staring at me, all with smiles on their faces. It dawned on me that I had just been dreaming. I let out a long sigh, still shaken by the remnants of the nightmare.
I never expected to dream while taking the train home; I felt utterly embarrassed. I forced a smile at everyone, probably looking my worst, but thankfully there were no mirrors around to see my own face.
When the attendant saw I was awake, she informed me that we would soon arrive at the final station and suggested I get ready to disembark. I nodded, grabbed my luggage, and squeezed into the space between two train cars. Sitting on my bag, I lit a cigarette and took a few deep puffs, my mind still lingering on my comrades at the front.
Wearing a military uniform without insignia felt so awkward; I could barely walk properly. How was I going to explain this to my father? If he found out I was sent back by the army, he would probably beat me with his belt.
About ten minutes later, we arrived at the station. I walked around my home, hesitating to go inside, aimlessly wandering the streets while trying to think of a good excuse to fool my father.
As dusk fell, I entered a restaurant to grab a bite. When I saw the menu, I was shocked. I hadn’t eaten out in years, and the prices were outrageous! A plate of fish-flavored shredded pork cost six yuan. It seemed my re-enlistment pay of over three thousand yuan would only be enough for five hundred plates of that dish.
I ordered two bowls of rice and a plate of Kung Pao chicken, along with a bottle of beer. The young waitress insisted on recommending some oil-braised shrimp, but I refused. She muttered something under her breath and rolled her eyes as she went to get my food.
I didn’t want to argue with her. After ten years of service, sweating and bleeding, risking my life, was I really only worth five hundred plates of fish-flavored shredded pork? It was a bit ridiculous. But then I thought about my comrades who had sacrificed their lives on the battlefield and in the snowy mountains. Compared to them, how could I feel entitled to complain?
Just then, another customer walked in, wearing a pair of oversized sunglasses that looked like they were imported from America. His trendy outfit caught my eye, so I looked at him a bit longer.
He noticed me too, studying me for a while before coming over to sit at the table across from mine.
I thought to myself, what’s this guy’s deal? With so many empty tables, why come over here? Is he some thug looking for trouble? Just my luck! I was ready to pick a fight, but he looked somewhat familiar. His face was mostly hidden behind the big sunglasses, and I couldn’t quite place him.
He pushed his sunglasses up on his nose and said a phrase. That phrase sounded familiar, so I replied to him.
He asked, “Why is your face so red?”
I gave him a thumbs up and said, “Can’t find a girlfriend, so I’m anxious.”
“And why is it white again?”
“Married a tigress, so I’m scared.”
We both laughed and embraced each other. I said, “Fatty, you didn’t expect the Central Red Army to come back, did you?”
He was so excited he almost cried, “Lao Hu, our Red Army has finally reunited in Shaanxi!”
We had exchanged letters over the years, but being so far apart, we had never met in person. I couldn’t believe we ran into each other in a restaurant like this; it was such a coincidence.
Fatty’s father held a much higher position than mine, but unfortunately, he couldn’t withstand the political turmoil during the Cultural Revolution and died in a labor camp. A few years ago, after returning to the city, Fatty found a job, but after a year of fighting with his boss, he became a businessman, trading popular music tapes from our area to the north.
After so many years apart, we drank until we were red-faced and forgot about the excuses I had planned. When I got home, I ended up telling my father everything after a few drinks. To my surprise, he wasn’t angry; he was actually happy. I thought to myself, this old man is getting more and more out of touch. He’s glad his son doesn’t have to go to the front lines anymore.
The job the reintegration office arranged for me was as the deputy head of security at a food factory. After spending so long in the army, I didn’t want to live a regular life of working 9 to 5, so I declined and partnered with Fatty to do business in the north.
Time flew by, and soon it was the 1980s. We were both in our thirties, but our business was struggling. Forget saving money to get married; we were barely managing to eat and often had to ask our families for money to get by.
One sunny day, with clear skies, we both wore sunglasses and bell-bottom pants, pushing a tricycle down the streets of Beijing. We had a board set up on the tricycle filled with cassette tapes, and we played popular Taiwanese songs through a broken tape recorder connected to two old speakers.
A bespectacled female student approached us, browsed for a while, and asked, “Do you have ‘Wang Jieshi’ and ‘Xie Lisi’?”
We had sold out of those tapes just two days ago. With a cheeky grin, Fatty said to her, “Hey, sister, what era are we in? Still listening to their songs? Have you heard of Teresa Teng, Qian Baihui, or Zhang Aijia? Grab a few tapes to take home; I guarantee they sound amazing!”
The female student looked at Fatty skeptically and turned to leave.
Fatty cursed under his breath, “What an idiot! Acting all high and mighty, thinking she can listen to the classics. She looks like a walking stick herself!”
I laughed and said, “Your accent has changed to a Beijing dialect! Can’t you just speak standard Mandarin? Stop pretending to be a capital city person. Business in Beijing is tough these days. Let’s head to Xi’an in a few days.”
Fatty wanted to argue that his ancestors were from Beijing, but before he could finish, he suddenly pointed down the street and shouted, “Oh no, the business inspection team is coming! Let’s run!”
We quickly pushed the tricycle and dashed down the street, taking a series of turns until we found ourselves in a different area. I looked around and realized we had unknowingly ended up at the Panjiayuan Antique Market.
The street was filled with vendors selling all sorts of old items, including old Chairman Mao badges and Little Red Books. There were all kinds of things: various bottles and jars, old clocks and pocket watches, embroidered shoes worn by women with bound feet, piles of copper coins, snuff bottles, antique furniture, smoking pipes, calligraphy, carved inkstones, brushes, yellowed paper, old pipes, cricket cages, porcelain, lacquerware, and jewelry made of gold, silver, copper, iron, tin, and jade. If it was an old item, you could find just about anything here.
Fatty had a family heirloom jade pendant that he always wore. This piece of jade was given to his father by a commander of the Northwest Field Army. Back in the day, this commander led his troops into Xinjiang and eliminated a group of bandits at the Niya Oasis. The jade pendant originally belonged to the bandit leader. Although it was called a jade pendant, its shape was quite unusual and ancient-looking, with various strange patterns carved into it that resembled maps or writing. Its purpose was a mystery.
Fatty had shown me this jade many times. My family used to have a lot of antiques, and I had heard my grandfather share plenty of knowledge about jade and stone artifacts when I was young. However, I couldn’t determine the value or age of this particular piece.
Fatty wanted to sell the jade to raise some capital for our business, but I stopped him. “This was left to you by your father. If you can avoid selling it, then do so. We’re not at the end of our rope yet. If it comes to that, I can ask my family for money. After all, my parents have received a lot of back pay.”
We found an empty spot by the roadside and parked the tricycle, then bought two bowls of braised pork offal with bread for lunch.
Braised pork offal is a soup made from pig intestines and other offal, served with pieces of bread soaked in it. It cost just over a yuan a bowl, making it both economical and filling.
I had put too much chili in my bowl, and it was so spicy that tears and snot were streaming down my face as I stuck out my tongue and gasped for air.
After a couple of bites, Fatty said to me, “Lao Hu, I had hoped to bring you out to make a fortune over the years, but I didn’t expect the economy to pick up nationwide. The situation isn’t just good; it’s great! It’s not like when I first started selling tapes, when there were no more than three places in all of Beijing selling popular music tapes. I feel like I’ve dragged you down with me. Your father was already a colonel before he retired, enjoying the benefits of a deputy municipal official. You’d be better off going back and having your dad pull some strings to get you a job in the government, instead of suffering with me.”
I patted Fatty’s big belly and said, “Brother, let me be honest with you. If I really wanted to work in the government, I could do it anytime, but I’m scared. You know why? I’m afraid. If I settle down in one place, all I can think about are my fallen comrades. They keep flashing before my eyes, and just seeing them makes my insides ache. Right now, we’re busy running around doing small business, which helps me distract my mind. Otherwise, I’d go crazy.”
After so many years in the army, I hadn’t learned much, but I had learned how to boost morale. I comforted Fatty, saying, “We’re not doing too badly now, right? We still have this braised pork offal to eat! Back in the day in the Kunlun Mountains, that was real suffering. One year during the Spring Festival, everyone was missing home, and many new recruits were secretly crying. The commander saw this and quickly arranged for everyone to have dumplings to improve our meals. You wouldn’t believe what those dumplings were like. There were no vegetables in Kunlun; they were more precious than gold. We had plenty of meat, but it was all meatball dumplings. The altitude was so high that the water wouldn’t boil, so the dumplings were half-cooked, and the meat filling was still red. Can you imagine what that tasted like? I ended up eating seventy or eighty of them, nearly bursting! I was craving cooked food so badly; I hadn’t had any in years. The next day, I had to be sent to the hospital because I couldn’t digest it; my stomach felt like a tin can. Remember what it says in ‘Red Rock’? The night before a revolution’s victory is always the coldest. Our business can’t stay like this forever. If tapes aren’t selling well, we can sell something else.”
I turned on the tape recorder, and the two big speakers immediately blared out music.
Since the tape recorder was quite old and worn out, the sound quality was terrible. Even the most beautiful songs sounded like a broken gong coming from it.
But neither Fatty nor I found it unpleasant; it was definitely better than our singing. After my heartfelt pep talk, Fatty’s mood brightened, and he started tapping his feet to the rhythm of the music, shouting, “Come and take a look! Original versions from Hong Kong and Taiwan, a massive clearance sale! Selling at a loss just to make some noise!”
Passersby and nearby vendors cast curious glances at us. A man selling antiques from a stall approached, greeting us with a smile that revealed a big gold tooth. He pulled out some cigarettes and offered us both a round.
I took a look at the cigarette he handed me and exclaimed, “Wow, nice quality! Marlboro from America.”
As he lit my cigarette, he said, “You two are quite something, selling pop songs at the Panjiayuan Antique Market. I bet no one else in the whole city has thought of that. You’re the first!”
I took a deep drag and exhaled two streams of white smoke from my nose. This American cigarette had quite a kick. I looked up at the man and said, “Don’t flatter us. We’re just trying to avoid the business inspection team. We stumbled into this place and are just taking a break before we leave.”
As we chatted, it turned out we weren’t strangers after all. The man, known as Big Gold Tooth, was from Hainan Island. His family had roots in the People’s Liberation Army when they moved south. He shared stories about his family background, mentioning which divisions and regiments his elders had served in, and it turned out we had some mutual connections.
However, Big Gold Tooth’s father wasn’t a high-ranking official; he was a skilled craftsman who dealt in antiques. He was conscripted by the Nationalist Army during the Xuzhou and Bengbu Campaigns, which was part of the Huaihai Campaign. His unit later defected to join the People’s Liberation Army, and Big Gold Tooth himself served as a cook. He suffered severe frostbite on the Korean battlefield, leaving him permanently disabled. After the reform and opening up, he moved from Hainan to Beijing to sell antiques and collectibles.
It’s often said that listening is more important than speaking. While he spoke eloquently about being a craftsman, I knew the truth: he was just a grave robber. Others might not catch on, but I had been raised by my grandfather, who had shared many stories about such matters.
A true expert can tell the difference with just a glance. I asked Big Gold Tooth, “Did your father ever dig up any big treasures during his time as a grave robber?”
The term “big zongzi” is a slang used among tomb raiders, similar to how bandits in the mountains have their own coded language to discuss their deeds without being too direct. In this context, “zongzi” refers to a well-preserved corpse, while “big zongzi” indicates trouble, referring to zombies or malevolent spirits. “Dry zongzi” means the body has decayed to just bones, and “meat zongzi” refers to corpses with valuable items still on them.
Upon hearing my question, Big Gold Tooth immediately regarded me with respect and insisted on treating Fatty and me to hot pot, where we could discuss things in more detail. So the three of us packed up our things and headed to the restaurant together.