After returning to Beijing, we held the second representative conference at the famous old restaurant, Meiwei Zhai. The meeting went smoothly after Fatty devoured three plates of Shanghai-style fried shrimp, and we passed the resolution to head to Yunnan for a tomb raiding.
Fatty wiped the oil from his mouth and said to me, “Old Hu, Yunnan is a great place! I was really excited by the story of the golden silk bird flying from the horizon back in the day. I’ve always wanted to meet those ethnic minority girls who burn with passionate love.”
I replied, “Yunnan isn’t as great as you think. Not every ethnic girl is a beauty. When I went to Yunnan before, I didn’t see many impressive ones. Our unit was stationed near the border at Laoshan for a month of real combat training. That area is a melting pot of the Hani, Yi, and Zhuang ethnic groups, and honestly, they look a lot like the Vietnamese. The stories of the five flower beauties and Ashima are just artistic embellishments from movies, not the real deal. Don’t get your hopes up too high, or you’ll be disappointed.”
Big Gold Tooth chimed in, “What do you mean? Hu, the place you went to was probably a remote valley. When I went to Yunnan to work, I saw plenty of beautiful Dai and Jingpo girls. They were all slim, with tiny waists—wow! If I could marry one, I’d be satisfied for life.”
The blind man, having finished his meal, slammed the table and said, “Gentlemen, what’s so special about the Yi girls in Yunnan? Plus, among the Miao people, there are those who practice witchcraft. Their love spells are dangerous and tricky; it’s best to avoid those women.”
Big Gold Tooth nodded, “The old man has a point. When I was in Yunnan, I heard that among the many ethnic groups, the Miao are the most skilled in witchcraft, and they have different subgroups like the Flower Miao, Green Miao, and Black Miao. The Green Miao are experts in herbs and insects, while the Black Miao are good at raising and using poisons. The Black Miao are rare now, but if you cross paths with a witch among the Miao girls, it could be a real headache.”
Fatty laughed, “Old Jin, you underestimate our charm! If there aren’t any good Miao girls, that’s fine. I’ll make sure to find a few for you. We’ll meet at the same place, and each of you will get a Miao honey.”
I had a bit too much to drink, and my tongue was getting heavy. I hooked my arm around Fatty’s shoulder and joked, “What if an old witch with one foot in the grave takes a liking to you, Fatty? She’ll probably skin you alive! The place we’re going has a lot of Bai people, and the Bai girls are beautiful—they’re fair-skinned.”
Shirley Yang was also enjoying her meal. If we trace her ancestry, her hometown should be in the Jiangsu and Zhejiang areas, so the Huaiyang cuisine at this restaurant suited her taste. Seeing me, Fatty, Big Gold Tooth, and the blind man talking about Yunnan’s ethnic girls, she finally couldn’t take it anymore and cleared her throat.
After Shirley’s reminder, I remembered I had something serious to say. The effects of the alcohol had lessened a bit, so I raised my glass and addressed everyone, “Comrades, tomorrow, Fatty, Shirley, and I will set off for Yunnan. It’s a long journey ahead, with dangers lurking everywhere. We don’t know when we’ll be back. But as men, we should aim for the horizon, riding and carrying our guns across the land. Gorky said that foolish sea ducks don’t deserve to enjoy the thrill of battle. Chairman Mao said that ten thousand years is too long; we should seize the day. Right now, with good wine and good company, we should cherish every moment. When we return victorious, we’ll celebrate again and toast to our heroes.”
Everyone raised their glasses to toast for a smooth journey ahead. Big Gold Tooth downed his drink and grasped my hand, saying, “Old Hu, I really wish I could go to Yunnan with you guys, but my body can’t handle the strain. I’d just be a burden. Your words just now almost made me tear up. How about I sing a verse of ‘Ten Farewells to the Red Army’ for you?”
I was also touched and replied, “Master Jin, saying that makes it seem like we’re growing distant. Our trip to Yunnan is thanks to you preparing the gear back home. That’s our guarantee of success! Don’t worry, whatever we find, half will be yours and half will be mine.”
Big Gold Tooth then went over the gear he had bought and what he hadn’t. The three of us—Big Gold Tooth, Shirley Yang, and I—discussed what we needed to bring. Meanwhile, Fatty and the blind man were busy pestering a pretty waitress in the restaurant, insisting on reading her fortune. We spent our last night before departure in this lively atmosphere.
The next day, Big Gold Tooth and the blind man saw us off at the train station. We exchanged good wishes, and as the train rumbled to life, we said our goodbyes.
Shirley, Fatty, and I took the train south and arrived in Kunming. We stayed there for three days, during which we had a lot to do. Following the contact information Big Gold Tooth provided, I found a revolutionary comrade of his living near Tanhua Temple in Yingxi Village. He had maintained business ties with Big Gold Tooth. With his help, I managed to buy three replica Type 64 pistols, which had official serial numbers. They were made in a Burmese factory, mimicking Chinese standard pistols, and had made their way into China. In terms of manufacturing, it was essentially an export turned domestic sale. In the deep valleys, where no one was around, it would be inconvenient to face any wild beasts without firearms for protection.
Shirley and Fatty bought two insect nets and three beige sun hats, planning to disguise ourselves as natural museum staff to catch butterflies for specimens in the forest. The Lancang River area is known for its diverse butterfly species, so using the guise of insect collectors would help us avoid detection while we explored the valley.
We kept the rest of our gear simple. The mountainous areas of Yunnan aren’t like the desert; we didn’t need to carry much water or food. We filled the empty space in our backpacks with various medicines to deal with any poisonous insects we might encounter in the forest.
I distributed the three Type 64 pistols between Fatty and Shirley. Fatty wasn’t satisfied, saying, “What good is this lousy gun? It couldn’t even kill a mouse!” In a fit of anger, he fashioned a slingshot instead. Back when we were stationed in Inner Mongolia’s Greater Khingan Range, we often used slingshots to hunt birds and hares. If made well, they could indeed be more powerful than a Type 64 pistol.
Once everything was ready, we took the 320 National Road, crossing between the Ailao and Wuliang Mountains and the Dali Diancang Mountain and Erhai Lake, arriving at the beautiful Lancang River. Our destination was the area in Yunnan with the densest mountains and rivers, still a distance from the China-Myanmar border.
The last stretch of road was steep and narrow, with the long-distance bus only able to navigate along the cliffs. The driver was experienced but drove carelessly. The road was in poor condition, with many ups and downs, loose stones, and potholes. Sharp turns followed one after another, causing the bus to sway dangerously. Fatty and I broke out in cold sweat, fearing that if the driver wasn’t careful, we’d all tumble into the Lancang River below.
The other passengers seemed used to this kind of ride; they were unfazed, some chatting and laughing, while others slept soundly. Many were carrying baskets of poultry, and the sounds of crying children mixed with various unpleasant odors made the air unbearable. I’m not one to be spoiled, but I couldn’t stand it. I had to open the window to breathe in some fresh air.
I leaned out of the window and saw the rushing Lancang River below, with steep stone cliffs on both sides, creating a natural barrier. The river wasn’t very wide, and from our high vantage point, the water appeared a dark red, winding its way south.
Fatty was having a panic attack from the height, trembling all over and too scared to even glance out the window. He kept cursing, “This damn driver really knows how to play with fire! Is he driving or performing acrobatics? At this rate, I’m going to meet my end, Old Hu! If we don’t get off this bus soon, I’m done for!”
Shirley Yang, unable to handle the rollercoaster ride, simply closed her eyes and avoided looking outside, which helped her feel a bit more at ease.
I said to Fatty, “The revolution isn’t over yet; we still have to push on. Just hang in there! If we get off now, we’ll have a long way to walk. Think about how the Red Army persevered through snow-capped mountains and grasslands. What you’re facing now is nothing compared to that! To be honest, I’m about to lose my lunch from this bumpy ride too.”
A local tea vendor sitting nearby noticed our distress and said, “You guys look scared. Just take some motion sickness pills; after a few rides, you’ll get used to it. Where are you headed?”
Yunnan’s local dialect is quite complex, and since we didn’t want to interact too much with the locals, I didn’t understand what he was saying and didn’t know how to respond.
Seeing that I didn’t understand, the tea vendor switched to broken Mandarin and said, “I meant you look uncomfortable and aren’t used to this kind of ride. You’ll get used to it. Where are you going?”
Since he seemed to be a local, I thought it would be a good idea to ask him for directions. I replied, “We’re… um, we’re from the natural museum, looking to catch big butterflies at Snake River. Can you tell us how far it is to Zhelong Mountain? Where should we get off?”
The tea vendor pointed to a tall mountain in the distance by the riverbank. “Not far now. Get off after you turn that bend; that’s Snake River at the foot of Zhelong Mountain. I’m heading there to collect tea leaves too, so just follow me.”
I followed his finger and saw a gray, bowl-shaped mountain looming at the end of the road, its peak shrouded in clouds and mist. From the bus, it really did feel like a towering giant. Although it was in sight, the winding road meant we still had quite a distance to cover, and it looked like we’d be suffering in this rickety bus for at least another hour.
We were sitting at the back of the bus, and just as I was talking to the tea vendor, the bus suddenly shook violently, as if it had run over something. The driver slammed on the brakes, causing the passengers to lurch forward in chaos. Amid the commotion, someone shouted that someone had been crushed. Fatty cursed, saying that the crazy driver was driving like a maniac; it was a miracle no one had been killed. He and Shirley Yang leaned out the back window to look at the road behind us.
I glanced back and felt my scalp tingle. I quickly shifted my gaze away; if I looked any longer, I’d surely throw up. What the hell had we run over?
At that moment, the driver jumped out to check the situation at the back of the bus. There were two prominent green streaks on the road, but instead of a person, it was a stone figurine that had been smashed by the bus, about the size of a real person. The figurine wasn’t solid; it had only a thin outer shell of stone, and the inside was hollow. It had shattered into several pieces, and crawling out from it were countless white maggots. Many of the maggots had been crushed by the bus wheels, and there was a disgusting green fluid oozing from the bodies of the dead ones, making me feel nauseous just looking at it.
The driver stomped on a few of the maggots, cursing his bad luck and wondering where such a rotten stone filled with maggots had come from, which had dented his bus.
Shirley pointed to a piece of the stone figurine on the ground and said to me, “Old Hu, look at this figurine; it resembles Han Dynasty craftsmanship. Could it be a relic from the time of King Xian?”
I nodded and said, “It does look somewhat similar, but why does this stone figurine only have a shell? It’s filled with so many maggots and has been crushed by the bus. Just from its appearance, it’s hard to determine its origin, so we can’t definitively say it’s from the Han Dynasty.”
I looked up through the bus window at the towering cliffs shrouded in clouds and mist, unable to tell where the figurine might have fallen from. Perhaps there were some ancient relics in the nearby mountains. It seemed we had entered the territory once ruled by King Xian, but why were there so many maggots inside this figurine?
The more I thought about it, the more uneasy I felt, so I asked the tea vendor if he had ever encountered such a situation before. He replied, “There are more of these stone figurines around Zhelong Mountain, often buried underground. Sometimes, during landslides, they might be exposed, and they’re usually filled with fat maggots. Some say these are ancient human-shaped coffins, but that’s just hearsay; no one knows their exact purpose. Locals dislike these things, believing they are bad omens that signify disease and death. Running into one today is bad luck; we should go to Yuhuang Pavilion soon to get a silver talisman for safety.”
Worried that my keen interest in these matters might raise suspicion, I decided not to ask further questions and instead chatted with the tea vendor about local customs. Zhelong Mountain is on the edge of the Bai Autonomous Prefecture, home to the Bai, Han, and a few Jingpo and Dai people. The liveliest festival is in March, when everyone gathers at the foot of Diancang Mountain for various folk songs and temple fair activities.
I wasn’t particularly interested in that, so I exchanged a few pleasantries before steering the conversation back to Zhelong Mountain, using the excuse of butterfly catching to inquire about the terrain there.
The tea vendor said that although he was a local, Zhelong Mountain was like a boundary marker, and few people ventured over it. The area was rife with poisonous insects and miasma, making the valleys humid and stifling. Many people had gone missing there, and locals were reluctant to go. Additionally, Zhelong Mountain was very high, with a snow line, and the weather could change rapidly, bringing hail, heavy rain, and strong winds. One moment it could be clear and sunny, and the next, severe weather could strike. Climbing Zhelong Mountain without a large group was quite risky.
Since the driver had smashed the stone figurine, he had slowed down, likely worried about the bad luck associated with hitting such things. He tried to drive more steadily, and as we gradually left the treacherous cliff roads behind, we finally breathed a sigh of relief. Fatty seemed to have come back to life just in time to hear the tea vendor’s words and couldn’t help but ask, “Hey, what’s this mountain? It sounds a bit like the snow-capped mountains the Red Army climbed back in the day. I wonder if it’s the same one?”
I replied, “The Red Army climbed Jiajin Mountain, which is quite different from Zhelong Mountain and much farther north. But you did see how the cliffs of the Lancang River and the nearby Jinsha River are quite similar. If you want to deepen your understanding of traditional thought, you could jump in and swim a lap, experiencing the essence of Chairman Mao’s poetry about the Jinsha River splashing against the clouds. Then, you could climb Zhelong Mountain, treating it as a chance to retrace the Long March, climbing snow-capped mountains and crossing grasslands.”
Fatty responded, “The soldiers’ feet traverse the world, crossing the Red River to launch surprise attacks, flying over the Wu River’s chasm, and advancing from Guiyang to Kunming—these are all documented. If we’re going to walk the Long March, we need to start from the beginning, not halfway through. What you’re suggesting is clearly opportunistic.”