Volume One, Chapter Three: The Broken Slingshot

As he followed Old Wu, Wang Dong couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. He realized he had underestimated the situation—not because he was naive, but because he had grown too accustomed to the leisurely life two thousand years in the future, forgetting just how much harsher things were in this era.

There was never any shortage of clever people in the world, but very few managed to make a fortune in these times. Why? Wasn’t it because there were simply too many constraints? Old Wu had raised three critical issues: food, weapons, and identity. Each was a matter of life and death. Once he entered the mountains, he could only rely on the food he managed to bring with him to survive the initial period. Weapons and identity would cost a significant sum.

Patting the thin wallet pressed against his chest, Wang Dong broke out in a cold sweat. There was no hope of buying a gun with this money, and an identity was out of the question. All he could do was buy some food and tools and grit his teeth to get through.

Dusk was falling by the time they passed the supply cooperative. Wu Hongqiu stopped and asked, “How much money did you bring this time?”

Wang Dong patted his chest, “Forty-six. What’s left from two months’ wages.”

Wu Hongqiu shook his head and walked straight past the entrance.

It was dark by the time they returned to North 102. After a quick greeting to the gatekeeper, Da Huang, Wang Dong hurried after him.

As he watched night fall over the farm, not a single lamp flickering to life, Wang Dong felt a pang of melancholy. When he had left, at this hour, at least a third of the oil lamps would still be burning. Yet just a year later, not a single one remained.

Wu Hongqiu noticed his mood. “Don’t worry. There aren’t many left, but there are still people here. You young folk went home, but I, Old Zhao, and Chen Ning all stayed. They’re just out delivering grain today.”

Inside, Wu Hongqiu tossed a few sticks of rotten wood onto the kang and pulled a cloth bundle from the chest. “I don’t have any money, and even if I had a gun I couldn’t give it to you—it’s the farm’s, and if there’s an inspection and the gun’s gone, that’s the end of me. Here, take these ration tickets.”

He yanked out a wad of ration tickets and stuffed them into Wang Dong’s hand. “Don’t be polite. Things are a bit easier now, but you’ll need these to buy dry rations. Just take them.”

Looking at the pile of ration tickets, some new and some old, Wang Dong felt a pang of sorrow. As a former member of this farm, he knew exactly how precious these tickets were. In North 102, except in famine years, there was never any real worry about food. With the land allotted for sweet potatoes and potatoes, these ration tickets were often saved up. Those with families sent them home; those like Old Wu, with no family or no wish to return, just kept them.

These tickets were Old Wu’s own savings.

All the tickets were in five-jin denominations. Who knew how long he’d been saving them, and now he’d given them all to Wang Dong.

Soon after, Wu Hongqiu returned with an unsealed envelope. “Keep this safe, don’t lose it. This is your certificate—starting today, you’re the leader of Team Two at North 102 Farm, and also the farm’s procurement officer. Of course, it’s fake. If anyone comes asking, I’ll deny it, say you stole the farm’s seal and forged my handwriting.”

Wang Dong couldn’t help but laugh. Only Wu Hongqiu could have come up with something like this. With Wang Dong gone, Wu Hongqiu’s character would never allow him to draw a salary for nothing, but he couldn’t bear to let Wang Dong starve in the mountains either. So this was his compromise. The identity would serve as a shield, but if Wang Dong tried to use it to swindle or trade, a little scrutiny would reveal the truth.

Without further comment, Wang Dong tucked the envelope into his jacket and was about to get up when Wu Hongqiu pressed him down. “What’s the rush? It’s dark. Stay the night. I’ll cook a couple of dishes, we’ll have a drink, sleep here, and later I’ll see if there’s anyone heading to that...”

“Kele River, Second Bend.”

“Right, Second Bend. Sit and warm up for a bit.” Without waiting for a reply, Wu Hongqiu went back out to the kitchen.

Lying on the warm kang, Wang Dong was overcome with emotion. The northeast was best, but best of all were old friends...

But fate was not about to let them linger.

Before long, Wu Hongqiu burst back in, reeking of smoke and haste. “Grab your things and go! Fourth Aunt from Xiao Huang Village is heading to Shengli Tun—she says Second Bend is just nearby. She’s in a hurry, so get moving!”

He shoved a greasy paper parcel and a bag of items into Wang Dong’s pack. “Freshly fried spicy tofu with dried peppers, four big flatbreads, half a jin of soybean paste, and the rest of my rice—take it all. Here’s an axe, a slingshot, pot, spoon, mug... I’m out of fishing nets, you’ll have to figure that out yourself. Go, hurry!”

Ten minutes later, Wang Dong sat on the back of the cart, the familiar scent of cow dung in the air, waving at Wu Hongqiu. “Old Wu, take care of yourself!”

“Enough already, get going, you big softy.”

In the darkness, Wu Hongqiu finally lit his cigarette, the red ember flickering as he watched Wang Dong disappear into the night.

...

It was late afternoon the next day when the ox-cart finally stopped at the entrance of a small settlement. The driver, Fourth Aunt, turned and said, “Xiao Wang, here we are. Just a few steps ahead is Second Bend. I’ll be on my way now.”

As the cart creaked away, Wang Dong gazed at Second Bend in the distance. He didn’t enter the village directly, but instead took a narrow path up the mountain beside it. He was still an outsider here; barging into the village would only bring endless questions and reports. The procurement officer identity was fake, and he didn’t intend to end up in a cell because of it.

Following the winding trail into the forest for about two li, Wang Dong finally stopped. Here, in a sheltered hollow, a small creek trickled down from the mountain, running through the valley and flattening out a patch of ground.

A few foolish roe deer were drinking from a pond nearby. When they saw Wang Dong, they paused but didn’t run, just cocked their heads at him.

Wang Dong dropped his belongings, flopped onto the grass, and lay back in comfort. The soft grass felt as cozy as a quilt, and the midday sun, filtered through sparse leaves, warmed him and made him sleepy.

“What a wonderful place...” he murmured.

But he couldn’t sleep yet.

It was early summer. The nights in the mountains were cold, and wild animals roamed. Without proper shelter, he wouldn’t dare sleep in the open. At the very least, he needed a hut for safety, a stove for warmth, and some food and water. The spicy tofu was almost gone, only one flatbread left, plenty of soybean paste, but living on that alone would be unbearable...

With a sigh, Wang Dong got up, picked up the axe and slingshot, and prepared to head into the woods. But after just two steps, he froze.

The slingshot handle had snapped clean in two.

Wang Dong was stunned.