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墨書 Inktalez
In the season of Spring Blossoms, my mood, suppressed by the "Three Points in a Line" at school, stubbornly sought an opportunity to burst forth. Finally, on a Sunday, I invited my old classmates Liu Zuzhong and Qinghua, who were retaking classes at the first high school, to step out of the school gates.
Strolling along the relatively spacious street, we all instinctively turned our gazes toward a roadside stall. It was still early, and none of us had eaten breakfast, so we bought over ten buns together, munching as we continued walking.
Where to go? Rarely did we have a day without classes; we all wanted to relax completely. We had heard that Dongkoutang had beautiful scenery and wasn't far from the county town, so off we went.
Before long, we had devoured our buns and passed by various iconic buildings representing the highest standards of the county—such as the Public Security Bureau, the bus station, the County Government, and the Guesthouse—until we reached a gentle slope. Looking ahead to our left at the Ninth Middle School and to our right at Unity Primary School, we paused for a moment; classmates from the third middle school were attending remedial classes at both places. Should we invite them to join us?
In the end, neither path could hold us back; only a fleeting hesitation lingered in our hearts as we continued onward.
After climbing up the slope and passing through the gates of Ninth Middle School, the road gradually narrowed. The houses on either side began to dwindle, and newly sprouted trees accompanied us along the gently sloping asphalt road. A few minutes later, a red wall came into view—the entrance of a tea factory smiled at us: Zeng Zhaodan, an old classmate from third middle school, worked here and had a single room dormitory. Both Qinghua and I had visited him before; I had even played "balance beam" and "tightrope walking" on top of the wall next to his dormitory multiple times. Today was Sunday; perhaps our trio could become a quartet.
Excitedly, we approached the tea factory, but found its iron gate tightly shut. A gray-haired head peeked out from a small side door: "Who are you looking for?"
I stepped forward a couple of paces and explained our purpose to the old man at the gate. His tone softened slightly as he replied, "He seems to have gone home yesterday."
Not willing to give up, I convinced him to open the small door. With Zuzhong and Qinghua following me inside, we ventured deep into the tea factory's corner and called out several times toward Zhaodan's dormitory but received no response. It seemed he truly wasn't there.
Once again on the main road, we walked downhill; it felt like descending into an abyss. A truck roared past us before screeching to a halt. Our eyes followed it around a sharp bend where a large pit measuring several feet square lay ahead—chunks of asphalt, stones, and mud scattered along the roadside. Avoiding the dust and mud kicked up by the truck, we realized we had reached the valley floor. There were no more buildings nearby—only a middle-aged farmer urging his oxen in a rice field.
Looking ahead, the mountains rose higher; the road curved more sharply; and the woods grew denser. I knew we were about to enter true mountainous terrain. Just ahead on a hilltop stood a cluster of bungalows surrounded by walls and two-story buildings with a sign reading "State-Owned Dawan Forest Farm," where my uncle worked—he once told me that "the forest holds endless stories."
Climbing up to the hilltop, we had no intention of stopping; although we had walked three or four miles already, our energy was just beginning to surge.
Next came an endless downhill stretch; our pace quickened as we moved forward. Following the road around three mountain peaks on our right was an unbroken chain of mountains that seemed to stretch endlessly upward; on our left, a river widened abruptly with slow-moving water that was clear enough to see fish swimming beneath its surface among fine stones. The road beneath us gradually flattened out while our steps ebbed and flowed with the scenery on either side.
After walking another hundred meters or so, we couldn't help but stop in our tracks. Was that "Dog Climbing Rock" ahead? (Note: Years later I learned that Dog Climbing Rock was actually across the river.)
Before us stood steep cliffs rising sharply like they had been hewn by an axe; one side exposed rough rocks while lush green vegetation contrasted sharply above it. Further away in a mottled mountain face was an abrupt cave where the road extended through it; beyond that appeared another interconnected cave.
A classmate from Jiangkou told me that these two caves were natural formations used by merchants traveling to Hongjiang Market during the late Qing Dynasty—they could ride horses through them. During the Republic era, when government forces repaired wartime roads, they expanded them according to the mountain's contours. Strangely enough, these caves were not very thickly covered by rock above them; cracks ran between them and their parent mountain. Notably, one long giant stone near the river looked like a small giant nestled under its father's armpit—one gentle push would send it tumbling into the water—but it had withstood countless storms for centuries without letting go of its father’s embrace. It is said that soldiers repairing wartime roads intended to blast through it with explosives but after several detonations found it utterly unmoved; some engineers lost their eyesight due to flying debris during this attempt. The commanding officer believed they had angered the mountain god and after offering sacrifices dared not touch any stones again.
Lingering for some time while carefully observing these two legendary caves and gazing down at Dongkoutang's mirror-like surface below us, we continued onward. After walking about seven or eight miles, we came upon a fork in the road; instead of choosing the paved highway filled with asphalt, we opted for a cement bridge spanning across the river and took a rough dirt road mixed with gravel.
The path grew narrower as houses became increasingly scarce along our route. The three boys walked mechanically without any thought for enjoying the scenery around us—perhaps simply out of boredom or wanting to unwind completely after intense study sessions; just like how teachers never understood why back at third middle school we'd often gather in groups of three or five to play cards atop construction sites without any rewards or stakes yet still found joy in it.
I lost track of how far or how long we'd walked when my stomach began rumbling—it was nearly noon; time to head back.
Leading ahead without turning back, I took a left turn onto a small village path heading toward distant mountains. Zuzhong and Qinghua closely followed behind me with similarly weary steps.
Having grown accustomed to mountain trails from climbing Longtoulingshan and Wild Boar Mountain during middle school—and eager to return for lunch—I dashed ahead like a little deer in the woods. Suddenly realizing they had fallen quite behind me, I turned back only to see Qinghua swaying slightly as he walked while Zuzhong stood at one side of the mountain's foot occasionally shielding something with his arm. After waiting for a moment until they caught up with me, Qinghua gasped out: "I'm feeling a bit dizzy."
"Don't look down; focus on your feet and look at those trees ahead—is it feeling better?" I recalled advice from elders and quickly suggested.
"A bit better," Qinghua replied more steadily now as my pace slowed slightly while still moving forward.
Soon, we plunged into the dense forest. The path became fainter, and as I caught sight of the mountain peak not far away, I couldn't help but furrow my brow, abandoning the thought of continuing to climb higher. After reaching the summit, I let Zuzhong and Qinghua rest on the flat ground while I turned left, pushing aside the reeds and underbrush to explore the way down.
After struggling for several steps, I climbed a tall pine tree and peered through the branches into the distance. Thankfully, we hadn't climbed too high or too far; the road at the foot of the mountain was clearly visible. What delighted me even more was that below this peak lay a Terrace. If I walked another hundred steps through the grass, I would reach it.
Sliding down from the tree, I stood up straight and shouted, "The way down isn't far! I'll go ahead; you two can follow slowly."
With each step, whether pulling or grabbing onto something for support, my descent was almost a sprint. As I neared the top layer of the Terrace, I let go of a sturdy little tree and suddenly sat down, leaving a deep impression in the thinning grass beneath me.
Thud! Finally, I hit the ground!
Crack! My spirits plummeted as I realized that this layer of Terrace had two edges. My feet slammed hard against the second Terrace Edge, and I continued to slide down until I landed on solid earth, pain radiating through my body with every jolt.
Struggling to get up, I kicked my legs experimentally. Thankfully, nothing was dislocated—just bruised. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I made my way to the foot of the mountain. Relying on memory, I gathered a few wild herbs and chewed them briefly before spitting them out to apply on my sore spots. Then I reclined at an angle on the Terrace Edge to rest while waiting for Zuzhong and Qinghua to come down.
On our way back, influenced by my earlier mishap, everyone moved more slowly. When we returned to school, it was just in time for dinner. The three of us rushed to the cafeteria; they each took eight taels of rice while I ordered one jin and seven taels in one go. But that wasn't all—after resting for a bit, when they headed to Remedial Class, I felt unsatisfied and added another bowl of six taels of rice!
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