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墨書 Inktalez
As spring blossomed, the oppressive feelings from the school's rigid schedule stubbornly sought an opportunity to erupt. Finally, one Sunday, I invited my old classmates from the third middle school, Liu Zuzhong and Qinghua, who were retaking classes at the first middle school, and we stepped out of the school gates.
Strolling along the relatively spacious street, we all unconsciously turned our gaze towards a roadside stall. It was still early, and none of us had eaten breakfast, so we bought over ten buns together, munching on them as we continued walking.
Where to go? Rarely did we have a day off from classes; we all wanted to relax completely. We had heard that Dongkoutang had beautiful scenery and wasn't far from the county town, so we decided to head there.
Before long, we had finished our buns and passed by various iconic buildings representing the highest standards of the county town—such as the Public Security Bureau, the bus station, the County Government office, and a guesthouse—until we reached a gentle slope. Glancing at the Ninth Middle School on our left and the Unity Primary School on our right, we paused for a moment; classmates from our old school were attending retake classes at both places. Should we call them to join us?
In the end, neither path could hold us back; just a fleeting hesitation in our hearts led us to continue onward.
After climbing the slope and passing through the gates of the Ninth Middle School, the road gradually narrowed. The houses on either side became fewer, and young trees with fresh leaves accompanied us along the smooth asphalt road. A few minutes later, a red wall came into view, and the entrance of a tea factory smiled at us: our old classmate Zeng Zhaodan worked here and had a small dormitory. Both Qinghua and I had visited him before; I had even played "balance beam" and "tightrope walking" on the wall adjacent to his dormitory multiple times. Today was Sunday; perhaps our trio could become a quartet.
Excitedly, we approached the tea factory, but the iron gate was tightly shut. A gray-haired head peeked out from a small door nearby: "Who are you looking for?"
I stepped forward a couple of paces and explained our purpose to the old man guarding the gate. His tone softened slightly as he replied, "He seems to have gone home yesterday."
Not giving up hope, I persuaded him to open the small door. With Zuzhong and Qinghua following me inside, we ventured into the deepest corner of the tea factory and called out several times toward Zhaodan's dormitory but received no response. It seemed he really wasn't there.
Once again stepping onto the main road, we descended further down a slope that felt bottomless. A truck roared past us before screeching to a halt with a loud noise. Our eyes followed it as it turned sharply around a corner where a large pit measuring several feet square lay ahead. Asphalt chunks, stones, and mud were scattered along the roadside. Dodging the debris kicked up by the truck, we realized we had reached a valley with no buildings in sight—only a middle-aged farmer urging his oxen in a rice field.
Looking ahead, the mountains rose higher, and the road curved more sharply; the woods grew denser. I knew we were about to enter true mountainous terrain. Just ahead on a hilltop was a cluster of single-story houses surrounded by walls and two-story buildings. A sign reading "State-Owned Dawan Forest Farm" stood by the roadside—a place where my uncle worked and once told me that "the forest holds countless stories."
Reaching the hilltop, we had no intention of stopping; although we had walked three or four miles, everyone was just getting warmed up.
Next came an endless downhill stretch where our pace quickened. Following the road around three mountain peaks on our right was an unbroken chain of mountains that seemed to stretch endlessly; on our left, a river widened abruptly with slow-moving water so clear that fish and small stones could be seen beneath its surface. The path beneath our feet gradually leveled out while our steps ebbed and flowed with the scenery around us.
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 would learn that Dog Climbing Rock was actually across the river.)
Before us stood steep cliffs that jutted out like they had been hewn by an axe; one side exposed rough rocks along with lush green vegetation above them creating stark contrasts. In a distance further away within mottled hills lay an abrupt cave; the road extended through this cave while beyond it appeared to be another connected cave.
According to classmates from Jiangkou County, these two caves were natural formations that merchants used during late Qing Dynasty when traveling to Hongjiang Market; they could ride horses through here. By the time of the Republic era, government forces expanded these caves while repairing wartime roads based on mountain contours. Strangely enough, despite not being very thick above these caves, cracks had formed between them and their main mountain; particularly notable was a long massive stone by the river that looked like a small giant nestled under its father's armpit—one gentle push would send it tumbling into water—but it had weathered countless storms over centuries still clinging tightly to its father’s side. It was said that soldiers repairing wartime roads intended to blast through this stone but after several attempts with explosives found it unyielding; some engineers lost their sight from flying debris after which their commanding officer believed they had angered mountain spirits and dared not disturb them again after offering sacrifices.
Lingering for some time observing these two legendary caves before gazing down at Dongkoutang's mirror-like surface again, we continued walking forward. After about seven or eight miles, we reached a fork in the road where instead of choosing the paved highway filled with asphalt, we opted for a cement bridge crossing over the river and took to an unpaved road mixed with gravel and dirt.
The path grew narrower as houses became increasingly scarce along our route; three big boys marched mechanically without any thought for savoring scenic views—perhaps simply out of boredom or seeking complete relaxation amidst intense studies—much like how teachers never understood why during our time at Third Middle School we'd often gather in groups of three or five atop construction sites for teacher dormitories playing cards without any stakes or rewards yet finding joy in it nonetheless.
I lost track of how far or how long we'd walked when only my rumbling stomach indicated it was nearing noon—we should head back.
Leading ahead without turning back around instead took a left turn down a small village path heading toward rolling mountains. Zuzhong and Qinghua closely followed behind me matching my slightly weary pace.
Accustomed to mountain paths from climbing Longtouding and Yezhushan multiple times during middle school while also eager to return home for lunch—I darted forward like a little deer in woods. Suddenly sensing they lagged behind significantly I glanced back only to see Qinghua swaying slightly as he walked while Zuzhong stood at foot of hill occasionally raising his arm as if shielding something from view. After waiting for some time they caught up beside me with Qinghua panting saying: "I'm feeling dizzy."
"Don't look down; focus on your feet and ahead towards those trees—is it feeling better?" Recalling advice I'd heard from elders I quickly suggested.
"A bit better," Qinghua's voice steadied somewhat as my pace slowed too while still moving forward.
Soon, we plunged into the dense forest, the path becoming fainter as we progressed. Glancing up at the nearby hill and the distant mountain peak, I couldn't help but furrow my brow and abandon the thought of climbing any higher. After reaching the hilltop, I instructed Zuzhong and Qinghua to rest on the flat ground while I veered 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 its branches into the distance. Fortunately, 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 hill was 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, either grabbing or pulling myself along, my descent was almost a scramble. As I neared the top layer of the terrace, I released my grip on a resilient little tree and suddenly sat down, leaving a deep imprint in the thinning grass.
Thud! Finally, I hit the ground!
Crack! My spirits plummeted as I realized that this layer of terrace had two edges. My feet crashed hard onto the second edge, and I continued to slide down until I landed on solid earth, pain radiating through me with every creak of my bones.
Struggling to get up, I kicked my legs to check for injuries. Thankfully, nothing was dislocated—just some bruises. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I made my way to the foot of the mountain. Recalling some wild herbs from memory, I picked a few and chewed them before spitting them out to apply on my sore spots. Then I lay back 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 at a slower pace. 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 a hefty pound and seven taels. That wasn’t all—I felt unsatisfied after resting for a bit and joined them in their study class, where I added another bowl of six taels of rice!
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