He only got into the exploration team because of that connection, but the process wasn’t smooth. At that time, the country’s basic industrial construction needed energy, and coal mines were of utmost importance. His old man spent the latter half of his life buried in coal, and even when he occasionally came home, all he talked about was the mine—he even talked about coal in his sleep. His mother often quarreled with his father over this, so he developed a strong aversion to coal from a young age. Later, when it came time for job assignments, his father wanted him to join the coal system as well, but he firmly refused. Back then, his dream was to become an army driver, but he later found out that was a different system and he couldn’t get in, so he ended up unemployed at home for half a year and finally had to compromise with his father. But at that time, he set a condition: he wanted to find a job in the mine where he’d have the least contact with coal. So he joined the mine’s exploration team, and unexpectedly did quite well. Later, thanks to minority policies, he was recommended for university, and eventually ended up here.

I found it amusing as I listened. It was true—although we were at the source of mining, we actually didn’t have many chances to come into contact with the ore itself. Statistically, we really had the lowest chance of encountering coal mines.

After he finished, he asked about my family situation.

My family background wasn’t very good, which wasn’t something to be proud of at the time, so I just told him we were ordinary farmers.

Actually, my grandfather’s generation really were farmers. My ancestors were from Hongtong, Shanxi. My grandfather’s ancestors were poor peasants, but my grandfather was said to have been a bandit for a while and had some property. During land reform, someone reported him, and he became a reactionary rich peasant. My grandfather was a stubborn man, so he took my grandmother, my father, and my second uncle and fled. After arriving in the south, he had my father recognize a monk as his second uncle, and with the monk’s help, my father and second uncle’s status was set as poor peasants. So, officially, my status was that of a poor peasant, but my grandfather was still a reactionary, which could be a big or small issue at the time.

After talking about our backgrounds, we chatted about local customs and the things that happened here. One from the south, one from the north, one Mongolian, one Han—there was so much to talk about. Fortunately, we were both people who had suffered hardships, so staying up all night was nothing. The first night passed quickly like that.

The next day, the camp headquarters sent someone to receive us, saying they’d take us to get familiar with the situation.

I don’t remember much about that person—his name seemed to be George Harris, and he looked to be between thirty and forty years old (people in exploration, exposed to the elements, generally look older, so it’s hard to tell). This person was a bit mysterious. He only gave us a brief tour, and when we asked questions, he wouldn’t answer, which was quite dull.

From him, we only learned some basic information, like the fact that Project 723 had actually started three years ago, but due to personnel allocation issues, it only began work at the start of this year, and other things like where the canteen was and how to use the toilets.

For the next month, nothing happened. We idled around the camp with nothing to do, and no one paid any attention to us. It was baffling. The veterans couldn’t stand it anymore and, under our urging, went to find George Harris several times, but were brushed off with various excuses.

By this time, we were already feeling the peculiarity of the situation. Everyone was anxious—some even speculated whether we’d done something wrong and were going to be secretly executed. There were plenty of such stories in model operas, and hearing these rumors just made us feel uneasy.

Of course, most of it was just pointless speculation. Autumn in Inner Mongolia was already bone-chillingly cold, and people from the south had a hard time adapting. Many of us had nosebleeds. In my memory, that month was spent lying on the heated brick bed, gnawing on corn buns and chatting, while wiping nosebleeds with ragged socks.

A month later, things finally changed. On a Wednesday morning, we were groggily loaded onto trucks again, along with two other trucks of engineering soldiers, and continued deeper into the mountains.

By then, my feelings had shifted from initial excitement and curiosity to anxiety. Through the canvas of the big army truck, I looked out at the endless mountains and primeval forests beyond the makeshift plank road, then at the expressionless faces of the engineering soldiers in the truck. The atmosphere was extremely tense. No one spoke; everyone just leaned quietly in the truck, bumping along, waiting for the end of this journey.

II. Destination

The mountain roads were all temporarily built by the engineering soldiers. Along the way, we saw makeshift bridges and sawn-off trees everywhere, but these temporary mountain roads were still vastly different from real roads. Most of the time, we traveled along mountain valleys, and in many places, there was only a “gap” between the trees just wide enough to pass through. The bumps and twists along the way were beyond words.

While in the truck, we tried to figure out where we were and where we were headed. Based on what we’d heard before coming, the 723 Engineering Department should be in the Greater Khingan Mountains area, but the journey didn’t quite feel like it. Some who had been to the Greater Khingan Mountains told us that the endless primeval forests here were no different from elsewhere, but the terrain and landforms were clearly not the same, and the temperature wasn’t as fiercely cold as the Greater Khingan Mountains. In fact, it was more likely to be the Langshan area of Inner Mongolia. Now, it was clear they were taking us deep into the forest.