Chapter 25: Westward

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“Brother, I finally found you!”

The voice behind startled Kang Ning. He turned around and saw that the lanky youth had caught up with him, though he hadn’t noticed when. Facing Kang Ning’s stern gaze, the young man looked a little intimidated, but still offered a broad grin as he handed Kang Ning an ID card.

“Brother, this was hard to come by—a genuine ID card! The age matches yours, and he looks about seventy percent like you, though he’s not as cool as you. Ha! This kind of lucky find is rare indeed!”

Kang Ning glanced at the photo on the card and saw that the person did resemble him somewhat, about a year younger.

He handed the card back, his mind turning. “Who knows if this is real? Besides, who can say if this person even exists? Go on, get out of here.”

“Brother, just hear me out! You don’t look local, and you don’t seem like a cop, so I’ll be straight with you. I got this from a buddy who just ‘picked it up’—the guy who lost it is probably still drinking at Huang San’s dog meat restaurant. I heard he’s a driver from the logging camp.”

The youth spoke in a conspiratorial tone, then quickly named his price. “Here’s the deal, just give me three hundred.”

“One hundred!”

“Come on, man… This is the real thing! I’ll go down to two hundred fifty, but not a penny less!” The youth gritted his teeth, feigning a painful concession.

Kang Ning almost laughed but kept a straight face. “You really like two hundred fifty, huh? No ambition! My final offer: two hundred. If you don’t want it, get lost!”

The young man hesitated, then, with a huff, shoved the ID into Kang Ning’s hand. “If you didn’t speak the local dialect, I wouldn’t sell it to you. Give me the money!”

Kang Ning took out two hundred yuan and placed it in his palm, watching as the youth dashed off, disappearing in an instant into a nearby alley. Kang Ning let out a slight smile, lowered his head, and carefully examined the ID card. In his eyes, this unlucky fellow named Wu Xiaohua suddenly seemed quite endearing.

He tossed aside his empty bottle of water and walked toward a minivan taxi. After asking the fare, he didn’t bother to haggle and climbed in.

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The reason Kang Ning didn’t negotiate the price was simple: seventy yuan for the ride left little room for bargaining. Rather than wasting time squabbling over a few yuan, it was better to set out quickly.

The seventy-kilometer journey went smoothly, and by dusk Kang Ning arrived at a fork on the northern outskirts of Hechi. Without pausing for a meal, he boarded a minibus heading back to Nandan. After finding his seat, he surveyed the passengers—mostly farmers and peddlers with numb expressions—and settled by the window at the rear, closing his eyes to rest.

The minibus wound its way through the mountains, mostly ascending, stopping frequently as passengers got on and off. People crowded the aisle, slowing the bus to a crawl.

Around nine in the evening, the minibus reached Chehe Town, fifteen kilometers from Nandan County. Another minibus approached, stopping to exchange news with Kang Ning’s driver.

“Fourth Brother, they’ve set up another checkpoint at the county entrance—traffic police and detectives, big operation. If you’re carrying passengers, be careful. If you’re caught, the fine could be three to five hundred, not worth it.”

The driver, called Fourth Brother, replied loudly, “Thanks, Second Brother. I’ll drop everyone before the checkpoint. Won’t fall for their tricks again.”

Kang Ning grew tense, wanting to get off immediately to avoid trouble. But hearing the driver say he’d stop before the checkpoint, he decided to wait—heading back to Hechi might actually be riskier. He resolved to play it by ear; staying put, who knew how long it would take to get through.

The minibus continued on, stopping twenty minutes later about two kilometers from the checkpoint. The ticket seller, heedless of passengers’ protests, hustled everyone off the bus.

Kang Ning stood and left, joining a dozen others laden with bags and bundles, watching the minibus drive away.

Soon, passengers formed small groups and began walking toward the county, leaving only a Yao woman, crouched beside two sacks—one of fertilizer, one of feed. Kang Ning thought for a moment and approached her. “Why aren’t you leaving, ma’am?”

The old woman, seeing Kang Ning’s friendliness, stood with the help of a bamboo pole, answering in heavily accented local dialect, “I went to my daughter’s to celebrate my grandson’s first month. After sitting a while on the bus, I felt ill—can’t carry these two sacks.”

“Do you live in the county?” Kang Ning recognized her symptoms as carsickness and wanted to help, but worried she lived in town and he’d have to risk crossing the checkpoint, so he asked carefully.

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Under the bright moonlight, the old woman pointed to a narrow lane fifty meters ahead. “I live seven or eight li in from there. Ah—so late, no one from the village will come out now. If I’d known the bus would be so slow, I wouldn’t have returned tonight.”

Kang Ning pondered briefly. Since tonight would be tough regardless, he might as well escort her home—perhaps he’d learn of a path to bypass the county. With this in mind, he stepped forward and took the bamboo pole from her hand. “Let me help you, ma’am. Seven or eight li isn’t far.”

After a moment’s polite protest, the old woman accepted.

Kang Ning hoisted the twenty-five-kilo sack of fertilizer and the fifteen-kilo bag of feed, following her. After about a kilometer, he, unused to carrying a yoke, found it awkward as the load swayed. He stopped, untied the ropes, lashed the sacks tightly together, fashioned two straps, and slung them onto his back, which felt much more comfortable.

Seeing Kang Ning’s lively stride, the old lady laughed happily, chatting with him as they walked the narrow, rugged mountain path.

An hour later, they finally reached the village. Crossing a stone bridge four meters long and passing several dense bamboo groves, they arrived at the old woman’s drying yard. Under the dim incandescent light, Kang Ning saw an old man squatting, a white cloth wrapped around his head. Recognizing his wife, he quickly stowed his tobacco pipe and greeted her in the local dialect.

The old woman took Kang Ning’s hand, leading him into the main hall. The old man, flustered, helped unload Kang Ning’s burdens, grinning broadly to reveal a mouthful of yellowed teeth.

Seated on a bamboo bench against the wall, Kang Ning accepted a cup of water from the old man, drank, and slowly wiped his sweat with a towel from his bag.

Just then, the sound of chickens being caught came from behind the house. Guessing the old lady intended to slaughter one for his meal, Kang Ning hurried to decline, but before he could, three young women in traditional white Yao attire and a middle-aged woman similarly dressed entered from outside.

As Kang Ning stood astonished, the smiling middle-aged woman poured rice wine from a jar into large bowls, handing them to the three young women. They lined up, holding the bowls to their chests, and began singing mountain songs to Kang Ning in loud, melodious voices, leaving him utterly dumbfounded, rooted in place.