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Lodging in the Wild Mountains
墨書 Inktalez
In July 1993, I graduated from university, filled with hopes for the future and a touch of youthful naivety as I embarked on my journey to report to my new job. I was eager to dive into work and start a new chapter in my life. However, fate seemed to enjoy playing little tricks—our unit informed us to return home and wait for further notice. It dawned on me that graduation was merely a small stop on the long journey of life, and the real challenges were just beginning.
My home was far away in the countryside, hundreds of kilometers from the city where I was supposed to report. The journey home required taking a train and then transferring to a long-distance bus, a convoluted trek before reaching that familiar land. At that time, I had very little money on me, just enough for a train ticket. After getting off the train, I would still need to endure a long bus ride to reach home. In that moment, I truly felt the hardships of life and experienced an unprecedented sense of helplessness.
Fortunately, in this unfamiliar city, I had a mentor, Mr. G. During my school days, he had lent me a helping hand multiple times when I faced difficulties, offering me selfless support. This kindness had always been etched in my heart, yet I never had the chance to repay it. Upon learning about my graduation and return home, Mr. G kindly offered to pick me up at the train station. He was teaching at a vocational school on the outskirts of Y City, which was located in a remote area with inconvenient transportation.
That evening, I stepped off the train with a sense of unease. Night had fallen, and the dim lights at the station created a desolate atmosphere. I anxiously scanned the exit for Mr. G's familiar figure but waited for quite some time without seeing him. Later, I learned that there had been an impromptu meeting at the school that lasted late into the night. Mr. G had rushed to the station as soon as it ended but arrived too late to pick me up.
What should I do now? The night was deep and quiet; only the occasional chirping of cicadas broke the silence. After hesitating for a moment, I made up my mind: I couldn't just wait here; I needed to find my way there myself.
I exited the station and began asking people around for directions to the school. At that time, social security was not very good, and the idea of "not talking to strangers" was deeply ingrained in people's minds. Many ignored my inquiries or regarded me with wary eyes. However, there were still kind-hearted individuals willing to help. An amiable-looking uncle pointed me in the general direction of the school but cautioned me that it was quite remote and unsafe at this hour. With a helpless smile, I admitted that I had no money for accommodation. The uncle sighed and indicated a path in the distance, saying, "Follow this road; you'll have to cross some wild land, but be careful and don't be afraid."
I nodded and set off in the direction he indicated. To be honest, I wasn't scared. Growing up in the countryside, I was accustomed to running and playing in fields and forests; wild land was not unfamiliar to me. Taking a deep breath, I strode forward into the unknown.
As time passed, the city lights gradually faded from view as I entered the wilderness. It was eerily quiet around me; only faint moonlight illuminated the ground, with occasional twinkling stars visible above. As I walked, I recalled what that kind uncle had said and silently prayed that I'd find the school without issue.
After walking for quite some time, I finally spotted a glimmer of light ahead. My heart leaped with joy; perhaps that was the school! However, as I approached closer, I realized it was merely the light from a residential house. Hesitating for a moment, I decided to ask for directions anyway. Gently knocking on the door, I whispered, "Excuse me, how do you get to the vocational school?" The occupants seemed startled; suddenly all lights went out inside. No matter how much I asked, no one responded. With a wry smile, I thought about how in such times of poor social security, who would dare open their door at such an hour?
Standing there unsure of where to go next—should I return to town? But without money for lodging and wasting too much time wasn't an option either. Gritting my teeth, I decided to find a secluded spot on the mountain to spend the night. Lying by the roadside clearly wouldn't do; it might scare someone who happened by early in the morning. Climbing up along the slope, I found a patch of grass surrounded by trees—sheltered from wind and rain while also hiding my presence. Exhausted, I lay down and soon fell asleep.
The next morning, I awoke to birds chirping in the early light. Rubbing my eyes, I realized I'd actually slept quite well. Stretching my limbs, I set off toward the school again. Not far along my path, I saw the school's gate ahead. Hurrying inside, I found Mr. G waiting for me with an expression full of guilt on his face. He apologized profusely for picking me up so late and forgetting to mention how remote the school was located. Smiling back at him, I said, "It's alright; spending a night on the mountain turned out quite interesting."
When other teachers heard about my experience, they were astonished and asked if I wasn't afraid at all. Shaking my head with a smile, I replied: "I wasn't scared; it’s them who were afraid of me." Indeed! In such deep night amidst wild mountains and fields suddenly appeared someone—who would think it was just a "bookish scholar"?
Now looking back on that night filled with hardship and helplessness has ultimately become an unforgettable and delightful memory in my life.
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