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墨書 Inktalez
Built at the foot of Yuyajing, Garden Middle School was where my middle school life unfolded. Yuyajing is a branch of Xuefeng Mountain, guarding the direction from the garden "basin" to Dongkou County Town. Although it is not particularly tall or majestic, it makes the main artery leading in and out of the garden—the Provincial Highway—seem more treacherous. The road winds around the mountain to the right of the school, with several sharp bends over a stretch of about two to three kilometers. Most of Yuyajing's stories are related to this road.
As a vital artery connecting Dongkou with Suining and extending to the Huaihua region and the Yunnan-Guizhou Plateau, this Provincial Highway was one of the better asphalt roads at that time, boasting an impressive width of eight meters. Even two large trucks could pass each other effortlessly.
At a bend along the roadside, facing the school, there stood an Asphalt Storage facility. It stored asphalt for road workers to use at any time for repairing and maintaining damaged sections of the road. I once gathered a few classmates after school one afternoon to take a closer look. The road workers on duty initially frowned and refused us entry; however, after hearing our polite requests and realizing our curiosity, they reluctantly opened a small door to the storage. Peering inside, we saw a layer of greasy substance lying in darkness, with an acrid smell wafting out, prompting us to retreat immediately.
Since the road wound through the mountains and was constructed solely by human labor due to a lack of machinery at that time, steep and perilous sections were commonplace. Climbing uphill was manageable; drivers would simply rev their engines loudly and gradually ascend. However, descending was quite dangerous. Experienced drivers would slow down in advance to glide down carefully, while young drivers full of vigor or those unfamiliar with the route could easily lose control and crash if they took a turn too quickly.
I had witnessed two major accidents involving trucks:
The first involved a truck transporting piglets that failed to navigate the first bend while descending and plunged directly into a ravine dozens of meters deep. It crashed through several trees that required two people to embrace and knocked down a concrete electric pole. Four people lost their lives, including the driver. Many piglets perished in the cargo hold as well; those that survived fled in panic, their bodies bruised and battered. Days later, I would still spot some trembling among thick underbrush in the mountains.
The second incident involved a military truck that sped down the road before dawn, likely on a mission. An industrious old farmer was heading to Garden Street to sell beans when he was struck at the bend near Asphalt Storage. That was my first encounter with real death (the previous victims had been covered with black plastic bags on the roadside). There wasn't much blood, but beans were scattered everywhere. More horrifying was that the farmer's skull had been dislodged from his body, leaving only a layer of scalp hanging loosely; for many days afterward, we dared not venture near Asphalt Storage.
Despite having seen these tragic accident scenes and hearing many chilling accounts, we harbored some fear of the road on Yuyajing. Yet our youthful spirits thrived on adventure and rebellion; the more others warned against something, the more it piqued our interest. A seed of daring—Flying Car—quietly began to sprout in my heart.
Before this seed fully emerged, there was an amusing story: On a day when movies were screened at school, after classes ended, three young teachers—Liu Dazheng, Zeng Mingzi, and Deng Bochun—biked to Bridgehead (then the district government seat) to pick up the projectionist and equipment. The asphalt road twisted up and down for over ten miles; they likely set out with anticipation and returned filled with laughter.
The projectionist was a young girl; naturally, these three young male teachers would strive to showcase their talents and strength. One could imagine how they would race up even the steepest hills on their bicycles so she could experience soaring through the air alongside them.
Still on Yuyajing, our beloved teachers staged an exhilarating scene: Teacher Zeng, carrying the projectionist on his bike's back seat, accidentally rode into a ravine. Liu and Deng were left dumbfounded as they watched Teacher Zeng tumble down with both bike and passenger.
When Liu and Deng finally managed to brake hard enough to stop safely, they saw Teacher Zeng and the projectionist slowly getting back up while lifting their damaged bike back up towards the hill. Upon retrieving these two "actors," we found they were completely unharmed—just a bit muddy on their clothes.
That night’s movie screening left no impression on me whatsoever; however, that scene involving three teachers and a projectionist replayed like a film in my mind repeatedly, causing my adventurous Flying Car seed to swell further.
On a clear early summer weekend, while our homeroom teacher Teacher Li's paddy field remained unplanted, several classmates who hadn’t gone home decided to help out instead. We borrowed two bicycles; Deng Huayu and Wang Ruimei shared one while I sat obediently behind Teacher Li since I couldn’t ride myself.
The field was only about five or six mu (approximately 0.8 acres), so we finished planting it in less than half a day. After playing around in Teacher Li's yard for a bit and having some snacks as we watched the sun begin to set, we took out both bicycles again just as we had arrived. We first rode along a bumpy dirt path before hitting wide asphalt roads; everyone’s spirits lifted as we raced each other for speed and stability while showing off tricks when traffic was light.
Before long, we reached Yuyajing’s slope where two girls had already fallen behind by ten meters or so when Teacher Li suddenly turned to me:
“How about we don’t brake going down Yuyajing this time? Are you brave enough?”
Upon hearing this challenge, an impulse for adventure surged through my veins:
“Sure!” I exclaimed as I gripped tightly onto the bike’s rear frame.
The steep incline caused our speed to increase rapidly; wind rushed past my ears as trees along both sides blurred by like we were in a car. In an instant, Asphalt Storage loomed ahead as cool early summer breezes rustled my thin clothing.
As we approached a turn, Teacher Li leaned inward anxiously as if hovering just above ground level; I nearly shut my eyes in fright but kept them wide open out of pride despite sitting behind him where he couldn’t see me—taking in all that rushed toward us: trees, houses, land, and wild winds.
The school buildings quickly shifted from our front view to behind us; after another bend not far from campus where I had witnessed an inexperienced cyclist crash into an oncoming tractor or seen several vehicles plunge into nearby canals before—I finally let out a long sigh of relief.
Teacher Li still showed no intention of braking; instead he said: “I want to see how far we can glide down Yuyajing without stopping.”
The Garden Bridge was just ahead, and with another turn, the car finally lost its momentum and came to a stop. That night, Deng Huayu quietly said to me in the classroom, "When you played the Flying Car, I saw your face turn pale. Please don't do that again..."
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