I am not Ximen Qing.

The family's rooster and goose were a pair. The rooster was chosen by Zhang Sheng's mother from among a brood of chicks. His mother had a notoriously bad temper and was prone to loud arguments. Zhang Honglin was equally fierce; one was a shrew, the other a warrior—not like Wu Song fighting a tiger, but rather like Zhang Sheng striking the large water vat with a carrying pole. Every household had such a vat at the time, used to store water. Every morning, Zhang Honglin would get up very early to fetch water from the mountain spring in front of the house, a physically demanding task. Walking along the small railway, they passed a cement bridge. Both the bridge and the railway were built by the Japanese; at the time, this railway was the only major artery connecting the forest farm to the outside world.

Zhang Sheng's favorite days were when the little locomotive carried rows of green carriages. Back then, the locomotive driver, conductor, and stationmaster all seemed particularly proud. The locomotive would be specially filled with water at a certain station, powered by coal and steam, making it feel like the late stages of the British Industrial Revolution. Whenever the little train entered a station, it would sound a piercing whistle and spew billows of steam from its chimney, along with plumes of white steam.

The mothers and fathers at Dahe Forest Farm would tell their children to stay away from the steam coming out of the locomotive. The principle behind the steam coming out of the steam engine is actually very simple: when the pressure is too high, it needs to be reduced. When the pressure cooker is stewing meat, when the heat reaches a certain level, the valve will jump around and create a perfect rhythm by colliding with the steam, like keeping time.

The little train engine in the sunlight spewed white steam. Despite their parents' warnings, the children's childlike curiosity was unstoppable. Imagine, surrounded by vast forests nestled within the embrace of the Yi River, the forest farm's family houses stood neatly in rows, red bricks and gray tiles, each with a triangular roof, resembling a prism in the center, covered with gray tiles on both sloping sides, and waterproof tarpaulin underneath. At that time, China's petroleum industry was not very developed, and houses built with such tarpaulin could be considered small forest villas. Each house would be divided into five to ten households, each separated by wooden planks secured with wire and nails, leaving gaps between the planks. Two households with a good relationship would, to show their friendship, open a small wooden door at the front of their houses, creating a "friendship passage." After work and dinner, the adults would visit each other and chat, all using fluorescent lamps—the electric lights invented by Edison. Although power outages were frequent, people lived a routine life, everything planned and carried out step by step; life was incredibly structured. The train's greatest function was pulling endless rows of round bars, made from centuries-old red pines, lindens, and birches felled from the mountains. Men, women, and children felt immense pride, knowing that the forests here would continuously supply the construction projects across the country. The men in the forest farm all knew how to drive tractors, and the round bars were secured with wire ropes attached to the tractors. If the train cars were too long, a small locomotive would be added at the rear. The railway rails were thin, yet they supported such enormous trains, and the children gazed at them with eyes full of admiration. When the train wasn't running, these wild boys would climb up the logs to play, and the stationmaster would yell and shout. He had no other choice; hundreds of households would see each other all the time, and some children would even kneel down and kowtow during the Lunar New Year to receive lucky money.

When the locomotive spewed steam, if the sun was shining brightly, the children would be amazed to see rainbows appear. Excitedly, they would try to catch the rainbows, but all they caught were water vapor—nothing else. That's what happy days were like. Why didn't we keep dogs or pigs at home? Because the yard was too small. We occasionally grew tomatoes and cucumbers, but there wasn't enough space to raise a pig or a dog. My mother was born in the Year of the Dog, and my father in the Year of the Pig. Perhaps their zodiac signs were different, incompatible. The woman thought the man lacked manners, and the man thought the woman lacked the air of a young lady. My father's siblings all lived outside the mountains; they called it the city back then. My father took over my late grandfather's job, coming to the great forest at eighteen to become a forestry worker. My grandfather's expectation that my father would become an oil painter was thus shattered.

In the harsh winters of the Northeast, where temperatures plummet to -38 or -39 degrees Celsius, sometimes even approaching 50, all the old lumberjacks and laborers shared a common passion. Whether educated individuals, young intellectuals sent to the countryside, or uncultured lads, baijiu (a type of Chinese liquor) was a must. The working class was truly fortunate back then! This baijiu wasn't the kind we know today; it was a grain liquor made from sorghum. Even the Russian army, lacking nothing, couldn't do without vodka. The Russians could drink, and so could the lumberjacks of Northeast China. Everything was under a planned economy. The forest farm was like a giant with all its vital organs: a clinic, a kindergarten, a guesthouse, a large canteen (the waiters weren't called waiters, but canteen managers), and a distillery. The Party Secretary was the top dog, the factory director the second-in-command; politics trumped economics, though that wasn't entirely true. In any case, the workers' awareness was incredibly high.

The largest open area in the basin was dedicated to the school, where the teachers were all young people from across the country who had been sent to the countryside. They devoted their youth to this remote mountain forest. Becoming a teacher was no easy feat, as productivity needed a new generation of teachers. But these idealistic, knowledge-seeking young people, even after a long day's work, never forgot to study. These ancient traditions, ingrained in the very bones of the people, remained unchanged in this era. This was the best era for the working class, the era of their highest status. In Huitougou, about 20 li (approximately 10 kilometers) from the forest farm, lies another world—a world of farmers. While the Dahe Forest Farm boasts brick and tile houses, the villages of Huitougou are filled with rickety mud and thatched huts. During festivals, worker families would travel there to buy millet, rice, and eggs to improve their meals, especially women who had given birth. For the sake of the next generation, men would trek over mountains to carry rice, flour, and eggs. There were no roads; apart from the railway traversing treacherous passes and towering mountains, the path to Huitougou was entirely paved on foot. Japanese-built earthen watchtowers and many other relics remain. Japanese bunkers are scattered throughout Huitougou, suggesting that modern Chinese history is inextricably linked to this neighbor. Their atrocities on Chinese soil are truly remarkable. China is vast, unlike Korea and Japan. They even employed feng shui techniques, perhaps to break the backbone of the Korean resurgence—this requires verification.

When villagers came to the forest farm, they were astonished. They were poor, yet the Dahe Forest Farm seemed like paradise. Back then, we couldn't do everything at once; we had to prioritize industry. We were dirt poor, so developing industry was crucial to prevent future invasions. The Soviet Union was deploying troops in Outer Mongolia, and China was truly always in this situation of defending against foreign invasion! Farewell, my friend! Yugoslavia was the first to oppose Soviet revisionism's hostility towards the socialist camp. At that time, Yugoslavia was considered one of the more friendly countries with China, and we encouraged each other spiritually—a time of universal mobilization. On New Year's Eve, instead of fireworks, after setting off tens of thousands of firecrackers in the forest farm compound, the militia, organized by the armed forces, would march in orderly ranks to the snow-covered river, raising their Type 564 semi-automatic rifles towards the forest. At midnight, after every household set off firecrackers, and dumplings were about to be served, the militia would fire their guns repeatedly, never forgetting their mission to defend the motherland even during the New Year. The children collected bullet casings and used them to make gunpowder guns, putting gunpowder from firecrackers into the guns, and also wanted to experience the thrill of shooting.

Lin Jingtai was the militia captain. He had three sons: Xinmin, Xinchun, and Xinjun. Look at those names! Can anyone say he was uneducated? It seems that the new Three Principles of the People were all embodied in his three sons.

Zhang Sheng's house was five households away from Lin Jingtai's house. It was New Year's Day. Xinmin was older, the same age as Zhang Sheng's eldest sister, Xinchun was the same age as Zhang Sheng's second sister, and Xinjun was the same age as Zhang Sheng. Zhang Sheng carried a small lantern with a red candle and ran to Lin Jingtai's house. As soon as he entered, he greeted "Grandpa and Grandma" and knelt down to kowtow.

"Come here, child, here's a New Year's gift," said Aunt Lin. Xinjun would also run to Zhang Sheng's house, greeting him with "Hello, Uncle Zhang! Hello, Aunt Zhang!"

"Here, child, this is a one-yuan New Year's gift."

Regardless of the amount of money, children eagerly anticipate the New Year, hoping to wear new clothes, receive lucky money, and buy popsicles and sodas in the summer. Anything with sugar is like a fig to them. Every household's table is laden with peanuts, melon seeds, candies, and apples hidden in the cellar. Frozen pears are a northern specialty; they're soaked in water to soften them, often resulting in a thick layer of ice on top. The water releases the cold air from the pear—a principle of heat exchange in physics. Customs and traditions are, in fact, the crystallization of wisdom.

For the children, especially the boys, the most exciting thing on New Year's Eve if their father was a militiaman was to pick up a Type 56 semi-automatic rifle, aim, and shoot. Everything was perfect; there was the gleaming bayonet, the large, dark magazine ejecting rows of bullets, and they would secretly hide a nice bullet just by looking at it. Some children would even keep a prize while their fathers were distracted and then show it off to the other kids. Detonators and explosives were commonplace; what child hadn't seen them? The explosives depot was usually built more than 20 kilometers away from home by the river. There was no theft, so rest assured, there wouldn't be any shootings or explosions.

Zhang Honglin's family in one house often quarreled, and divorce was out of the question at the time. However, in this forest farm with hundreds of households, Mr. Pan broke the mold and eventually divorced his wife. At the time, this was a major scandal for the entire forest farm. Why did Mr. Pan, who didn't have a lover, divorce? It remains a mystery. Couples often quarrel and even fight, with the man often injuring the woman. That's one thing, but even so, the woman wouldn't consider leaving home or betraying her husband.

My mother, Guo Jinyu, was like the rooster she raised—extremely domineering. Think of her five sisters on her mother's side, plus one brother who had a leg injury, and another brother who lived in another forest farm. They were all called Uncle, Second Uncle, Second Aunt, Third Aunt, Fourth Aunt, and Little Aunt. My maternal grandmother passed away. Women often live shorter lives. Think about it: after marrying, their entire responsibility is focused on bearing children; their lives are exhausted for the next generation. My maternal grandfather, Guo Baoshan, is now retired, constantly ailing, completely losing his former vigor and imposing presence. He's always taking medicine, complaining of aches and pains, a chronic patient, yet he lived a long life. Why? Because he knew he was ill. Everyone fears death, right? So he was cautious and pessimistic, blindly taking medicine from the medicine cabinet. In those days, this actually led to longevity because there were no counterfeit medicines, and public medical care covered everything. If you were sick, you could go to a clinic or hospital and stay for three or five years without anyone bothering you; the doctors and nurses would even greet you with smiles.

Zhang Sheng didn't know where his parents were before he was born; his memories of this place were all from the moment he was born. When he had a fever or a cold, his father, Zhang Honglin, and mother, Guo Jinyu, would rush to the clinic in the center of the forest farm. There was a highly respected old doctor, Dr. Xin, with a stern face like Bao Gong (a famous judge in Chinese history). The workers and their families all respected him, believing him to be incorruptible, stubborn, and his injection techniques were anything but gentle. Dr. Zhu, like Dr. Xin, had a dark, purplish face and large lips, but he was an assistant. He was quite gentle and spoke softly, always kind and approachable. Therefore, everyone thought that if they needed a heart check or pulse diagnosis, it was best to see Dr. Zhu. Zhang Sheng also liked Dr. Zhu, and would always cry and scream when he got a shot.

"Mom, I don't want Dr. Xin, I want Dr. Zhu."

"Kid, am I really that scary?" Doctor Xin exclaimed.

"Uncle Xin, let Doctor Zhu come!"

"Sure, Xiao Zhu, your arrival makes things much easier for me."

"Don't worry, Director."

Dr. Zhu respects Director Xin very much. In fact, whether it's Dr. Xin or Dr. Zhu, intramuscular injections are very painful. He chooses a child based solely on their face, thinking that whoever has a kind face is good. But he doesn't realize that faces are like masks, and how can a child understand people's hearts?

"Old Guo is really lucky!" Every time Dr. Xin saw Guo Baoshan, the old man with many children and grandchildren, he would greet him warmly.

"Is my sweet and sour pork delicious? Now I'm old and can't work anymore. I have a lot of health problems, and I'm even addicted to injections." Guo Baoshan is Zhang Sheng's maternal grandfather. Zhang Sheng can only see his grandparents in photos in this lifetime.

Zhang Sheng longed to be loved by his grandfather like other children. Being young, he hadn't considered such things. His grandmother lived in the city, and his aunts and uncles all lived in what he perceived as the city. His father, Zhang Honglin, was the eldest of his brothers. Zhang Sheng's memories of everything were hazy, a mix of vague recollections and incomplete understanding. His childhood was like a dream, with other worlds and times slowly creeping in, none of which were missing. The world he saw now was what he observed: heavy snow in winter, yet the houses were warm and cozy. Every family had stacks of firewood, mostly birch and linden, with very few poplars and some pine, all sawn into sections, which his father, Zhang Honglin, chopped into small pieces with a large axe. When it got cold, they would stuff the firewood into the stove, making the fire burn brightly and the kang (heated brick bed) so hot it was almost burning his bottom. Besides getting up early to prepare meals for Dad's work team, Mom would sit at the sewing machine making clothes for the children. She'd also knit sweaters and trousers, and like aristocratic young ladies, embroider flowers to decorate the windows and curtains. I remember she often embroidered beautiful peonies—a typical housewife. Dad was the breadwinner. The sewing machine was a large, prized possession from Grandma when they got married, along with a radio and a tall grandfather clock. I don't know how many clocks it was; they both liked to argue and vent their anger on their own belongings. Besides the large trunks they brought home for their wedding, there was no other furniture in the house—much better than when they first got married. The goose Grandma gave them was quite productive, laying eggs non-stop; Zhang Sheng ate countless goose eggs since he was little.