Before dawn, Chen Shuang and Zhou Ma were already standing on the platform of Shanghai Railway Station, carrying their simple rattan suitcases. The air was thick with coal smoke, sweat, and a restless unease. The crowd surged like a tide, burdened with large and small bundles, their faces marked by sorrow of parting or anticipation of the unknown. From the loudspeakers blared stirring marches, barely masking the shouts in various dialects, children crying, and the whistles of train conductors.
Chen Shuang tightly gripped the introduction letter and ticket in her pocket—her proof of a new identity. She wore a faded blue Lenin suit, her hair neatly braided into two plaits hanging over her chest, her face bare of makeup, doing her best to appear like the most ordinary young woman traveling to join relatives. Zhou Ma was similarly dressed in plain gray cloth, staying close to her while carefully holding a cloth bundle filled with dry rations and water.
“Miss… no, Xiao Shuang,” Zhou Ma lowered her voice—Chen Shuang had repeatedly reminded her to change how she addressed her on the way, “there are too many people. Stay close.”
Chen Shuang nodded, her gaze sweeping the surroundings with vigilance. In such an environment, two women alone were naturally easy targets for darker intentions.
The long whistle of the arriving train echoed as the green carriages clattered to a stop. The crowd erupted with greater force, surging toward the doors. Swept along by the human tide, Chen Shuang and Zhou Ma were almost lifted off their feet as they were pushed toward the entrance. Zhou Ma shielded Chen Shuang with her body, resisting the pressure from behind until they finally managed to squeeze inside.
The carriage was even more stifling and crowded, the air foul and oppressive. The hard seats were already fully occupied, and even the aisles and connections between cars were packed with people and luggage. With their tickets and introduction letter, they found their assigned sleeper berths—a rare arrangement made through He Yanzhi’s connections. It was in a relatively quiet compartment with four bunks. They had the middle and lower berths.
The other two bunks were already occupied: a middle-aged man who looked like a cadre, leaning back while reading documents, and a young mother with a seven- or eight-year-old boy, who seemed ill and lay weakly against her.
After settling in, Chen Shuang and Zhou Ma finally relaxed slightly. As the train slowly started, the city faded behind them, replaced by vast fields and scattered villages. Chen Shuang leaned by the window, watching the scenery flash past, her thoughts drifting. Leaving Shanghai—and the Chen residence filled with turbulent memories—brought her no sorrow, only a sense of breaking free and heading into the unknown, mixed with deep caution.
The journey was long. As the train moved south, the climate grew humid and oppressive, and the smells in the carriage intensified. They ate their own food—flatbread, pickles, and boiled eggs—drinking hot water from the train attendants, rarely speaking to strangers. The cadre-looking man tried to strike up conversation twice, asking their destination, but Chen Shuang vaguely replied, “going south to visit relatives,” and said no more. The young mother mostly tended to her child, occasionally exchanging weary but friendly glances with them.
On the third night, the train stopped at a major station. With the chaos of boarding and disembarking passengers, the carriage fell into disorder again. Chen Shuang, a light sleeper, heard the young mother soothing her coughing child. Amid the noise, two men in worker’s clothing—but with shifty eyes—entered the corridor, scanning the compartment.
Chen Shuang’s alarm rose. She quietly adjusted her position, her hand reaching beneath her pillow to grasp the old pair of scissors she had brought for self-defense.
“Sister, your child is sick?” one square-faced man approached the young mother, feigning concern. “Must be tough at night.”
The young mother held her child tighter, shrinking back. “It’s nothing, just an old illness.”
“We’ve got some medicine, want to try?” the taller, thinner man leaned closer, his hand subtly reaching toward her bundle.
“No need, thank you,” she said, voice trembling.
Just as his hand was about to touch the bundle, Chen Shuang suddenly sat up, her voice calm and clear: “Comrade, which carriage are you from? The conductor was just checking tickets—said someone got on without one.”
The two men froze, exchanging a glance. The square-faced man forced a laugh. “We’re from this carriage, just came back from the restroom.” He shot Chen Shuang a glare before the two hurriedly left.
The young mother turned pale, trembling, and looked at Chen Shuang with gratitude. Chen Shuang subtly shook her head, signaling her to stay quiet. Zhou Ma, now awake, gripped Chen Shuang’s hand nervously. The cadre man seemed to notice something, frowned slightly, but said nothing.
This small incident sharpened Chen Shuang’s vigilance. The further south they went, the more complicated things might become.
Two days later, they reached the provincial capital of Lingnan. From there, they transferred to a long-distance bus to a coastal port, and then to a military transport ship bound for Qiongzhou.
The bus station was even more chaotic than the train station. Following instructions from her letter, Chen Shuang found the military liaison point. After verifying their identities, they were told to wait for transport.
By afternoon, they boarded a military truck along with other dependents. After a long, bumpy journey, they arrived at a remote military dock by night.
The sea air was salty and damp. A worn transport ship awaited them.
Conditions onboard were harsh—cramped, humid, filled with diesel fumes and the smell of seawater. Many passengers grew seasick. Chen Shuang endured her own discomfort while caring for Zhou Ma, secretly taking out some mint leaves from her space to help ease her nausea.
Late at night, Chen Shuang noticed suspicious movement. A man posing as a “cadre family member” was attempting to untie a young woman’s bundle while trying to cover her mouth, with a rough-looking accomplice standing guard.
Instead of screaming, Chen Shuang acted quickly. She kicked the woman beside her awake, then suddenly grabbed her enamel mug and slammed it against the metal wall.
“Clang!”
The deafening noise jolted everyone awake.
“Thief! Stop them!” she shouted.
Chaos erupted. Passengers surrounded the culprits, and with help from others, they were captured and handed over to the ship’s officers.
Afterward, calm returned.
At dawn, someone shouted, “Land! Qiongzhou Island!”
Chen Shuang looked out. Through the fading mist, a lush coastline emerged—swaying coconut trees, white sand, distant blue mountains. Wild, untamed, full of life—completely different from Jiangnan and Shanghai.
As the ship docked, people gathered onshore.
Among them, Chen Shuang spotted a tall, striking figure in worn military uniform. His skin was bronzed from the sun, his features sharp, his gaze keen as an eagle.
As if sensing her gaze, he looked straight at her.
Their eyes met across the distance.
Chen Shuang instinctively straightened.
He Yanzhi.
The man she had never met, yet was about to entrust her future to.
He gave a slight nod.
The ship had docked.