The carriage announcement came on, broadcasting the name of the next stop amid the crackling static.
The train stopped at a small station for three minutes.
At last, the two young men across the aisle who had been sneaking glances over all the way reached their stop. They slowly stood up, luggage in hand.
The bolder one pulled a small notebook from his pocket, tore out a page, wrote several lines on it, and hesitantly held it out in Tushan Yao’s direction.
Tushan Yao had her eyes closed, her breathing shallow and light. She paid no attention at all.
The young man’s hand remained suspended in midair. He could neither advance nor retreat, and his face flushed bright red.
Xiaobao, sitting beside her, tilted his head and glanced at him.
“Uncle, your hand is shaking.”
As though he had been scalded, the young man stuffed the note into his pocket, grabbed his luggage, and rushed toward the carriage door.
His companion tugged at him from behind, and the two jostled their way off the train.
On the platform, the young man looked back at the window. Tushan Yao’s profile was reflected in the glass, and even through the hazy layer, she was still so beautiful that he could not tear his eyes away.
The conductor urged them on from behind twice before the two finally left reluctantly.
Xiaobao took the half corn cake out of his pocket, then stuffed it back in. He felt it was not presentable enough. Once they reached his father, he would have to bring some decent gift for their reunion.
He was still pondering this when the carriage door was pushed open.
Three people came aboard.
A middle-aged couple and a girl of about seven.
The man wore a gray cloth jacket, and his hair had been slicked smooth and shiny with a comb.
The woman had permed curls and wore a red plaid coat. A black imitation-leather handbag hung from her arm.
Between them was a little girl with two braids. Her head kept drooping as though she were terribly sleepy.
The woman helped the little girl sit down and patted her back. “Good girl, go to sleep. Mommy will wake you when we arrive.”
The little girl said nothing. Her body leaned limply against the seat.
Xiaobao glanced at her.
Her eyelids were half-open and half-closed. Her lips were dry and peeling, and there was a dried trickle of moisture at the corner of her mouth, as though she had drooled and it had dried there.
Once the middle-aged couple were seated, the man swept his gaze around the carriage before finally letting it settle on Tushan Yao. He lingered for two extra seconds.
The woman was looking too, but her gaze followed a different route—first Tushan Yao’s face, then her hands, and finally Xiaobao.
After looking him over, the woman nudged the man with her elbow.
The two exchanged a quick glance.
Xiaobao happened to be fiddling with the orange segments in his pocket and did not look in their direction, but his ears were pricked up.
He heard the woman mutter something to the man in a very low voice. He could not make out the words, but her tone sounded rather excited.
“How old are you, little boy?”
The woman spoke with a warm smile. She rummaged through her black handbag and took out three apples, their bright red skins a rarity in those days.
Xiaobao turned his head and sized her up.
“Four. Hello, Auntie.”
“Oh my, what a good boy.” The woman held out the apples. “Here, Auntie wants you to have some apples. Take one for your mom, too.”
Tushan Yao was leaning against the window, her head slightly tilted. She showed no reaction at all.
She had felt terribly dizzy and muddle-headed throughout the journey and could not be bothered to pay attention to anyone.
Xiaobao happily accepted the apples. Holding them in both little hands, he bent forward properly.
“Thank you, Auntie!”
He carefully placed two of the apples on the seat beside his mother’s knees without taking a single bite.
The woman looked somewhat surprised. “Why aren’t you eating? They’re such nice, juicy apples.”
“I’m saving them for Mom.” Xiaobao patted his stomach. “I’m not hungry. Mom isn’t well, so she needs to eat more good things.”
“What’s wrong with your mother? Is she sick?”
“Mhm. She hasn’t been feeling well for a while.”
As Xiaobao spoke, he stuffed the apples into Tushan Yao’s cloth bundle.
The woman did not stop him, but the corner of her mouth twitched as she exchanged another glance with the man.
The man cleared his throat and leaned over to make conversation as well. “Little boy, where’s your father? Did just the two of you come out?”
“My dad is waiting for us up ahead.”
Xiaobao answered quickly, a look of eager anticipation on his little face. “He’s a soldier. He’s really impressive.”
“Oh? A soldier? Which unit is he in?”
“I don’t know. Anyway, he wears green.”
The man smiled and did not question him further. He leaned back and crossed one leg over the other.
After a while, the carriage fell silent.
Tushan Yao still had not woken. Her breathing was so faint it was almost inaudible. Every few seconds, Xiaobao turned his head to glance at her, only relaxing once he had confirmed that her chest was still rising and falling.
The little girl sat across from him, her head tilted against the back of the seat. She had not moved once.
Xiaobao looked at her a couple more times.
Something was wrong with this little girl.
She was so sleepy, yet her eyes were not completely closed. A narrow slit remained, and the eyeballs within moved slowly and laboriously, as though something were pressing down on them. She wanted to move, but could not.
“Is Big Sister sleeping too?” Xiaobao asked across the aisle.
The woman hurriedly answered, “She gets carsick after sitting on the train for too long. She took a motion-sickness pill, so it made her sleepy.”
Xiaobao gave an “Oh” and said nothing more.
Another twenty minutes passed. The train entered a rough stretch of track, and the carriage rocked violently.
Tushan Yao frowned at the jolting but still did not open her eyes.
The woman stood up, carrying an enamel lunchbox, and headed toward the dining car. Before leaving, she said a couple of things to the man, keeping her voice very low.
Xiaobao could not hear clearly, but he noticed one detail: when the woman left, she left the black handbag on the seat. The bag was not fully closed, and a corner of white cloth showed from inside.
A quarter of an hour later, the woman returned with four meat buns arranged in the enamel lunchbox, steam billowing from them.
As the aroma of meat drifted out, several nearby passengers turned to look.
In those days, one meat bun cost two liang of grain coupons plus five cents, and those sold in the dining car were even more expensive. Ordinary people were reluctant to buy them.
This woman had bought four in one go. She certainly spent lavishly.
“Come, come, little boy. Have a bun.” The woman pushed the lunchbox toward Xiaobao.
“They just came out of the steamer. Pork and cabbage filling—so fragrant. Save one for your mother, too.”
Pork.
Cabbage.
Xiaobao stared at the lunchbox and sniffed hard.
The meat did smell wonderful—so wonderful that he was nearly drooling.
But he did not reach out.
Uncle Longzheng’s words suddenly sprang into his mind—
“Xiaobao, the outside world is different from the barrier. Food is precious, and meat is even more precious. You need coupons to exchange for all of it. If a stranger treats you exceptionally well for no reason, you need to stay alert.”
Uncle Fengqi had put it even more directly—
“Remember, two kinds of people are the most dangerous. Spies, who specialize in harming good people. And child traffickers, who specialize in stealing children and women. How do you tell them apart? Spies ask where your parents serve, what work they do, and where their unit is. Child traffickers stuff food into your hands and ask whether there are any adults at home and how many people came out.”
Xiaobao’s hands clenched on his knees.
They had given him apples.
Then they had asked whether his mother was sick.
They had asked whether his father was there.
They had asked whether it was only the two of them.
And now they had bought meat buns.
A complete stranger had spent so much money to treat him to food in an era when meat coupons and grain coupons were more precious than life itself.
Tushan Xiaobao’s four-year-old mind raced.
He raised his head and looked at the little girl.
Her braids were tied very loosely. They did not look as though an adult had carefully braided them; rather, they seemed to have been hastily twisted together.
Her clothes did not fit properly either. The sleeves extended past her wrists, and there was a tear at the collar. They did not look like clothes a girl’s own mother would let her wear.
Most importantly—there were the little girl’s shoes.
A cloth shoe on her left foot and a rubber shoe on her right.
It would have been understandable if she had merely been making do with mismatched shoes, but these two were a full size apart.
Xiaobao’s heart gave a jolt.
Those were not her shoes.
“Auntie, thank you.” Xiaobao lifted his face and smiled sweetly. He reached out and accepted one of the buns, but did not bring it to his mouth. Instead, he placed it beside Tushan Yao’s hand.
“I’ll save it for Mom first. We’ll eat it together when she wakes up.”
“You eat first, you eat first. It won’t taste good once it gets cold.”
“Mom said that good things taste best when you eat them together with her.”
As Xiaobao spoke, he took another bun and placed it beside the first.
“Auntie, you eat the other two yourself. Big Sister should have something to eat too. What if she’s hungry after sleeping for so long?”
The smile on the woman’s face stiffened for an instant.
“She isn’t hungry. She’ll eat after we get off the train.”
“Oh.”
Xiaobao did not ask any more questions. He lowered his head and played with the hem of his clothes.
But his mind did not stop for even a moment.
He had not eaten the apples, and he had no intention of eating the buns either.
Uncle Fengqi had also told him—
“Sometimes child traffickers put medicine in food. After you eat it, you can’t move, and you can’t even call out.”
That little girl.
She was not carsick.
She had been drugged.
Xiaobao felt a chill run down his back.
These two were child traffickers.
They had kidnapped that little girl.
And now they had set their sights on his mother and him.
His mother was still unconscious, her spiritual power depleted, so weak that she did not even have the strength to open her eyes.
Xiaobao twisted his fingers together.
He was four years old.
He was facing two adults—and habitual criminals at that.
He could not confront them by force.