The aisle of the train carriage was packed with people and livestock. Those who couldn’t get in were shouting from behind, urging everyone to squeeze closer. Chickens and ducks, their wings and feet bound, clucked and squawked in protest.
Some passengers even brought piglets and lambs onto the train, making the carriage noisy and filling it with unpleasant smells.
On Wen Yining’s seat sat a middle-aged man, scruffy, with a half-smoked roll of tobacco dangling from his mouth.
Seeing Wen Yining holding her child and checking her ticket, he didn’t hurry to get up. He merely scooted his bottom slightly, giving her just enough space for her slim frame to sit down.
Wen Yining immediately understood his intentions: he didn’t have a ticket but planned to freeload, relying on his audacity to claim the seat.
Out of caution, Wen Yining decided not to make a fuss. She placed Yao Yao on her lap, and the two of them turned to the window to breathe in fresh air.
The hard seats of the early years of the People’s Republic weren’t exactly comfortable—a simple wooden bench covered with a cloth.
Still, a seat was better than standing. Wen Yining silently prayed that when she asked the conductor later, she could get a proper sleeper ticket.
The smells of chicken and duck droppings, mixed with pig and sheep manure, hit her directly in the face. Sitting beside her was an old chain smoker who hadn’t changed his clothes or bathed for who knows how long; the stench of nicotine clung to him so strongly it made her eyes water.
Wen Yining reached into the small bag in Yao Yao’s lap and pulled out two little apples, one for each of them.
The sweet-tart flavor burst on her tongue, briefly overpowering the foul odors around her.
Halfway through the apples, the train started moving.
The platform outside, and the people who hadn’t made it on board, slowly drifted behind them.
Yao Yao listened to the unfamiliar clatter and clinking of the train wheels and felt the gentle sway of the carriage. Her big dark eyes were filled with curiosity.
She leaned against the window, craning her little head to watch the platform and the crowd recede into the distance. There was no sorrow in her gaze for leaving the place where she was born—only anticipation for the unknown future.
Just as her mother had said, the Cheng family could not restrain her freedom. They could only propel her farther into the world.
Wen Yining steadied Yao Yao and reminded her, “Look outside for a bit, then sit down properly, or I’ll have to hold you so tight you’ll almost fly out.”
Yao Yao obediently sat, but her eyes still stayed glued to the passing scenery.
Wen Yining also watched the world outside slowly become unfamiliar while thinking about the path she would take once they left the Cheng family.
The first thing to do after reaching the southern border was to divorce Cheng Yifeng.
Cheng Yifeng, deep down, only cared about Gu Yuxuan and had never really considered Wen Yining or Yao Yao. She didn’t need a nominal, empty “widow-like” marriage, and Yao Yao didn’t need a father who was absent for most of her life, only occasionally resurfacing to make trouble.
Luckily, Gu Yuxuan also needed Cheng Yifeng’s status as a protective shield. Wen Yining would simply play her part—letting them be together, but only if Gu Yuxuan didn’t cause trouble. Otherwise, she wouldn’t hesitate to let them suffer the consequences on the farm.
After the divorce, Wen Yining would give Yao Yao a proper name and re-register her.
Once completely separated from the Cheng family, she would have to find work to support both herself and Yao Yao.
Without a job or income, it would look suspicious if they lived comfortably while traveling.
If possible, it would be ideal to find a hospital that could take her in, allowing her to work in her field.
But Wen Yining knew this wasn’t realistic—jobs were scarce in this era, and each had its designated occupant. Even if there were openings, they would be filled internally, leaving no chance for an outsider like her.
By midday, Wen Yining considered taking Yao Yao to the dining car. But the thought of squeezing through the crowd there and back made her abandon the idea.
In this era, most people carried their own food, as very few could afford to buy meals while traveling.
Wen Yining wasn’t one to compromise her principles lightly, but she also didn’t want to stand out—or draw the attention of pickpockets hidden in the crowd.
She poured hot water from her thermos to warm the boiled eggs she had bought earlier and pulled out two plain buns, giving one to Yao Yao and keeping one for herself.
The carriage smelled bad, so Wen Yining had little appetite. Yao Yao, however, adapted quickly. After eating, she curled up in her mother’s arms and fell asleep, obedient and easy to care for.
By the afternoon, the train stopped at a station. Few passengers got off, but many got on, making the aisle even more crowded.
Not long after departure, Yao Yao asked to use the toilet.
She could tell her mother didn’t like squeezing through the crowd, so she thought about going alone.
But Wen Yining didn’t allow it.
There were all kinds of people on the train, from every corner of the country. Among them could be human traffickers. Wen Yining would never risk her child’s safety.
Carrying Yao Yao, she squeezed to the toilet. As soon as the door opened, a stench hit her, nearly making her vomit.
“Can you manage on your own, Yao Yao?” she asked, avoiding looking inside the toilet.
Yao Yao nodded, adjusting to the sway of the moving train, and entered.
“I’ll just stand here at the door and wait,” Wen Yining said, blocking some of the prying eyes with her body.
At that moment, a woman carrying a child suddenly squeezed through the crowd, moving quickly.
She bumped into Wen Yining, nearly pushing her into the toilet.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” Wen Yining steadied herself against the doorframe, glaring at the woman as she walked off.
The woman didn’t acknowledge her, behaving as if bumping into someone in a crowded space was perfectly normal. No apology, not even a glance back.
Other people in the aisle had also been bumped, murmuring complaints, but Wen Yining’s attention lingered on the woman’s back.
A faint, peculiar odor clung to her.
It wasn’t the usual smell of fermented excrement from the toilet.
As a doctor trained in a laboratory, Wen Yining was extremely sensitive to chemical odors.
If her nose hadn’t deceived her, that woman carried ether.
No, not pure ether—something else too, some chemical she couldn’t identify. But she was sure the ether on the woman’s body wasn’t of high purity.