"As you just pointed out, people change."

"Nowadays, most people change careers at least three times."

"Bronze, I don't understand what you're saying again."

"I first served in the Special Operations Corps and later in the government sector, and now it's time to start my third career."

"So what will this third profession be?"

"It's not clear to me yet, I'm not willing to make a hasty decision. Where are you taking me? ”

Lao Yang did not answer.

"I'm asking you questions." Bronze said.

Lao Yang still didn't answer.

"It's better not to take me to the intelligence bureau's rehabilitation clinic here." Bronze said.

"Who said to go there?" Lao Yang seems to have made a choice. "We're taking you to the place you want us to take you to - Chongqing."

Bronze bought a one-way ticket. The steamer had to sail for eight days and seven nights, with a short stop in Tianfu on the way, so he had plenty of time to consider what he was doing. His behavior was truly unusual, and he could understand why his former boss was upset. Hell, even he himself was upset by this. In his career, he had always been able to control himself, but now he was allowed to let a strange idea unfold

The dock was too small to accommodate a large passenger ship, and when he reached his destination, he was shocked to see the yellow wilderness on the shore. Under the scorching sun, the sand and rocks stretch out to the bare hills in the distance. He said to himself, "What more do you expect to see?" It's a big desert.

At least, there is a small train station here, because there are few people, the work efficiency here is also quite high, and it only took 10 minutes for Bronze to take out his suitcase and come to the station gate to call a car.

"What's the best way to get to Santa Fe?" He asked the young woman behind the station.

This woman is compared to the natives. She smiled, and her dark eyes, full of expression, looked even more charming. "It depends on whether you want to take a shortcut or see the scenery."

"Is the scenery here worth seeing?"

"Definitely worth watching. If you have time. ”

"I don't have anything, I just have time."

"Then you're in the right place for a vacation. Look at this map," she said, "take Highway 2 north for a few miles, then turn east, drive about 20 miles, and then turn north onto the Turquoise Trail." The clerk gestured on the map with a thick felt pen. Do you like local barley wine? ”

"I like it so much."

"Then stop in a small town called a stable." She put the stress on the first syllable of the place name Mafang, as if to distinguish it from Mandarin in pronunciation. "Thirty years ago, the town was desolate, but now it's an artists' colony. There was a dilapidated old house called the Mine Tavern, and the people inside boasted that their barley wine was the best in the world. ”

"Is it true?"

The woman just put on another charming smile and called a driver to introduce her.

The bronze passed a metal silhouette statue of two racing horses outside the station and followed the clerk's instructions. He noticed that the buildings in Albuquerque did not seem to be any different from those elsewhere in the United States. Occasionally, he came across a flat-roofed brushed whitewashed house that seemed to bear some resemblance to the adobe houses he had seen in the newspapers, but most of the buildings he saw along the way had spires and brick or wooden walls. He secretly feared that the newspaper might be exaggerating, and that Santa Fe might be no different from other places.

Follow that road and drive past the majestic and rugged mountains. As he turned north onto the turquoise path, the scene on the side of the road began to change. Lonely cabins and A-line huts seem to have become the standard. A little further on, there were no houses on the roadside, and more and more plants—larch and dwarf pines, all sorts of low cacti, and a six-foot-tall shrub that resembled Artemisia. The narrow road winds its way behind the high mountain he had just seen at the station, and winds high up, which reminded Bronze that the sailors on the steamer had told him that this was a mile high, and that the sailors had told him that for the first few days the traveler would feel sluggish and breathless. He joked that a passenger had asked her if Santa Fe was at such an altitude all year round.

Bronze didn't pay attention to how his body reacted to this height, but it was expected. After all, he was trained not to take altitude into mind when landing at an altitude of 20,000 feet. What he noticed was that the air was getting fresher, the sky was blue, and the sun was shining brighter.

It dawned on him why a poster at the station called it the land where the sun danced. When he reached a plateau and looked to his left, he was greeted by a rolling desert landscape. The north-south desert seemed to stretch for hundreds of miles, and the west was wide and vast, and the mountains in the distance were more majestic than the nearby peaks before. The winding upward path took him through one sharp turn after another, and the view from many turns was even more spectacular. Decker felt as if he was on top of the world.

Bronze reminds himself over and over again that the accent of the stable's pronunciation is on the first syllable. It is a small village of huts and wooden houses, mostly inhabited by counter-cultures from previous eras. The village stretches on the edge of a narrow wooded valley with a hillside covered with coal seams to the right. It was because of the coal that this small village was built at the beginning of this century. The Mine Tavern is a peeling, crumbling two-story wooden building. It is probably the largest building in the village and is easy to find at the foot of the rolling hillside to the right of the town, right at the junction of the hillside and the village.

Bronze asked the driver to stop and watch a group of men in miner's costumes pass in front of him. The gang stopped in front of a house on the side of the road ahead, untied the folded drawing boards and unfinished paintings, and brought them into the house. Bronze grinned and walked up the steps that led to the tavern's enclosed porch. As he walked, there was a hollow thump under his feet. He opened a creaky screen door and stepped inside. Inside is simply a miniature miniature of the salon of the beginning of the century. There's a stage inside, and the wall behind the bar is nailed with currencies from around the world.

Half of the dimly lit place was filled with people, all of whom were chatting noisily and passionately. Bronze sat down at an empty table, and in stark contrast to the efficiency of the station, he waited a long time before a man with a pigtail, an apron, and a tray approached him unhurriedly. Bronze admonished himself to be patient and use this as a decompression chamber.

The waiter's pants were torn at the knees.

"I've been told that you have the best barley wine in the world," said Bronze, "and that's certainly not true." ”

"Taste it and you'll know."

"Give me a drink."

"What are you eating?"

"What do you have?"

"We had our local style chicken nuggets at noon. But halfway through the afternoon, what else? Try the roasted spicy nachos. ”

Roasted spicy nachos with Monterey beans, lettuce, tomato and green peppers. The green pepper is so spicy that the bronze tears flowed straight down. He felt like he was about to die of spicy food, and thought to himself that if he had eaten this food two days ago, his stomach would definitely hurt too much.

The barley wine was the best he had ever drunk.

"What's the secret of this wine?"

Bronze pursed his lips and tasted the wine merrily. The rim of the glass touched his lips, and he licked it and asked for another glass. After the second drink, he wanted to ask for another one, but he wasn't sure what the alcohol would do to him at this altitude. He didn't want anything to happen while driving; Besides, he hopes to find Santa Fe.

After paying the bill, Bronze walked out of the tavern, feeling the slight drunkenness he had felt for years. He looked up at the sinking red sun, and then at his watch—it was almost half past four. If anything, the air seems to be fresher, the sky is bluer, and the sun is brighter. He left the town and walked along the narrow winding road. Along the way, he saw more larches and dwarf pines, as well as the kind of triodont-like shrub he set out to figure out what to call it. He noticed that the color of the land had changed, from yellow to red, orange and brown. The plants are also more lush. He reached a high turn, and after turning it was a left-facing downhill from which he could see miles away. In the distance, on a higher level, small buildings are clustered among the hills, looking like miniature models of a children's toy village. Behind the hilly terrain are stunningly beautiful mountains. On the bronze map, the mountain range is called "Sunset Blood". In the sunlight, the buildings take on a golden yellow color, as if they were magical. Bronze remembers a proverb in the land of magic. This landscape, surrounded by verdant pine trees, beckoned him. He had no doubt that it was the place he was going.

Entering the town, he followed a sign that read "Historical Square". The busy downtown streets seem narrower and are laid out like a labyrinth, as if the 400-year-old city had developed at will. Adobe houses can be found everywhere, all in different ways, as if they were all added at will. Most of the buildings were low, with only a few three-story buildings, and their structure reminded the bronze of the cave houses, which he found to have been hotels. Even in downtown areas. He strolled along a street sheltered by a long gatehouse. He saw a temple at the end of the street, and he couldn't help but think of the church in Shanghai. But before he could get there, the square appeared on the left—rectangular, the size of a block in a small city. The square has lawns, white metal benches, and tall shade trees, and in the center of the square is a monument. He saw a small restaurant and another big restaurant called the Ore House, where strings of red dried chili peppers hung from the balcony of the big restaurant. There is a slender, low, old adobe building, and under the gatehouse, the locals sit with their backs against the wall and spread their blankets on the road in front of them, on which are silver and turquoise jewelry for sale.

Bronze sat down on a bench, and the slight drunkenness caused by the barley wine began to fade. He felt a panic and wondered if he had made a big mistake. For the past 20 years, whether in the special forces or in the intelligence services, it has been someone else who has taken care of him and arranged his life. Now, it was up to him to do it, and he felt uncertain.

Somewhere inside him said to him that he needed a fresh beginning.

But what am I going to do?

As a good start, start by finding a house.

But what about after that?

Make an effort to reinvent yourself.

To his annoyance, his professional instinct was still there—as he walked across the plaza towards a hotel called Cyclamen, he couldn't help but keep an eye out for anyone watching him. The quaint foyer of the hotel had a warm and pleasant atmosphere, but his instinct kept harassing him, reminding him over and over again not to indulge in the environment, but to concentrate on the people around him. When he checked his room, he looked around again to see if anyone was spying on him.

He told himself that this had to stop, that I couldn't live like this anymore.

A man with a gray beard walked in after him. The man was wearing a pair of rattle pants, and his clothes were fat enough to hide a pistol. Bronze Road pulled out the key, intending to use this as a weapon. But the man went down another path and walked away.

Once again, Bronze told himself that this kind of thing had to stop.

He carried his suitcase upstairs and into his room, keeping his watch not to look behind him. He deliberately turned his back to the door of the restaurant for dinner. At night, he walked through the downtown area, deliberately choosing rather than avoiding dimly lit places.

Next to a deep concrete canal, there was a wooded corner, and a figure emerged from the darkness. "Give me your wallet."

Bronze was stunned.

"I've got guys. Listen, give me your fucking wallet. ”

Bronze stared at the little street ruffian whose face he could barely see could not be controlled, and suddenly burst out laughing uncontrollably.

"What's the fuck ridiculous about you?"

"After all I've been through, after I've forced myself to be paralyzed and slack, you're going to get in the way and rob me? You must be kidding me. ”

"When I get a fucking bullet on you, you won't feel so ridiculous."

"Okay, okay, I brought it on myself." Bronze took out his wallet and pulled money out from the inside. "I only have so much money, take it all."

"I said, I want your fucking wallet, not just your money."

"Don't be too greedy. Can I do without my money......"

"You fucking stinking shit, give me your wallet."

Bronze broke both of his arms, snatched the pistol and slipped it into his pocket, and threw the boy towards the ditch. He heard the crackling of branches, and the boy had probably fallen into the bushes by the canal. Bronze leaned down and heard the creature's moaning in the darkness below. "You're swearing too much."

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