An hour later, the northern section was also patrolled. I stopped and looked north along the tracks as usual—a few hundred meters up the hill, the morning mist hung like a veil, and the sunlight penetrated the part faintly with a rainbow halo; The rails lying in the valley and the mountains on both sides are silent together, trying to see whose mouth is stricter. The sun basks the back, warmly rubbing the warm and humid air flow in the overalls, sticking to the flesh and skin, and the squeezed out of the overalls are caught by the coolness of the mountains in an instant.

I wiped the sweat from my face and turned back, but instead of going down to the path next to the roadbed as usual, I still walked between the tracks.

Usually, when you return from the patrol, you have to go down to the path next to the roadbed. This century-old path stepped out by the predecessors is smooth and smooth, like a rough grinding wheel, and it is comfortable and smooth to walk on, but it is not as sharp as stepping on sleepers and roadbed gravel. However, nowadays, what I want is not a quick but a grind, and the "stumbling" between the two tracks just meets this requirement. If I went down to the trail and walked back as usual, I would be able to return to the station at nine o'clock.

It's past nine o'clock, but it's the best time to give it away. The three old-timers were all sent away at this time. Walking so sadly, such reluctance, they have all walked far away, and they keep looking back at the small station illuminated by the sun at more than nine o'clock.

But those are the three that should go, and it will only be an eyesore and a waste of food if they are placed here. But now I don't know if it's still there, it's not redundant, it's not at all, it's put here, and it can only be infinitely pleasing to the eye. I'd rather eat a few bites less. Anyway, I'm determined: not in the best time to give away, return to the station.

How nice it is to have such a woman in a small station! How good I am to be able to keep this woman! Last night, lying in the bed, I thought hard, I was so sleepy that I refused to press my eyelids, and my uncontrollable thoughts were tumbling and splashing like the sluice gate of the Three Gorges Dam. However, every second does not stop, unimpeded time stood up, stiffly and rigidly reminded me: don't be too self-inflicted and delusional, let alone be seduced by desire to the ghost, since time is unstoppable, then what should happen when the time cut-off point comes, it will happen irreversibly, you can't do anything, you have to calmly affirm, this is just the increase and decrease of time, a thing that passes, no one, only time, so you have to be within the scope of your own grasp, go with the flow.

I heeded the reminder. Then, fell asleep.

But on the way to the road, looking at the brighter and brighter valleys, thinking about the time to urge people to leave, I began to change my hexagrams, and I didn't want to be at the mercy of the reminder of a sleep.

During the tour, I chewed this reminder repeatedly, and it actually chewed a different taste: it is right to go with the flow, but the original intention is not to ask me to passively go with the flow, but to tell me to actively go with the flow. So, what does it mean to be proactive and go with the flow? It's just that you have to add artificial ingredients. So, what is artificial? It's that the legs and feet that don't let themselves return at the moment become numb, and the time to return to the small station is delayed until lunch. After lunch, think of another way to drag it out. - If things go my way.

It's the best artificial ingredient I can come up with. As for whether it can produce the desired effect, it depends on luck. But in any case, it is still very necessary to try hard.

To give myself a reason to grind, I told myself that there was a problem with the rails today, but I missed it during the inspection that had passed. Now, I have to pay more attention to remedy it.

I walked slowly between the two tracks, aiming left and right, and when I saw a road spike that didn't like my eyes, I shook it with my hand to see if it was loose. Later, I was obsessive-compulsive and hated to shake every road nail I passed. In this way, when I reached the back of the cliff at the bend of the road, it was still a little short of time to walk over the cliff - I decided to walk over the cliff again at half past eleven. Walking past the cliff, I came to the place where she appeared yesterday - the bend that she saw from the small station looking south. If I had walked over the cliff and she was looking this way from the little station, I would have seen me appear as I had seen her yesterday.

I looked at the large cliff wall in front of me, which was acting as a shield.

Few years

This big cliff that you have to see every day,

is no longer commonplace,

Rather, it creates a new sense of solemnity.

The big cliff wall is also the common name of the small station. The so-called large cliff wall is actually a crescent-shaped semi-open-air tunnel dug out by hand, and the entrance section and the inner wall of the tunnel are covered with chisel marks, and dark green moss grows along the chisel marks, like a striped ivy. When you quietly look at the chisel marks of different shades with a sense of remembrance, the crisp sound of chiseling the mountain rock more than a hundred years ago will echo in your ears, as if this sonorous sound is deeply embedded in the rock mass, and every time someone touches the scene and thinks about it, it will be released and mixed with your eyes, and the sound and shape will restore the feat of people competing with nature at that time.

This kind of artificially excavated large cliff can be seen everywhere on the hundreds of kilometers of road sections in the mountains, and it is impossible to count. Below the big cliff is mostly a deep valley and a deep stream, which is steep and strange. If you stand at the back of a moving train, you will see that the train is actually passing cautiously on one plank road after another, so as not to make people suspense. It can be inferred from this that with the excavation capacity and engineering equipment (mainly relying on manpower) in those days, it must have been very difficult to build this railway, and there are probably not a few people who died for it.

I sat down on the railroad tracks to rest. I decided to spend the rest of my time in meditation like this.

In the valley, there is no wind, and the occasional warm breeze on the face should be the respite of the mountains under the action of the sun. In the mountains and forests opposite the rising sun, there are intermittent bird calls, and I can't hear it because of joy or loneliness. The clear blue sky rises high and falls in an arc from high to low, encompassing the mountains in full view.

The valley, the valley formed thousands of years ago, between your existence and nothingness, remember the walking and birth and death of the next living beings? Probably not, because the life time of living beings is your blink of an eye, and the walking of living beings should be an incalculable journey - the void of nothing, that is, nothing.

I don't know if it's above the ridge, teased by smoke-like silk clouds, and in the boredom of the waste, the idea of smoking emerges. As the thought climbed, countless grips stretched out of the body, grabbing and pinching indiscriminately, making the whole body extremely uncomfortable. But where are you going to get smoke? I haven't smoked for a few years, and my lungs, which have been heavily demonized by nicotine, should be a little pink in the nourishment of this mountain.

After arriving at the small station, my addiction to cigarettes and alcohol, I was lost by the breath of the mountain. In a trance, I felt that the past of being able to smoke and drink well had not happened to me. Thinking about the various efforts made to suppress tobacco and alcohol addiction in the past, as well as the repeated unsuccessful attempts to go back on one's word, it is really an unbearable and absurd dream. From this point of view, the mountain gives people the ability to rehabilitate themselves, more thoroughly than the deep prison, the mighty mountain breath, the evil nicotine and alcohol, has a ruthless killing power, encountered, just like the Monkey King who met the monster, will be eliminated quickly.

What is even more commendable is that the majestic mountain atmosphere is not only deconstructed but also constructed. As far as I am concerned, the comfort I used to obtain through nicotine and alcohol has been fundamentally displaced in the construction of the mountain qi, and another channel has been opened up. This invisible, intangible, noble construct like a flow of consciousness acts on me far more than nicotine and alcohol.

The idea of smoking is not good, it can't be some old bad habit outside the mountain that is going to be revived in my body, right? Don't, no, this is simply a betrayal and desecration of the mountain, how can you let it go and sit idly by. You have to know that once you are negligent and turned over by demons, you will be punished by flesh and blood, and you will have no master, but it is an unpardonable sin that you let go. The spirit of the mountains will not easily rescue those who have committed such crimes, and they will take care of themselves.

I opened my mouth to the greenest part of the valley and inhaled deeply, and the valley air filled with the fragrance of trees, grass, earth and stones, and water vapor and sweetness, with a palpable weight, sank and sank in a steady stream of restless bodies, sinking and sinking, and non-negotiable buried the outstretched grippers alive, alive, and alive. Buried alive. The body was calm, and the emotions were also stable, and the sight of Fang Tian outside the mountain was cast into the smooth aggregation, and it became cheerful.

The sky beyond the mountain,

so far away that you can't respond to your eyes,

To the sight of the past,

Ignore.

I know

It's not a lonely day,

Because from there,

You can look down on the fireworks in the world.

Half past eleven, arrived. I walked down the embankment and walked along the path to the big cliff.

After passing the big cliff, the small station appeared in front of you, but there was no one in the visible range, and the situation in the station room was not clear from this distance. But my feelings—the feeling I have developed in this no-man's world—tell me that there is no one in the station room either.

Where could she be? If she left, of course, on the way, if she didn't, she should be in the room where she had her fairy tale dream last night (I only like to think so, I want her to sit peacefully on the bed in the room, concentrating on the dream of last night, and tracing it in detail, which is more delicate and time-consuming than a fine brushstroke. Until sunset, the mountain star comes out, and it can't be completed). But I don't feel like I've developed the power to pass through a few walls in the station room and corridors, so I can't feel the situation in the accommodation area.

There were five rooms in the station, and when I came, the three south-facing ones were occupied by the elder brothers, and the two north-facing ones, one of which was converted into a grocery room, and one became my nest. There are also two beds in each of the four rooms where people live, and the one facing north would have been the same if it had not been converted into a utility room. This shows that in the busiest years of transportation, the small station was manned by 10 people. In those days, there were trains passing by and stopping day and night, and I was so busy all day that my feet hit the back of my head, beads of sweat crackled to the ground, and the whole station was flashing with enthusiasm for work, and life was boiling. Of course, this is a thing of the past.

Once, the oldest of the old brothers, who was not very happy, talked about that history with affection without educating me. But the glorious front section didn't say anything, but focused on lamenting the declining back section: later, if the locomotive didn't break down, there would be no stop at the small station; It is dangerous to drive at night in the mountains, and since the reroute, trains are not allowed to pass through this line at night; People, the good road is used to walking, they no longer love to take the mountain road, this is not, the train passing through the day is less, less and less, I don't know when there will be less than a trip, blowing the lamp and pulling out the wax, our small station should become the countryside of the past, the sunrise and the sunset, as soon as the sun sets, it will all stop, and the birds are still calling.

I couldn't help but snicker in my heart: this old man, he's full of poetry!

After the small station became my own small station, I lived from room to room, and I slept in every bed.

The beds are made of broken timber from sleepers, and although the workmanship is a little rough, it is very strong and firm, and the wide bed bridge feels like it can carry a medium-sized truck full of goods.

Many years ago, I read in a novel about this kind of bed: (to the effect) these railroad workers, who were called axle men, had to make a solid bed before marrying a wife, and only a dense wood like sleepers could make such a bed. So they all tried their best to get sleepers, broke out the thick branches and leaves of the bed, jingled and beaten, enough for the two to toss the marriage bed, then sat in the new house, with the posture of "wind and rain does not move like a mountain" waiting.

The railway workers who can be called the axle men are as strong as yaks, and they can pull out the mountains, and compare with their wives, and the general wooden beds will crunch in a few days, so that the parties concerned cannot but have doubts about sudden collapse, which greatly affects the normal performance of the level. Therefore, the whole bed of 'wind and rain does not move like a mountain' has become the sincere pursuit of railway workers before marriage, or the marriage is not practical. If you look at it from this point of view, the railroad workers at that time paid more attention to the quality of life than anyone else. - When it comes to the most interesting things in life, there is no ambiguity. Come on, it's out, my heart is steady, I'm married, and I'm starting my journey! Then, from the newlywed to the old marriage, the axle men who are as fierce as the locomotive, even if they crush their wives, they can't shake the stability of this bed mountain at all.

However, this kind of bed is obviously very condescending in this small station room where there are never women.

I walked towards the small station unhurriedly, my emotions remained basically stable, and I also controlled my brain not to exert too much effort on torturous predictions. I really didn't expect the childish grinding to produce the desired results. It's not up to me to decide the outcome, all I can do is to get through the clock until this hour. I did my best, and let the rest be left to the "passive and let it be".

Normally speaking, in the eyes of a face-conscious nation, it is impolite behavior and is easy to be criticized. But only if it's normal. What is normal? Without the scale of social balance, is there still normality? This is a primitive society deep in the mountains far from society, and at most it is a primitive society with man-made artifacts. Strictly speaking, it can't even be called a primitive society. Society is the relationship between people, and if there is no relationship between people, how can society be? When I'm left alone, it's a non-social space—no morality, no law, no shame. Although from time to time, some social connections and social thinking arise, but they are all materialized into the mechanical form of nature, fleeting, like smoke and clouds. It was only after she appeared that the relationship between people here was rebuilt and some social attributes were restored, but it was also very unreliable. Because the scale of social balance does not play much role here, and it is impossible to have an effective standard for establishing normality, so compared with the outside society, there is still no normality here.

But I can't stop there. No matter how otherworldly she is, she is also from the society and will go to the society. Then it is impossible for her not to carry social inertia, and it is impossible for her to get rid of the influence of social inertia all at once in materialized nature. If she hadn't been someone like me who was seen as a weirdo by society, she wouldn't have been too late to leave. No matter how anxious you are to leave, you have to wait until you say goodbye politely in person before you can make the trip. But that's just wishful thinking, idealistic logic. Besides, is it normal for a lone woman to come to this small station deep in the mountains with only her own feet?