Chapter Eighty-Four: Beyond the Hills

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"There are so many things I wanted to say but haven't yet; I've kept them because I hoped to turn them into a song, for someone to sing softly and remember lightly—even if they're eventually forgotten, it's worth it."

"Perhaps my whole life’s trickle of thoughts, by chance, converged into a river; then we stand on opposite banks, gazing at its winding flow. Finally, we dare to face life’s hardships with mischievous grins."

"Maybe we have never really matured, never learned, and are about to grow old, even though the young person inside us still lives."

"Because of unease, we keep looking back, asking ignorantly, ashamed to seek help, tirelessly climbing over every hill!"

"Over the hills! Even though our hair has turned white!"

"Endlessly chattering! Sorrows that time does not allow!"

"Before we fulfill our wish to see immortality, we've already lost ourselves!"

"............"

Watching Han Xue dash across the street in panic as if fleeing, Hong Tao laughed heartily. From this moment, he felt he had truly taken the key first step into his new life. Though success or failure was still uncertain, Hong Tao had always been this way: once he put in the effort, the outcome mattered less.

If he succeeded, it was fated and deserved; if he failed, there was nothing to regret, he had tried, and lack of ability was simply something that couldn’t be forced. Next time, he would try again if given the chance—there was no need for sorrow.

So, he strode back into the alley, singing Li Zongsheng's "Hill" at the top of his lungs. In his previous life, after forty years, this had been his favorite song, the lyrics and melody steeped in weariness, confusion, clarity and obscurity—like an old man recounting his life.

Passersby on the street cast odd glances at this little rascal, whether they knew him or not. They didn’t know who Li Zongsheng was, nor the name of the song, and couldn’t understand how such a strange, hoarse tune could come from a boy’s mouth, sung with such aged weariness.

It was just after work, and Uncle Yi arrived with a team of workers, driving two 581 tricycles puttering along. This time, not only did he come, but their deputy director personally led the team as well. Uncle Yi had become the backbone of the unit, always able to procure all sorts of scarce goods for the leadership.

Hearing that Uncle Yi’s family was about to start a business, this was a big event. The portly deputy director, as the unit's leader, had to step up and commend Uncle Yi’s selfless act—letting his daughter not rely on the state but forge her own path. At this time, every unit faced the pressure of arranging jobs for returning youth. Uncle Yi’s action in easing the country’s burdens had to be vigorously promoted as a model—what people would later call positive energy.

Of course, the deputy director didn’t just bring empty words. If he only came with a few compliments, he wouldn’t have the nerve to sit at the table with Hong Tao’s grandfather and drink. To honor Uncle Yi’s noble character, the housing administration decided to provide four old beams and five bags of cement free of charge, helping Uncle Yi renovate his third daughter’s small shop, with all labor provided gratis. This was no longer a matter of just one family; it concerned the national policy of economic reform.

Only now did Hong Tao fully understand why Uncle Yi had so readily agreed to let his third daughter leave the housing office, not pursue a permanent position. First, the situation was too tight—his second daughter had just secured a permanent post last year, and it seemed unlikely for the third daughter anytime soon. Second, with Hong Tao’s guarantee, he had confidence in Hong Tao. And finally, it was about this commendation. He was killing two birds with one stone, earning a good reputation with the leadership.

"This is truly killing three birds with one stone! No one’s a fool around here! I’m the one who’s been playing the clever man and ended up the fool!" Hong Tao was a bit displeased that Uncle Yi hadn’t told him about the commendation, but he wouldn’t pursue it. After all, it had nothing to do with him or the shop, and brought no harm—actually, there were many benefits. This was how things should be done: seamless, making people understand and yet unable to say a word.

After the deputy director finished his impassioned speech, he climbed onto a soot-spewing 581, satisfied and tipsy, and left. The rest of the staff scattered, each went home, leaving only Uncle Yi and two engineering team leaders. They began, by flashlight and streetlight, to study the renovation sketches and renderings Hong Tao had drawn.

In truth, what Hong Tao had drawn could hardly be called design drawings—there were no precise measurements, just an approximate range, the specifics to be determined on site. But his renderings were quite professional, showing the completed look, in two versions: one for daytime, one for nighttime with lighting.

"Old Jin, your nephew is remarkable. These sketches are spot on, much better than the college graduate in our office. At least I can understand them. That guy draws all sorts of perspectives and 3D diagrams—if I don’t look, it makes some sense; if I do, I’m totally confused." The two team leaders measured on site, listening to Hong Tao explain each part’s purpose and appearance, quickly grasping his design concept.

Both were seasoned professionals, having built houses most of their lives. Their minds were the design drawings; as long as they understood your intentions, everything was fine. They would determine the necessary measurements and confirm them with you before construction.

"Don’t praise him too much. This kid is a freak—top student, talented in everything, and just a bit older, he’ll outgrow the house. By the way, the thing I mentioned to you, that’s his idea. Once we finish these two shops, we’ll be busy with that. Yesterday he told me it’s a lucrative deal, asked me to find reliable carpenters. Might as well use this chance to show him our skills—don’t mess it up! I’m counting on that business for the rest of my life." Uncle Yi was delighted at the praise, as if it were his own son, but then remembered business and pulled the leader aside to whisper.

"That’s his... his doing?" The team leader clearly knew what business Uncle Yi meant, and pointed at Hong Tao in surprise.

"Of course. We’ve worked together for over twenty years—when did you ever see me with that ability? Your wife’s bicycle was his doing too. Just keep it to yourself; the more people know, the less money ends up in our hands. If you’re not worried about that, go ahead and blab." Uncle Yi nodded.

"I’m not that foolish! But is this reliable? No matter how clever a kid is, business isn’t a child’s game." The leader grew uneasy upon hearing this.

"Do you know whose shops these really are? All his ideas, from start to finish. I’m just the errand boy. If you want to know whether it’s reliable, wait and see how well these shops do. Anyway, I’m not worried. That homemade heating system in your house was his design. I just looked at his drawing—most of it is stuff I’ve never heard of. Where do you think he learned it? We’ve been at this our whole lives—have you ever seen anything like it?" Uncle Yi clearly trusted this leader, or he wouldn’t have shared so much about Hong Tao.

"Never seen it... but looking at him, it’s as if he has. He explains with such detail, and when I think about it, it makes sense. Are you sure you didn’t raise a spirit in your family?" The leader was superstitious, and glanced again at Hong Tao, who was crouched on the ground with a flashlight, discussing something with the other leader. The light shone upward on his small face, making it look like a ghostly mask; those slender eyes seemed to smile in the shadows, giving the leader goosebumps.

According to the two team leaders’ estimates, the project wasn’t small, but not too large either. The main work was the wooden floors and shopfronts in both rooms; the rest was minor. The job would take about a week. Hong Tao had no special requirements for the timeline—a week was fine. Even if the shops were finished today, they couldn’t open yet, as there was nothing inside.

His aunt’s tailor shop was easier—a sewing machine, an overlocker, a buttonholer, and two steam irons, all shipped from Shanghai. Given the era’s shipping efficiency, they should arrive in Beijing in about a week. These items could only be bought with an introduction letter from the street office; otherwise, the Shanghai sewing machine factory wouldn’t sell to individuals—money alone couldn’t buy them. This was something Hong Tao had overlooked.

His cousin’s salon was trickier. First, the renovation was more extensive than the tailor shop: they needed to dig a trench for the drainage pipes, install water and a water heater. As for the big barber chairs, there was no need to buy new ones—Hong Tao had found two at the scrap yard. The cast iron bases were broken, and the leather was cracked, but everything else was in good condition.