The bronze dragon amulet was strangely shaped and always kept inside the coffer that Huang Daxian used for summoning souls. That coffer was, in fact, a bronze coffin containing the mummified corpse of an old weasel, which was a huge source of calamity. After Old Yangpi died and was buried, a weasel appeared near his body, drawing down heavenly lightning. If Old Yangpi’s son hadn’t made things worse by wrapping several layers of white silk around the corpse, who knows what other trouble would have erupted. Even here, he was still being pestered by weasels. Could it be because Old Yangpi took some of Huang Daxian's funerary objects when he was buried in life?

Seeing no clues in this matter, I didn't say much to Old Yangpi's son. The man was timid and fearful; telling him too much would only increase his psychological burden. I merely asked him for the dragon amulet and turned away to discuss matters with Fatty and Ding Sitian.

The night on the grassland was piercingly cold. Old Yangpi's death and the event of his body being incinerated by lightning that evening had hit Ding Sitian very hard. She refused to return to the tent for warmth, standing silently in the pasture, gazing at the night sky. She neither cried nor spoke, her features etched with a melancholy unfitting for her age.

Fatty tried persuading her for a long time to no avail, so he just sat beside her, lighting one cigarette after another. I saw that Ding Sitian’s mental state was very poor and perhaps she needed solitude, so I didn't disturb her. I walked straight to Fatty’s side and spoke to him heavily, “Comrades, tonight, Uriski was assassinated…”

This line, borrowed from a Soviet film, perfectly conveyed the pain and anger surging within me. Old Yangpi’s death was certainly no accident; he must have been murdered by the weasels.

Hearing my words, Fatty immediately took two sharp drags and crushed out his cigarette butt, growling indignantly, “It seems the counter-revolutionaries want to extend their battle lines to this end as well. I absolutely cannot tolerate this. Why don’t you and I ride back to the Weasel Grave tonight, wipe out the entire families of the great and small weasels, and let their blood flood the Winter Palace.”

I shook the bronze dragon amulet in my hand, “Even if there are lingering weasels in the Weasel Grave or the Hundred-Eye Cave, they will surely be hidden deeply, and finding them will likely take considerable effort. This dragon amulet was an accompanying burial object from the old weasel’s coffin. I think as long as we have it, we won’t have trouble luring the weasels out. When they come, we’ll slaughter one; when two come, we’ll kill a pair.”

To slay those old, sentient weasels, we couldn't do without the Kangxi Treasure Saber, which had been confiscated by the Revolutionary Committee. Fatty and I were itching with hatred, a surge of hot blood rushing to our heads, wishing we could immediately steal the long saber back, then set up an enticing bait to lure the golden carp, drawing out all the great and small weasels for complete annihilation, thereby easing the hatred in our hearts.

As I gripped the bronze dragon amulet, gritting my teeth in ferocity, Ding Sitian suddenly walked over and snatched the amulet away. Unprepared for her action, not knowing her intent, I reached out to take it back: “This thing came from the coffin; it stinks and is malevolent. What are you going to do with it?”

Holding the amulet, Ding Sitian looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, “What are you two going to do with the things from the old weasel’s coffin? If Old Grandpa Yangpi’s death is truly connected to this object, then it is an extremely ominous harbinger of disaster, and we absolutely cannot keep it. Even if you kill a few more weasels, can that bring the deceased back to life? Besides, what if you two suffer some accident? I cannot stand by and watch you both make the mistake of blindly impulsive action. I… I am going to throw it away, to send these calamities far away from us.”

My killing intent was high, but without the dragon amulet, how could I slay the weasels? I quickly tried to dissuade Ding Sitian, “If there is an accident, it will be the weasels who suffer it. I was tempered into steel long ago in the torrent of class struggle; how could I capsize in a ditch? Moreover, this dragon amulet seems to hold some profound mystery; keeping it might prove of great use in the future. Please, don’t…”

But Ding Sitian was truly willful. She didn't let me finish speaking, raising her arm and flinging the ancient bronze dragon amulet far into the distance. A flash of green light streaked across the night sky as it landed in the knee-deep wild grass. Because it was the dead of night and there was no moonlight or starlight, I couldn't see exactly where it fell, only a general direction. I rushed over with Fatty to fumble and search, but it was like searching for a needle in a haystack; we searched everywhere in vain.

Only when the east showed the pale white of dawn did I have to give up the search, leaving Fatty and me sitting on the ground, shaking our heads in helplessness. A whole night had passed, and the grief and indignation in our hearts had subsided somewhat. Perhaps the weasel that killed Old Yangpi was the very one struck down by the heavenly lightning. Even if we wanted revenge, we might not find our target now. Since the dragon amulet was lost, we had no choice but to focus on proper matters and help Old Yangpi with his funeral arrangements.

Old Yangpi had lived in obscurity since the Liberation. He didn't need to hide his identity, yet no one knew his past. Perhaps his life was simply too ordinary and unremarkable, so his death was lighter than a feather. Besides the three of us educated youths and his son and daughter-in-law, no one took his death very seriously. There was no formal memorial service; everything was rushed through.

Once these trivial matters concluded, no weasels had come to cause trouble since Old Yangpi’s death. Fatty and I had been away from our assigned post in the Greater Khingan Range for nearly twenty days, and we had to say goodbye to Ding Sitian. When I first arrived on the grassland, I had intended to discuss marriage with Ding Sitian. Unmarried educated youths faced the biggest hurdle in cooking. Since I had settled down and committed to the revolution in Inner Mongolia, starting a family sooner would lighten the burden on the organization. If there was hope, I should quickly file a report to confirm a relationship. But so many unexpected things had happened, and with Old Yangpi’s death, no one was in the mood to bring it up. The three of us bid each other farewell on the grassland with tearful blessings.

We didn't return directly to Ganggangyingzi in the mountainous region of the Greater Khingan Range, as heavy snow would have blocked the mountain passes by that time, isolating traffic until the ice and snow melted the following year. I planned to return to Fujian to see my parents; they had both been labeled as "sent to the sidelines." I hadn't received any letters from them in over half a year of being sent down, so I was naturally worried and wanted to use this time to visit home.

Fatty, however, didn't want to go to Fujian. His parents had both died of illness while under investigation. The only relative he had left in the world was an aunt living in the Nanjing Military Region. He wanted to visit her during the Spring Festival. Thus, our plan was to take a train from Hailar to Beijing, then transfer south to Nanjing. We were dirt poor at the time, and it wasn't until we reached Hailar that we realized we had no money for train tickets.

Fatty shook his head, “Damn it, why did we go through the Up to the Mountains and Down to the Countryside movement? It was to answer Chairman Mao’s call to make revolution! Do revolutionaries need to buy tickets to ride the train? Is this still the people's domain? That makes no sense. We just won’t pay. Let the conductor check the tickets and see how I educate her. It’s preposterous. Don’t forget this train belongs to us, the vast masses of the people.”

I told Fatty, “It’s outrageous that revolutionary masses need tickets to ride the train, but this isn't the period of the Great Link-Up where food, lodging, and travel were all free. The conductor checking tickets is also part of her duty. To avoid creating internal contradictions with a female conductor comrade, I think we should adopt a strategy. Based on my experience, there aren't many major stations between Hailar and Beijing, so the tickets won’t be checked too often. Before every major station, we’ll get off, walk a stretch, and then sneak back onto the train after passing the station.”

Fatty countered, “Although iron-clad legs are the pride of our contingent, if we have to get off at every major station as you suggest, our legs will turn thin. The Long March was truly magnificent, but we can’t compare to the veteran revolutionaries. Nowadays, even our forces are mechanized; it’s not about relying solely on two legs anymore. I say taking the train by force is more convenient. I’ll just sit there, and I dare anyone to try and drag me off.”

We debated for a long time, fully grasping the meaning of the saying, "A single coin can stop a hero." Without money, one couldn't even make a revolution! I truly admired how our military managed to progress from spears and broadswords to having land, sea, and air forces, tanks, and artillery today—it was incredibly hard-won. But the problem was that just thinking about it didn't produce money.

Fatty and I were at a complete loss. Just as we were worrying, I suddenly felt something in my pocket. When I pulled it out, it turned out to be ten yuan! Fatty patted his own pockets and pulled out ten yuan as well. After a moment of surprise, we realized the money must have been Ding Sitian’s. Knowing we lacked travel funds, she must have quietly slipped the money into our pockets. But how did she have money? When most educated youths earned five work points a day, generally valued at three cents per point, how much could she earn in a month? Ding Sitian was the youngest child in her family, with three older brothers. I heard that two of them were sent down to the countryside as currently enrolled university students. Due to their higher education, they were assigned important propaganda work in the areas they were posted, earning worker salaries—a very respectable income of about thirty yuan a month. Money like that was impossible to spend completely in the countryside. It must have been her brothers giving money to their sister for use.

Fatty and I trembled as we held the money. At that time, we didn't have a very clear concept of money; we just knew money was good—it could buy candy and cigarettes. But too much money was dangerous; it led to indulgence, spiritual decay, corrupting ideologies, and a decadent life, easily pushing one onto the path of bourgeois liberalization. However, a vague notion had already formed in our hearts: in the future, we needed to earn more money. Money was the root of all evil, but money was useful.

Finally having enough money for tickets, we boarded the train bound for Beijing with complex feelings. We reached Nanjing, by which time the money was long gone. Fatty borrowed another twenty yuan from his aunt to put me on my train. On the platform, he promised me that when we returned next year, we would meet directly at Ganggangyingzi. He planned to trap more foxes and weasels in the mountains next year, then go to the grassland to visit Ding Sitian and discuss the great matters of joining the world revolution.

The train was already slowly pulling away. I reached my hand out of the window to shake Fatty's hand in farewell. Little did I know that this parting would last more than ten years. Many things happened during those ten years. After returning to Fujian, I somehow ended up joining the army. The army required iron-clad discipline, which was nothing like the carefree life of an educated youth. Moreover, for the first few years, I was stationed in the Kunlun Mountains on a secret mission and had absolutely no way to communicate with the outside world.

When my unit was transferred to the Lanzhou Military Region, I learned that Ding Sitian had long since passed away. In the winter of the very year Fatty and I left the grassland, a brutal "White Disaster" struck, centered around the Hundred-Eye Cave, freezing many people and livestock to death. Ding Sitian also perished in the great natural catastrophe of that winter famine; her body has never been found.

Fifteen years flashed by in an instant. Fatty and I were reluctant to recall, or even dare to recall, those tragic past events. It wasn't until we were packing our belongings before leaving for the United States, casually flipping through an old photo album, that I saw this old picture. Once the dust covering those sealed-away old memories was brushed away, they appeared startlingly real and vivid even now. Looking at the past, sighs of emotion were inevitable. As I looked, I suddenly noticed a vague silhouette in the distant background of the photograph. Judging by the stooped figure, it looked like Old Yangpi. For some reason, the moment I saw his hazy shape in the picture, a wave of unease washed over me. How had I never noticed this detail before?