The advance team's mission was to find a suitable construction site, accompanied by two engineers, a surveyor, and a geologist. After abandoning their vehicle, they had marched in the mountains for two full days. On the evening of the second day, they pitched their tents to rest. The sky, heavy with leaden clouds, began to drift down scattered snowflakes, signaling a heavy snow was due by nightfall.

All four technical personnel wore glasses and were clearly intellectuals; one of them was a woman. They were far from acclimatized to the harsh highland environment, resting in their tents, panting for breath, their wheezing making one worry for their frail frames.

The team leader, Political Instructor Lian, along with the squad leader and medic, were busy pouring water, distributing medicine, and urging them to eat something, knowing that refusing food only worsened the altitude sickness.

The soldiers, robust and strong, had all endured the rigorous training of five-kilometer armed cross-country runs in boot camp. Their ability to adapt to the environment was excellent; most of them had already partially adjusted to the oxygen-thin air. They lit the campfire using specialized white coal briquettes. The soldiers huddled around for warmth, eating half-cooked noodles and compressed biscuits, as the water could not be brought to a full boil due to the extreme altitude.

Several comrades I was close with included "Big Fellow" from Heilongjiang in the Northeast, the Tibetan soldier "Gawa" who enlisted from the Tibetan regions, and the sixteen-year-old communications soldier "Xiao Lin" from Jilin. The three of us quickly finished our noodles and rested, gasping for air, feeling that the effort required to eat a single meal on the plateau was almost greater than marching an armed cross-country run on the plains.

After a short rest, Xiao Lin turned to me and said, "Brother Hu, you’re from the city and know more things. Tell us a few stories?"

Big Fellow chimed in enthusiastically, "Oh, tell us, Old Hu! We love listening to you chatter, it's so engaging. Anyway, we have squad meeting preparations soon and can't rest early, so give the comrades a session first, right?"

Gawa’s Mandarin wasn't fluent, but he understood. He wanted to say something too, his mouth open for a long moment, but he couldn't recall how to phrase it. He simply waved a hand at me, and I gathered his intention was likely, Go on and talk, I want to listen too.

I stuck out my tongue and replied, "The air is this thin, and you still have this much energy? Fine, since the comrades want to listen, I’ll ramble a bit first. But if the squad leader gives me grief during the meeting later, you all have to put in a good word for me, alright?"

The reason I said that was because our squad leader didn't care for me much. He had enlisted from the countryside, having slogged in the army for five years—like a worried wife—just to become a petty squad leader. He particularly despised me, a "backdoor soldier" from a high-ranking official's family. Whenever the squad had a meeting, he'd press me to speak, and he'd seize on any flaw in my remarks to criticize me thoroughly. It had become a fixed routine that thoroughly irritated me beyond measure.

But what should I talk about? The total number of books I’d read barely reached ten. That included four volumes of Selected Works of Mao, one copy of Quotations, one dictionary, The Sun in the Red Flag counted as one, and The Young Guard counted as another. But I’d already told them all those stories. There was also a book on Esoteric Arts of Feng Shui, but I figured they wouldn't grasp that either.

I racked my brains and finally recalled a book I’d borrowed from Tian Xiaomeng during the Down to the Countryside Movement. It was a handwritten collection of folk tales, very popular at the time. The content primarily focused on the exploits of the Plum Blossom Society, but it also included various bizarre tales circulating in society. One section, the story of the hundred beautiful women's skins, had left a particularly deep impression on me.

The story began on a train traveling from Beijing to Nanjing. The female university student, Zhao Pingping, was taking this train to visit relatives in Nanjing. The passenger sitting across from her was a handsome, young PLA officer. The two began talking, intentionally or unintentionally, and Zhao Pingping was completely captivated by the young officer's demeanor and conversation. During their chat, she learned that he came from a privileged family and was highly educated. Zhao Pingping even started fantasizing about marrying him. Before she knew it, the train arrived at Nanjing Station. The officer invited Zhao Pingping to have a drink at a restaurant near the station. While they were eating, the officer excused himself to make a phone call. He returned with an envelope, entrusting it to Zhao Pingping to deliver to his home in Nanjing, explaining he had an urgent assignment and couldn't go home yet. Zhao Pingping agreed without hesitation, and then they parted with lingering reluctance.

The next day, Zhao Pingping went to the officer's house to deliver the letter. She was received by an elderly woman. The old woman took the letter, read it, and then warmly invited Zhao Pingping inside, pouring her a cup of tea. Zhao Pingping drank a few sips and exchanged a few pleasantries with the old woman, when suddenly her vision swam with spots, and she collapsed unconscious. A bucket of ice-cold water splashed on her woke her up. She found herself naked and tied to a flaying board, with human skins hanging all over the walls. Several people stood around her—the old woman and a few of her burly henchmen. She held up the letter for Zhao Pingping to see; it contained only one sentence: "The hundredth piece of beautiful women's skin has arrived. Please receive it." The old woman smiled coldly and said, "You are about to die, so I’ll let you die knowing the truth. We are all undercover spies. We strip women’s skin to pack it with explosives; we need exactly one hundred skins, and today we finally have enough." Saying this, she handed a Shalidao knife to one of her men and ordered him to begin flaying Zhao Pingping alive. The Shalidao was a specialized knife for skinning. The big man made an incision above Zhao Pingping’s head, and amidst her screams...

I was just getting to the most exciting part when the Second Squad Leader walked over and interrupted: "Stop all that talk, stop all that talk! Hu Bayi, you’re fabricating nonsense again! Our squad meeting discussion starts now. Since your little mouth likes to talk so much, why don’t you take the floor first this time, alright?"

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