Courtyard House: Drunk and tipsy, the whole courtyard exposed at the start.

After resupplying, he embarked on his journey again, taking a short train from Xi'an to Tongchuan.

The railway ends in Tongchuan.

The remaining 400-plus kilometers can only be covered by long-distance buses.

At the station, an old bus was preparing to depart. The carriage was crammed with people and luggage, and there were even two bleating goats tied up in the corner. Zhang Dabiao finally managed to find a seat in the last row. Just as his buttocks touched the seat, the bus roared and shakily drove out of the station, heading north along the Xibao Highway.

From that moment on, Zhang Dabiao truly understood what the Loess Plateau meant.

The car bumped and jolted along the uneven dirt road, each jolt feeling like my internal organs were about to be shaken out. Outside the window stretched an endless yellow world, crisscrossed by gullies like giant scars on the earth. A gust of wind whipped up dust, slamming it against the car windows with a rustling sound.

The people in the carriage seemed to have long been accustomed to this kind of journey, and most of them were drowsy.

Zhang Dabiao, however, was wide awake.

He looked out at the desolate scenery and reached into his pocket to touch the brand-new marriage certificate.

It's almost here.

On the fourth day at noon, after a nearly bruised and swaying ride, the long-distance bus, weathered by time, finally pulled into the Yulin Bus Station.

Zhang Dabiao was the first to jump out of the car, his feet landing firmly on the ground as he let out a long sigh of relief.

He didn't stop at the station, but quickly walked with his bag to a deserted, sheltered alley.

A thought arose.

The next second, that imposing military green sidecar motorcycle appeared out of thin air in the alley.

He entered the "little den" and released Erhei, who had been bored inside. As soon as the little guy landed, he excitedly spun around a few times, his black tail wagging like a windmill, cautiously surveying the unfamiliar environment.

Zhang Dabiao straddled the motorcycle, and Erhei skillfully leaped into the sidecar, head held high and chest puffed out, like a general preparing to inspect his troops.

He twisted the throttle, and the sidecar motorcycle let out a roar that seemed out of place in this era and this small town, speeding towards the center of Yulin County.

The most urgent task is to find the county political consultative conference committee, as the cultural propaganda team is under their jurisdiction, and I need to report there. Then I need to find out the specific location where the educated youth cultural troupe will be sent down before making any plans.

------------

Seven days earlier, in early July 1965, Yang Yibai, Mu Wanqing and others had just arrived in Yulin County.

At that time, Zhang Dabiao had just boarded the train back to Beijing and missed it completely.

In 1965, Yulin County had already established an "Agricultural Learning from Dazhai Cultural Propaganda Team" in the style of the Ulanmuqi (a type of traditional Chinese opera troupe). The team was located in the former Yulin County Political Consultative Conference compound, and its operating funds were allocated by the county's political work group.

The personnel came from two sources: first, on-the-job staff with artistic talents were drawn from county-level government agencies; second, talented individuals who could sing and dance were recruited from among the educated youth who had been sent to the countryside. The first batch of team members included educated youth from various places.

Yang Yibai, Mu Wanqing, and others have arrived and have already participated in two days of training, staying in temporary dormitories. This is the base of their arts and culture work group.

The conditions weren't great, but they were better than most—at least they could take a shower and have hot meals. For the eight young people who had just come from Beijing, this was their "last act of kindness."

The propaganda team consisted of more than 30 people. The veteran members were drawn from various units in the county, while the new members were from the city of Beijing.

The team leader was Old Liu from the county cultural center. He was in his forties, his face etched with the hardships of the Loess Plateau, and he spoke with a heavy Shaanxi accent: "You kids from the capital, don't complain when you get down here."

He glanced around and his gaze landed on Mu Wanqing—this girl was quiet and unassuming, with clean eyes.

Mu Wanqing asked, "Captain Liu, where exactly are we going?"

Old Liu flipped through the list: "The eight of you will go to Balasu Commune."

Yang Yibai, Mu Wanqing, Zhao Weiguo, Liu Yuanchao, Zhu Hongqi, Tang Juan, and Su Tiantian—four boys and four girls—were all classmates in the same grade. Their families all had some minor issues with their social class backgrounds; otherwise, they wouldn't have been "exiled" here.

"Barasoo?"

"In the heart of the Mu Us Desert." Old Liu glanced at her. "The conditions are tough, but your awareness is high."

Mu Wanqing's heart sank.

Yang Yibai pushed her way forward. She had two braids, her chest puffed out, and her voice was as crisp as popping beans: "Captain Liu, we'll go to the hardest place! No problem!"

Old Liu glanced at her, nodded, and said nothing.

Mu Wanqing remembered that look for a long time—it wasn't approval, it was the look of someone looking at a fool.

Zhang Dabiao looked at Shazhu and Xu Damao in the courtyard with this kind of gaze.

Mu Wanqing sighed silently in her heart.

Yang Yibai, oh Yang Yibai, just keep acting like this.

That night, eight people squeezed into a temporary dormitory.

Yang Yibai took out his notebook and "held a meeting" with everyone: "Comrades, we must do three things—first, obey the organization; second, go deep into the masses; and third, share the good times and the bad."

This was a normal political study session. Everyone was quite excited at first, after all, they were in a new place and had a bit of a "vast world where there is much to be done" feeling. Zhao Weiguo leaned against the wall, pretending to be asleep with his eyes closed, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

Liu Yuanchao was munching on an apple he'd brought from Beijing; it was practically shriveled up. Zhu Hongqi squatted by the door, smoking, the smoke carried away by the night wind.

"Yibai," Zhu Hongqi suddenly spoke, her voice low, "what's the situation with your father...?"

The dormitory fell silent instantly.

Yang Yibai's expression changed, and she gripped the edge of the notebook tightly: "It's nothing, just a normal organizational review."

"oh."

Zhu Hongqi didn't ask any more questions.

But everyone knew that Yang Yibai's father, an officer in a department of the General Staff, was being investigated during the "Four Cleanups" movement.

Why is she so proactive? Everyone knows the answer, but no one is willing to point it out.

Because everyone has this thought.

If you perform well here, no matter what your parents think, at least you'll have some chance to turn your life around.

So they had no choice.

Zhao Weiguo opened one eye, then closed it again.

Damn, this woman's acting is so convincing.

The next day, the training ended, and they were taken by the veteran educated youth from the propaganda team to the Balasu Commune where they were assigned to live.

The truck bumped along the dirt road, with eight people crammed together in the cargo bed. Sand and wind seeped in through the gaps in the canvas, stinging their faces.

"Look! There's a lake over there!" Liu Yuanchao suddenly shouted.

Everyone poked their heads out.

The water diverted from the Yudong Canal accumulated into a small lake near Niujialiang Commune. The lake wasn't large, but against the backdrop of endless yellow sand, its blue color was almost unreal. It was as if someone had accidentally spilled a bottle of paint, splashing a blinding splash of bright color onto this grayish-yellow land.

very beautiful.