How did hiring someone to press a pig image during Chinese New Year become a top trend?

In this small hotel in Taiyuan that costs forty yuan a night, the hissing sound from the radiator is like some kind of ancient incantation.

Xu An lay on the slightly sunken Simmons bed, with the metal box that had accompanied him for thousands of kilometers in front of him.

He took a deep breath, as if performing some kind of sacred ritual, and fumbled around in the box for a moment until his fingertips touched the edge of a stiff piece of paper.

The envelope that was pulled out was very thick, and there was a faded poster of "Shaolin Temple" pasted on it.

The address, written in bold red pen, reads: "[Receipt and Mail Office of Hongxing Forest Farm, Yichun City, Heilongjiang Province, forwarded to Laolinzi]."

The sender's name was not listed; only a simple sketch of a huqin (a two-stringed bowed instrument) was drawn.

That's Uncle Dumb.

The old mute uncle who made his own erhu from a congee can at the Xujiacun scrap yard and could play it with the spirit of war.

Xu An traced the erhu pattern with his fingertips, and the image of Uncle Ya's calloused face and his hands, which trembled slightly from years of playing the erhu, flashed through his mind.

This letter had been hidden in the tin box for decades, and Uncle Ya had never mentioned it. Only on the day Xu An set off did he silently slip it into the bottom of Xu An's bag.

"The Northeast...that place is really far away."

Xu An muttered something, then casually swiped the map on his phone, causing the sweet female voice of the navigation system to fall silent for a few seconds.

More than 2,400 kilometers.

For someone with social anxiety, this is not only a geographical distance, but also a psychological long march.

He opened his live stream. It was already 3 a.m., but there were still more than 800,000 people watching.

"Family members, we've pulled it out. Next stop: the Northeast Forest Farm."

Xu An waved the envelope in front of the camera and then moved the potted green ivy, which had just drunk some water, closer to him.

The live stream chat instantly exploded like a pot of dumplings, with the screen filled with a dense barrage of comments.

[ID: Forestry Second Generation]: Holy crap! Hongxing Forest Farm? That's my hometown! Anzi, you're going to Yichun? That's a real old forest!

[ID God of Staying Up All Night]: 2,400 kilometers, Anzi, are you going to take a helicopter? Uncle, send the money quickly!

[ID Fun Facts Expert]: At this time of year, the temperature in Yichun is below minus thirty degrees Celsius. Anzi, will your military overcoat be enough to keep you warm?

[ID: Uncle Xujiacun]: (Spends a fortune on a carnival) Anzi! If you don't have enough money, just tell Uncle! Let's buy a plane ticket! We can't let our fellow Henan people down!

Xu An looked at the special effects his second uncle had posted, sighed helplessly, and shook his head at the screen.

"Second Uncle, don't spend money. Airplanes... they're not very comfortable to sit on, and you have to greet the flight attendants, which is quite a hassle."

"I just checked. There are two green trains from Taiyuan to Harbin, and then you can transfer to Yichun."

"A hard seat ticket costs 150 yuan, and you can sit for a long time while enjoying the snow scenery outside the window."

"The key is that you don't need to talk to anyone on the train, you can just keep your head down and peel garlic."

Upon hearing this logic, netizens were silent for a moment before erupting into a frenzy of criticism.

【ID Carbohydrate Godfather】: A streamer worth tens of millions of dollars, who chose to sit in a green-skinned hard seat for dozens of hours because he was afraid of greeting flight attendants?

[ID Human Reality]: This is so Xu An. The word "enjoyment" doesn't even exist in his mind. He only thinks about "saving trouble".

[A seasoned ID-phobic friend]: I understand him! On a train, as long as you put on your headphones and lean against the window, you become an outsider to the world, and your sense of security is maximized.

The next morning, Xu An checked out of the hotel, carrying the heavy canvas bag and holding the green ivy in his arms, and stood in the square of Taiyuan Railway Station.

The wind was strong, carrying with it the remaining coal dust, making the spire of the train station appear hazy and gray.

Xu An kept his head down, the hem of his military overcoat fluttering wildly in the wind. He stared intently at the tips of his shoes as he moved with the flow of people toward the entrance.

The feeling of walking in public still made his palms sweat, and he always felt that the people around him were staring at him.

Actually, he was overthinking it. In this fast-paced train station, everyone was in a hurry, and no one noticed the young man carrying a pot of grass.

In addition to the more than one million eyes in the live broadcast room.

He waited on the platform for a long time, and when the train, covered in dark green paint and bearing mottled rust, slowly came to a stop, Xu An inexplicably breathed a sigh of relief.

The train smelled of burning coal, a smell that made him feel familiar, just like the smell of his hometown.

"The car is here."

As Xu An stepped onto the pedal, he glanced back at Shanxi, a place that had once embarrassed and moved him.

He found his seat in the carriage, a hard seat, and by the window no less—his luck was incredible.

The carriage was chaotic, with luggage racks crammed full of bags and suitcases, and passengers speaking various regional dialects filling the aisles.

The air was filled with the mixed smells of instant noodles, dry tobacco, and old leather goods, but the smell wasn't unpleasant; instead, it was full of the warmth of life.

Sitting opposite Xu An was a burly man with a shiny shaved head and a gold chain as thick as a finger around his neck.

The burly man took off his coat as soon as he got on the bus, revealing a muscular physique. He was tidying his beard in front of a small mirror.

Xu An subconsciously shrank closer to the window, trying to shrink himself into a ball.

"Hey bro, where are you from?"

The bald, burly man spoke, his voice booming like a muffled thunderclap, clearly authentically Northeastern Chinese.

Xu An's hand trembled, and he answered softly, "The river...is in Henan."

"Henan is great! The grain produced in Henan is genuine!"

The big man didn't care whether Xu An wanted to talk to him or not, and directly took out a large bundle of green onions and a bag of dried tofu that had already been cut into pieces from his bag.

"Come on, want some? Homegrown, these scallions are spicy but not pungent, just the right amount!"

Xu An looked at the bundle of emerald green scallions, and his throat moved involuntarily.

This rough and ready approach to socializing instantly broke through his social anxiety defenses.

He rummaged through his bag and pulled out a bag of hard, brick-like flatbreads that Aunt Li Aijun had given him, and then took out a jar of chili sauce.

"Big...Big brother, I also brought some, Shanxi-style old-fashioned sesame flatbread."

"Wow! This thing is incredibly durable!"

The big man took the sesame seed cake, took a bite, and with a loud crunch, the sparks from the collision of his teeth and the cake seemed to scatter throughout the live stream.

"It's chewy! These noodles have a nice, springy texture, just like the personality of us Northeasterners!"

In the live stream, netizens from the south were dumbfounded.

[ID Foodie]: Is this the ultimate social interaction in the North? A bunch of scallions, a jar of sauce, a bag of pancakes, and a strategic partnership is formed in two minutes?

[ID History Fan]: This green train feels so real! This is the blood that flows through the veins of the Chinese people!

[ID: Heilongjiang Native]: Welcome Anzi to Northeast China! Hey bro, don't corrupt Anzi, that scallion is strong!

The train started moving, its clanging sound echoing on the tracks like a rhythmic heartbeat.

Xu An taped his phone to the glass window, and through the lens, the scenery outside was undergoing a wonderful transformation.

The desolate black hills gradually flattened out, and the fog in the air grew increasingly white.

The potted green ivy nodded gently as the train swayed, and the coal ash on its leaves, when evaporated by the heating in the carriage, actually gave off a vibrant green glow.

"Uncle, do you know about Hongxing Forest Farm?"

Xu An tentatively asked a question.

The burly man was chewing onions when he heard the name, and the fat on his face stiffened slightly.

He put down the sesame seed cake in his hand, his previously playful gaze becoming somewhat complicated, and turned to look at the scenery rushing past the window.

"That's the forest farm next to the old mining area. It used to be the pride of Yichun."

"But later logging stopped, the old forest was protected, and most of the people were moved away."

"That old forest you're looking for... I've heard of it."

The burly man turned his head and looked at Xu An, his tone unusually serious.

"He never left that forest in his entire life; they say his soul was planted there for his whole life."

"If you're going to deliver something, you'd better bring plenty of warm clothes. The snow there... can bury a tricycle."

Xu An's heart skipped a beat as he listened.

He recalled the expression on Uncle Ya's face when he played "Horse Racing," a look of unwavering determination yet profound loneliness.

It turns out that, amidst the vast expanse of the white mountains and black waters, there was also a heart waiting for the erhu tune played by the mute uncle.

The number of viewers in the live stream exceeded two million, and the screen was filled with the words "Mission Accomplished".

At that moment, a melodious erhu tune filled the carriage.

It wasn't the mute uncle playing; it was an old man performing in the next carriage, playing the classic song "Farewell to Comrades-in-Arms."

The sound of the piano echoed in the narrow carriage, carrying an indescribable sense of vicissitude.

The bald, burly man opposite Xu An lowered his head, tapping his fingers lightly on his rough thighs to a rhythm, his eyes reddening.

In the middle of the night, in a green train carriage, a group of strangers were touched by a single string, which stirred the deepest tenderness in their hearts.

Xu An didn't speak; he simply took out the letter with the erhu (a two-stringed bowed instrument) drawn on it from his bag.

He murmured to himself: "Uncle Ya, someone on the other side must be able to hear your music."

The train plunged into a thick fog, and a layer of white ice flowers quickly condensed on the windows.

It was a paper-cut by nature, crystal clear, exuding the chill of the far north.

Xu An closed his eyes, leaned against the cold glass, and heard the heavy metallic sound of wheels hitting the rails.

Next stop.

Where the ice and snow melt, there lies the old forest called "Hope".