Chapter 14: The City of Rams

After boarding the train, Zhao Guoyang, relying on his sturdy build, hoisted his luggage onto his shoulder and pushed his way inside, with Ma Jian following closely behind, afraid they’d get separated in the crowd.

Why did Zhao Guoyang carry his luggage instead of dragging it? He had no choice. Trains in this era were so crowded that there wasn't even space to stand; if you didn't shoulder your baggage, you'd never make it inside.

Passing through the hard-seat section, Zhao Guoyang suddenly noticed a woman in her early thirties holding her child and letting him urinate in the corner of the carriage. What shocked him even more was that no one around said a word; it seemed a perfectly ordinary occurrence.

Had this happened in Zhao Guoyang’s previous life, in the era before his rebirth, it would have been unimaginable. But now that he was here, he had no option but to adapt to the environment around him.

In this era, the sleeper compartments were not much better than hard seats—just as cramped and crowded, only with the added presence of upper and lower bunks.

Once he’d settled his luggage, Zhao Guoyang apologized to Ma Jian, then climbed straight up to the upper bunk to sleep and restore his energy.

Ma Jian assumed Zhao Guoyang was simply tired, but in truth, Zhao Guoyang felt ill at ease with the unpleasant scenes before him. Yet there was nothing to be done; he could only bury his head and sleep, shutting out the world.

In the early 1990s, the green trains were the most common means of long-distance travel. Their slow speed was a major flaw. The journey from Jinling to Yangcheng, with its endless stops and starts, took two full days and nights. The constant jostling nearly shook Zhao Guoyang’s bones apart.

He recalled, not without a sigh, the days before his rebirth, when traveling meant airplanes and luxury cars waiting on arrival. Now, he could only remain silent.

Getting off the train was another ordeal, but with the experience from before, Zhao Guoyang adapted much better this time and, following the flow of people, cleared a path for Ma Jian.

“Guoyang, you’re in good shape! When Old Hu from the Supply and Sales Section traveled with me the first time, he fared far worse than you—got tossed about and was nearly lost in the crowd,” Ma Jian laughed as they exited the station, giving Zhao Guoyang a friendly pat on the shoulder.

The Old Hu he mentioned was, of course, Hu Dalong, head of the Sales Section. Because of issues with the vehicle frame, Zhao Guoyang didn’t have a good impression of him and rarely spoke to him. Hearing his name now, he simply smiled politely and made no comment.

The two walked out of the station chatting and laughing. Although Zhao Guoyang’s stomach was empty, the thought of soon arriving at their destination made him quicken his pace.

Outside the station, a fresh, cool breeze washed away the gloom lingering in Zhao Guoyang’s heart.

“Ha! Isn’t Yangcheng great? Even in winter here, the temperature rarely drops below ten degrees,” Ma Jian grinned, taking off his thick coat.

Looking at the towering buildings and the endless streams of people on the streets, Zhao Guoyang couldn’t help but show a look of amazement.

In the early 1990s, the Republic had yet to introduce concepts like “national central cities” or “megacities.” When people spoke of big cities in the country, only three names came to mind: the Capital, Songjiang, and Yangcheng.

Pengcheng, another future megacity of South Guangdong Province, was still far from matching these three at the time.

Among these three, the Capital was, of course, the political center of the Republic; Songjiang was the economic hub—both were directly administered municipalities. For Yangcheng to stand on equal footing with these two spoke to its unique qualities.

In his previous life, Zhao Guoyang hadn’t known much about Yangcheng. He only knew that before the 2005 Jinling National Games, the country’s largest sporting event—the National Games—had only ever been hosted in these three cities: the Capital, Shanghai, and Yangcheng.

Indeed, as the provincial capital on the forefront of reform and opening up, Yangcheng had always been a special city. Its people were open-minded and enterprising, and its proximity to Hong Kong—a global financial center—gave it a unique environment and natural advantages that other cities lacked.

Historically, since the Qin Dynasty, Yangcheng had been the political, military, economic, cultural, and scientific center of South China. From the 330s, it became the main port of the Maritime Silk Road, was the largest port in the country during the Tang and Song dynasties, and the only foreign trade port during the Ming and Qing eras.

Yangcheng had always played a vital role in the history of China; its current prosperity was no accident, but the result of centuries of development.

Watching the bustling crowds, Zhao Guoyang’s spirits gradually lifted.

Indeed, since his rebirth, this was his first time in a great metropolis like Yangcheng—and it truly was far more prosperous than a regional city like Jinling.

“Guoyang, you’ve never been to a city this vibrant, have you? Come on, let’s catch a bus. Once we finish our business, I’ll show you around Yangcheng,” Ma Jian said with a smile, seeing Zhao Guoyang standing in a daze and assuming he was overwhelmed by the sights.

Zhao Guoyang quickly agreed, dragging his luggage and following closely behind Director Ma.

Yangcheng’s bus network was even more developed than Jinling’s, with a bus on almost every line every ten minutes. Ma Jian, familiar with the system, led Zhao Guoyang straight onto Line 12.

Upon boarding, Ma Jian handed a fifty-cent bill to the female conductor seated at the door.

“Two people, forty cents. Here’s your change—ten cents,” the conductor said crisply, quickly picking out a ten-cent note and handing it, along with two tickets, to Ma Jian.

At that time, buses had no automatic fare boxes; every bus had both a driver and a conductor, most of whom were women.

This particular conductor, dressed in denim, looked quite fashionable and capable. Zhao Guoyang couldn’t help but glance at her a few more times, quietly admiring the city’s up-to-date sense of style.

Perhaps noticing Zhao Guoyang wasn’t local, after the bus started moving, the conductor kindly advised in halting Mandarin, “Comrade, better find a seat quickly. The ride is bumpy.”

“Ah, yes… thank you!” Zhao Guoyang, caught up in his thoughts, nodded hastily.

Ma Jian noticed his distracted look and couldn’t help but smile. Easygoing as he was, he didn’t bother to help Zhao Guoyang, simply finding himself a seat.

All the way, Zhao Guoyang gazed out at the undulating skyline and the surging crowds, a sense growing within him that he was slowly becoming a part of this city.