Chapter Eighty-Seven: The Most Adorable People

The first thing Liàngzi said was, "When did you hide that?"

Niu Dali prided himself on not being blind, but he had truly not seen Chén Liàng stash anything in the vehicle. And this was not even his own car; it had been borrowed on the fly from Wang the Lazy. Yet somehow Chén Liàng had managed to hide something right under his nose.

"Haha, Brother Niu, if you saw it, how could it still be called hiding?" Chén Liàng said, then hurried over to his martial uncle with the eager tail-wagging air of a flunkey.

"Here, Uncle Master. Don't say your nephew here is unfilial—these are the last two bottles of liquor I had hidden away. For the sake of your reunion with your old comrades, I'm giving them both to you!"

When the uncle took the liquor Chén Liàng handed over, anger surged in his chest. He had known this little brat must still have secret reserves; otherwise, every time they stopped for fuel, the boy would not have run over to toss him a few packs of cigarettes. But he had never imagined that this time the boy would actually produce two bottles of premium liquor.

Grabbing Chén Liàng by the collar, he barked, "You little brat, if you've got any more hidden away, hand it all over now! You've brought liquor and no dishes—what, you expect me to drink it straight?"

Chén Liàng then pulled from his shoulder bag a paper-wrapped packet of five-spice peanuts. "Uncle Master, this really is the last of my stores. There isn't anything else."

These five-spice peanuts were made by Silly Zhu himself, and they were absolutely first-rate drinking snacks.

Seeing Chén Liàng’s pained expression, the uncle finally believed he had been squeezed dry. Then he started shooing him away. "If there's nothing else, get lost. Go wash up and sleep."

"Old company commander, since we've rarely met like this, how about we have a few drinks tonight?" the uncle said to General Feng Shi after driving him off.

"Hah, it's premium liquor too. Since coming here, I haven't had a drop of this stuff. We'll have to make arrangements later!"

When old comrades met old comrades, the result was always heavy drinking. And with the uncle’s and the others’ tolerance, half a jin was nothing, one jin was merely a rinse, and three or four jins was where the real fun began. These two bottles of liquor would barely be enough to wet their lips.

After currying favor with the powerful backer, Chén Liàng had his vehicle escorted into the base. Once he turned in and registered the weapons in his possession, he got out and followed the sentry to the barracks to sleep.

He slept so hard that it was like the sky and earth had gone dark. If hunger had not literally woken him up, he might have slept even longer.

After sleeping his fill, Chén Liàng slapped his own head a few times to clear it, then quickly got up, found a sentry, asked for directions to the mess hall, and hurried over.

By then he was so hungry his stomach felt scorched. Only then did he realize that when a person is truly starving, the body actually hurts; now he knew what it was like to be hungry enough to ache to death.

When he reached the mess hall and glanced at the clock on the wall, he couldn’t tell whether it was eight in the morning or eight at night; either way, it was broad daylight.

After explaining his situation to the cook, the mess hall promptly brought out food. "Comrade, we had your meal ready long ago."

After thanking them, Chén Liàng filled a large bowl with steaming cornmeal porridge, some wild vegetable dumplings of unknown ingredients, and seven or eight coarse corn buns.

He took a sip of the porridge and immediately frowned. Damn it, what sort of flavor was this? Bitter, astringent, and sour all at once, tasting just like a pair of blackened old socks he had treasured for years in a past life.

Then his brow relaxed again. Pah! What nonsense about a past life—this wasn’t even the nineteen seventies yet. What was he thinking?

Cheering himself up in the midst of hardship, Chén Liàng kept eating with his head down. One bite of the buns, one sip of porridge; one bite of the dumplings, another sip of porridge. In no time at all, he had cleaned up the whole pile of food.

At last his empty stomach had something in it. Just as he was about to wash the dishes, the mess hall staff stopped him.

"Comrade, you don’t need to wash the bowls. Water is hard to come by here, so we usually do all the washing in one batch each day. Just put the dishes aside."

"Oh, is that so? Then what do I do with this ladle of water?" Chén Liàng had seen a bucket nearby and had scooped up a ladleful.

The one who stopped him was also a young comrade, and at Chén Liàng’s words he froze for a moment. Then, after thinking it over, he said, "Well then, let’s split it and drink it."

"Fine, let’s each have half." Chén Liàng readily agreed, picked up his own large bowl, poured half into it, and handed the ladle to the young soldier.

After the first swallow, he nearly spat it out.

Good heavens, what on earth was this water? It was so awful that even pigs probably wouldn’t drink it, much less be fed with it.

But seeing the young soldier drain the ladle in one breath, Chén Liàng hardened his heart. Biting down, he forced himself to drink it all as well.

Ugh... If the meal just now had caused damage on a scale of ten, then this bowl of water had pushed it straight to one hundred. He was almost sick right there.

"Comrade, do you people usually drink this water?" Chén Liàng finally could not hold back and asked.

"Yeah. What’s wrong with the water?" The young soldier looked at him in confusion, even giving him a strange glance.

"You don’t think it tastes bitter?" Chén Liàng asked, a little embarrassed.

"Hm." The young soldier smacked his lips and nodded. "A bit bitter, sure. But out here, we don’t fuss over that much. If it can be drunk, that’s enough."

In the end, Chén Liàng fled in defeat, deeply admiring these people he considered the most lovable of all. One simply could not refuse to服 them. It was precisely because of their selfless devotion that the country could prosper and the people live in peace and contentment.

He had truly never imagined that this vast base would have such harsh conditions, that even the drinking water would be so indescribable, let alone everything else.

The miracle of Lop Nur was truly a singular wonder in the whole world.

After a day and a night of repairs and rest, Chén Liàng’s convoy was finally fully prepared once more and ready to set out for the return journey.

While stopping at the Xinjiang Corps for maintenance, the uncle, at Chén Liàng’s suggestion, sent a telegram to the factory, telling them he had obtained ten truckloads of fruit on credit in Xinjiang and to send someone immediately to settle the bill.

After all, once this village was passed, there would be no such shop again. They had come all the way to Xinjiang at great risk and hardship; if they went home without bringing back some local specialties, that would not fit Chén Liàng’s nature at all. He was the sort of man who plucked the feathers from a flying goose, the sort who, if a mosquito flew past his face, would still strip off two taels of flesh.

As for whether the factory would honor the account? The wealthy and generous Red Star Steel Rolling Plant said it could take another hundred truckloads if needed.

It had only just passed the Lunar New Year, and all of the capital was still in weather cold enough to freeze a dog to death. Fruit was an unimaginably rare luxury. Ordinary people did not even dare dream of it. Now that there were ten truckloads of fruit outside the plan, the factory leadership would probably smile in their sleep.

That was because his martial uncle had real standing and broad connections in the army, so he could get away with buying on credit by sheer face alone. If it were anyone else, try it and see. Even if you brought money, the Xinjiang Corps would not bother giving you the time of day.