I. The sound of morning mist on the platform colliding with luggage
The dawn light at five in the morning, like a thin veil, gently covered the city's brow. When Ah Yu knocked on the first neighbor's door, the stairwell was still filled with the damp scent of leftover food mixed with morning mist. Uncle Li's door hinges creaked open, and the old man poked his head out, holding an enamel mug. The rising steam from the mug blurred the smile lines behind his glasses: "Girl, more punctual than an alarm clock." Before he finished speaking, the young couple across the hall had already dragged out their wheeled suitcases, the corners of which tapped crisply on the concrete, waking the sleeping cobwebs in the stairwell.
At 6:10, the train station platform was bathed in a pale blue morning mist. Porters in navy blue overalls walked by carrying shoulder poles, the bamboo strips bending under their weight, the bags dangling from the hooks reflecting the red glow of the distant signal lights. Ah Yu stood on tiptoe, peering at the electronic screen at the ticket gate. Her ponytail brushed against the canvas bag on her shoulder, the sunflower brooch on it trembling slightly with the movement. "Did you all bring your ID cards?" As she turned around, her voice was half-broken by the whistle of an arriving train. Aunt Wang pulled her carefully wrapped ID cards from her floral cloth pocket, the edges already frayed.
As the metal bars of the ticket gate slowly opened, sunlight streamed over the edge of the platform canopy, casting jagged patches of light on the ground. Someone's suitcase handle suddenly jammed, causing a flurry of frantic adjustments; someone slung a canvas bag over their shoulder, knocking a tea canister from someone else's hand, scattering dark green leaves onto the gray-blue tiles, instantly crushed into the cracks by passing shoes. Ah Yu counted the people as she walked forward, when suddenly she heard a little girl's exclamation behind her—Zhang's Tongtong had dropped her teddy bear; the bear's blue scarf was stepped on, a corner caught in the crowd, resembling a stranded wave in the throng.
II. A Morning Glow Mosaic in a Green Train Carriage
At 7:05, train K73, like a giant, dark green python, panted heavily on the tracks. As everyone climbed the iron stairs into the carriage, the wooden floor creaked and groaned, and the smell of disinfectant mixed with old leather hit them. Ah Yu managed to grab a three-seater by the window, and just as she stuffed her backpack into the overhead compartment, she saw Uncle Li standing on tiptoe to reach the upper compartment. His gray hair brushed against the edge of the metal rack, and his thermos jingled in his bag.
"Uncle, let me take it!" Ah Yu jumped up and took the bag, her fingertips touching the sweat stains on the canvas. Just then, the husband of the young couple squeezed in, carrying Tongtong. The little girl's red shoes left two muddy marks on the seat. The wife quickly took out a wet wipe to wipe them, but the child snatched it away, insisting on wiping them shiny herself. Across from them, a young man who looked like a college student had set up his drawing board on the small table, his pencil scratching on his sketchbook. He was drawing the crisscrossing bag straps on the luggage rack—a dark blue hiking backpack, a children's bag with cartoon patterns, and Aunt Wang's red cloth bag embroidered with peonies.
The train shuddered slightly as it started moving. Tongtong, pressed against the windowsill, exclaimed, "Mommy, look! The houses are moving!" Her little hands pressed five blurry marks on the glass, and the platform outside began to slide backward. The track workers in orange vests, the white-painted signal lights, and the crooked locust tree at the end of the platform all turned into flowing blocks of color. Ah Yu pressed her forehead against the glass, watching the old camphor tree outside her balcony flash by. The kite hanging on its branches was still there, but it looked much smaller than usual.
III. Poems of the Fields Outside the Window
As the train passed the overpass on the outskirts of the city, the sunlight had already polished the windows to a shine. Ah Yu took out her notebook to jot down the itinerary, the sound of her pen scratching across the paper interrupted by the clinking of Uncle Li's teacup lid across the way. The old man was distributing jasmine tea from his thermos to everyone; the tea rippled in the clear glass, the floating petals like tiny boats. "Look over there!" The wife of the young couple suddenly pointed out the window, drawing everyone's attention—the distant rice paddies stretched out like a golden carpet, and farmers in straw raincoats walked along the ridges, their hoes reflecting the sunlight like silver nails pinned to the heavens and earth.
Around noon, the train entered a tunnel. The carriage suddenly darkened, with only the eerie green glow of the emergency lights in the corridor. Tongtong, frightened, burrowed into her mother's arms, yet her eyes remained wide with curiosity as she watched the occasional glimpse of cracks in the rock walls flashing by in the darkness outside the window. Ah Yu took the opportunity to distribute bread to everyone; the aroma of whole wheat mingled with the dusty smell of the tunnel, creating a strangely warm atmosphere. When the train emerged from the tunnel, a lake suddenly appeared before them, its water as blue as silk. Reeds along the shore swayed in the wind, and white waterbirds skimmed the surface, leaving brief ripples on the water.
"Is this Crescent Lake?" The college student looked up; several clumps of swaying reeds had already appeared on the drawing board. Uncle Li adjusted his glasses, gazing at the small island in the middle of the lake in the distance: "I came here when I was young; back then, there were fishing boats on the lake." There was a hint of melancholy in his voice, and his fingers unconsciously traced the texture of the rim of his teacup. Ah Yu noticed the frayed edges on the old man's sleeves and suddenly remembered the boiled egg he had secretly slipped into her bag before she left; the eggshell still had ash from the stove on it.
IV. A Miniature of Everyday Life in the Train Carriage
At three o'clock in the afternoon, a peddler's shouts came from the connecting area between the carriages: "Sunflower seeds, drinks, mineral water—beer, peanuts, eight-treasure porridge—" The cart made a "thump" sound as it rolled over the seam of the floor. Tongtong immediately broke free from her mother's arms, her little leather shoes tapping urgently in the aisle. Ah Yu took out some change and bought a bag of orange candies. The crisp sound of the candy wrapper being unwrapped immediately attracted the attention of several children. Uncle Li distributed the candies to the passengers around him, but kept one in his palm as if it were a precious treasure.
Suddenly, the sound of an erhu drifted from the next carriage. It was "Jasmine Flower," the tune a little off-key, yet it carried a stubborn cheerfulness. Ah Yu peeked over and saw an old man in a blue cloth shirt sitting in the connecting area, playing the erhu. Beside him lay an old felt hat with a few coins scattered inside. Tong Tong tiptoed and put some orange candy into the hat. The old man stopped playing, grinned at her, revealing a missing front tooth. Just then, the husband of a young couple took out his phone and started playing music. A lively folk song filled the carriage, and several young people tapped lightly on the table to the rhythm. Uncle Li also tapped his knuckles on his knees to keep the beat.
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