Go to Chongqing

One day in the third month of the lunar calendar, I, an ordinary cog in the machine, boarded a plane to Chongqing. Sitting by the window, peeking down, I finally understood the brilliance of the metaphor: "Cars become like toys." The metaphor is corny, yet apt. "Man thinks, God laughs." After the plane soared into the clouds, I kept pondering this phrase. "In my lifetime, this is the closest I'll ever get to you, so go ahead and laugh! If you dare laugh, I'll come out and beat you up!" "Is there a height that allows one to approach the thoughts of the heavens?" I also thought about this phrase. It's something a friend of mine, a mediocre poet, often says. I have my own thoughts on this phrase. First, he's a mediocre poet with the personality of a first-rate poet, so while he possesses the ability to write poetry, he lacks the ability to think like a normal person. Only I, now, can approach the thoughts of the heavens. My mind isn't filled with many famous quotes, but for an ordinary cog in the machine, being able to think of these two phrases is enough, I think. Because I didn't come to Chongqing to become a philosopher. 2. I came to Chongqing to find beautiful women, delicious food, and beautiful scenery. 3. I just got off the plane and took the airport bus with a suitcase full of clothes. There weren't many people on the bus; it started moving before it was even full. Next to me sat a middle-aged woman dressed plainly, carrying a large suitcase. I have a good habit of not liking to talk to unfamiliar middle-aged men. But this habit wasn't satisfied. As soon as the bus left the airport, this woman started talking. This woman was probably around forty years old, with dark skin, visible pores on her face, making her look somewhat dirty. She was a bit overweight, with large breasts that sagged naturally. When she sat down, you could clearly see a ring of fat around her waist, making her look comically plump. She had a lot of luggage and chatted with me in fluent Sichuan dialect. Through words and gestures, I finally understood that she was talking about some problems with her flight, which had caused her to be stranded at the airport for a day. I also have a bad habit of being overly polite to people. So I painfully cooperated with her constant gesturing and speaking, and by the time I reached my destination, my arm was aching and numb. "Young man, young people who come to Chongqing always find it hard to leave," the woman suddenly said in standard Mandarin with a strong Sichuan accent, just as I was packing my things to get off the bus. I glanced at her, puzzled, nodded awkwardly, and focused intently on rubbing my arm as I got off. 4 As a very forgetful person, I thought that such a chance encounter on the long road of life would be something I would quickly forget. Unexpectedly, even as I flew back to Shanghai, I was still pondering the deeper meaning of that sentence. The woman's appearance, posture, movements, and her authentic Sichuan dialect and standard Mandarin kept swirling in my mind—not like the longing for a beautiful woman, but rather the kind of sudden, stimulating thought that popped out of nowhere. Since I'm not a staunch atheist, this unusual phenomenon often made me feel that this woman was sent by heaven to enlighten me. 5. As soon as I got off the bus, I was surrounded by enthusiastic Chongqing friends. I accepted all sorts of business cards and flyers they gave me, then took a taxi to a place called Baimatang to stay in, where a friend of mine works. I was alone. For the past month, I had gone to great lengths to persuade my girlfriend not to come to Chongqing with me. During those days, I did nothing but love us. We talked late into the night every day, finally convincing her that letting me stay in Chongqing alone for a week was for her own good. At the airport, I happily handed her all my savings, and her tears immediately streamed down her face. Without hesitation, she grabbed my crotch and squeezed it hard, saying tenderly, "You're all alone in Chongqing, you must take good care of yourself and him." "Don't worry!" Now I finally got into a Chongqing taxi, heading to a place completely unrelated to her. I felt a strange sense of joy, lost in thought. 6. Let me briefly introduce my friends. He was a proud policeman, in his early twenties, the prime of his life, yet possessing a decadent worldview and philosophy of life. This friend was the least familiar of my few sworn brothers. The main reason we became brothers was that he had three brothers with whom he smoked, drank, fought, and frequented brothels, and coincidentally, I had the same relationship with those three. So, out of necessity, we became brothers as well. I've tried many times to put myself in his shoes and understand how it felt to be with me. Honestly, if he didn't have a brotherhood with someone like me, his life would be utterly devoid of joy. 7 I took the suitcase out of the taxi's trunk, and I heard a man's voice, excitedly roaring behind me: "Damn it, you're not working, and you're out messing around again!" A familiar voice. I turned around: "Don't yell like that, it's not good if others hear." I lowered my voice and said shyly. The shopkeepers, restaurant owners, and stall owners around me all looked at me, this outsider, with excitement, like watching a fish taking the bait. After tidying everything up and taking everything to his place, I sat down and noticed a PS2 and two controllers on the coffee table in front of the TV. I immediately shook off my weariness and dragged him to play Pro Evolution Soccer with me—a football game, a competitive game with a clear winner. This was the first thing I played after arriving in Chongqing. The result was that, if I were to compare him to a field, and his self-esteem to the crops, I was a novice farmer lacking both theoretical knowledge and practical experience. After my diligent cultivation, the field was barren. Watching him and his self-esteem wither away bit by bit, my heart sank. In another ten years or so, when he's reached a leadership position in the bureau, there will definitely be fewer and fewer brothers like me, upright and unafraid of authority. 8. So quickly, it got dark. When I had dinner with my buddy, besides his girlfriend, there were about seven or eight dashing police officers sitting around. We sat around a hot pot, a true picture of military and civilians as one family. Aside from the exceptionally good taste, Chongqing hot pot wasn't much different from the hot pots I'd had in Beijing, Anhui, Jiangsu, and other places. There was a dipping sauce and a bowl of minced garlic. From the moment the first piece of meat cooked, I kept shoveling food into my mouth until someone called me, "What do you do for a living?" I looked up blankly, sucked the piece of tripe I was holding in my mouth, and turned to my buddy, waiting for him to translate. "He's a designer," he answered for me, ignoring me. I thought for a moment and replied seriously, "Damn, who the hell is a designer? I'm an artist." We ate hotpot for a long time. I patted my swollen belly, wiped my mouth which was numb from the chili and Sichuan peppercorns, and then pointed to a dish of chili powder the waiter had just brought over, asking these "police officers" what they were for. Sure enough, when in trouble, you call the police. They looked at me with lewd grins, and finally one of them said to me, word by word in broken Mandarin, "Eating this is what it means to have truly experienced Chongqing." ...Actually, my mouth wasn't truly numb.

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Go to Chongqing

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