The work of the expert advisory team was to provide knowledge about local folklore, guide engineering projects, and mediate relations between the project team and the local indigenous people. This absolutely did not mean taking on roles as local clergy—it was an entirely different concept.
Pan Yicheng, as the chief examiner during recruitment, had indeed relied on various connections to seek out experts. However, official documents would never mention words like “feng shui.” He understood the nuances of how to find the right people, but that didn’t mean his colleagues believed in such things.
To Zhou Qu, Pan Yicheng was a professor and engineer, and it was perfectly normal for him to guide construction projects.
However, Chu Qianli pointing out someone’s ailments without any prior interaction was evidently abnormal. And when someone mentioned earlier that shamans could exorcise demons, it completely exceeded the boundaries of conventional understanding.
The indigenous people presenting Chu Qianli with a shaman’s mask felt akin to a coronation, naturally causing Zhou Qu great unease. He was worried about crossing sensitive boundaries. While they had to respect religious culture, they absolutely could not participate in religious activities.
Pan Yicheng, with his deft ability to handle situations, immediately defined the event as a traditional dance and provided a reasonable explanation, which finally put Zhou Qu’s mind at ease.
Chu Qianli also decisively distanced herself from the matter, solemnly declaring, “I’m really not a shaman. I only just learned about shamanic culture before coming here…”
“I also can’t heal people; there was medical staff earlier,” Chu Qianli said earnestly. “I feel like there’s a bit of a misunderstanding here. I believe in Marxism!”
Shamans were considered clergy, but she wasn’t religious at all—this whole situation was nonsense.
Seeing her sincere expression, Zhou Qu, still uneasy, approached the local leader and said, “Please explain it to them clearly and ask them not to spread this around. If this gets out, it won’t be good for our colleague either.”
Chu Qianli was here to work on a project, not to preach. The nature of the situation couldn’t be misinterpreted.
“Alright, I’ll explain it to them, but I doubt it will have much effect,” the local leader said helplessly. “They worship multiple deities, and they don’t have strict doctrines. Sometimes, if they say you are something, then you are, regardless of whether you actually believe in religion or not.”
“Just take it as a compliment. It’s like people in Guangdong calling everyone handsome or beautiful—it doesn’t mean they’ve lost their judgment. We all understand that.”
“…But I always thought the people in Guangdong were serious about those compliments.”
Chu Qianli wanted to assure everyone she had no religious faith, but she was still holding the shaman mask gifted by the locals, making her earnest explanations seem slightly awkward.
Zhou Qu couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off but couldn’t pinpoint why. He muttered quietly, “I thought it would all be over before it even started, and everyone would be hauled back for ‘education.’”
If the situation were classified as problematic, none of the staff would escape repercussions.
Pan Yicheng tried to reassure him, saying, “How could that happen? We firmly uphold the threefold approach to religion: not believing in religion, studying religious knowledge, and caring for religious communities, all to maintain control over religious work.”
“Pan, you’d better be reliable.” Zhou Qu glanced at Chu Qianli and Tan Muxing, adding, “Bring the two of them along tomorrow. I feel like you’re all just playing dumb and hiding your true capabilities. Better to have everyone together.”
Zhou Qu felt unsettled and decided he couldn’t entirely trust the expert advisory team’s surface appearances. He might as well bring them all along.
Pan Yicheng laughed. “Now that’s the right attitude—don’t underestimate people!”
Chu Qianli’s plan to slack off was thwarted, and she blurted, “I swear, I’m just a pig—no hidden tiger here!”
Zhou Qu retorted, “That’s what Pan says every time he starts.”
Tan Muxing: “…” So it’s a routine line?
After finishing the welcoming banquet, everyone finally retired to their respective quarters. The trio bid Zhou Qu farewell and left the yurt, following the path back to the base.
Tonight, the stars were sparse, and the cool night breeze invigorated those stepping into the crisp air.
Chu Qianli carried the mask and ceremonial robe, resignedly saying, “I honestly didn’t expect a casual comment to cause this much trouble…”
All she had intended was to remind a female dancer to be cautious about her injury, but the locals interpreted it as proof she was a shaman.
“I’m bad at fortune-telling, so I hardly ever do it. It’s normal for Zhou not to know,” Pan Yicheng said. “Explaining metaphysics to him would be too complicated. It’s simpler to just brush it off and move on. Anyway, it’s all over now.”
Tan Muxing was surprised to hear that Pan Yicheng wasn’t skilled at divination and curiously asked, “Then how did you join the project in the first place?”
“My civil engineering experience is legit. Structural engineers need to know a bit about geomancy, but not every feng shui practitioner can handle structural engineering. Respect the profession a little—I didn’t earn my certifications for nothing!”
Tan Muxing understood now. Putting aside metaphysics, Pan Yicheng’s qualifications were still impressive. It was no wonder others had failed to secure the project bid; few people could excel in both fields.
The mishap at the banquet sparked a lively discussion among the three, who continued chatting under the night sky.
Pan Yicheng reflected, “It’s unhelpful to dismiss everything related to metaphysics as superstition, but it’s also bad to blindly believe in it. Many people confuse concepts—mixing up metaphysics, religion, divination, and the supernatural—so it’s no wonder they can’t sort it out. The less people understand, the more likely they are to do this.”
The locals were a clear example. Discovering Chu Qianli’s unusual abilities, they immediately concluded she was a shaman.
Chu Qianli found the shaman mask cumbersome and casually hung it on Tan Muxing, half-listening to Pan Yicheng’s explanation.
Tan Muxing, cooperative as ever, carried the mask and asked, “I thought there was some overlap between these concepts?”
“That’s both true and not true. What’s the original meaning of ‘metaphysical’? It refers to dark red-black, something that looks hazy, and it extends to mean profound or mysterious. Metaphysical refers to what is deep, studying the mysteries of the universe and the laws of all things,” Pan Yicheng explained. “Some people like to equate metaphysics with ghosts and spirits—that’s starting with a flawed definition. The rest of the discussion becomes pointless.”
Chu Qianli whispered, “As expected of a professor—using academic papers as examples.”
Pan Yicheng laughed. “Since it’s about laws and patterns, it’s still traceable. You’re good at fortune-telling; you should know whether its principles have anything to do with ghosts and spirits.”
“Religion is another matter entirely. It’s a unique social ideology. It has some overlaps with metaphysics but also many differences,” Pan Yicheng continued. “I think the term shaman is quite appropriate. Its original meaning is wise one. Back then, shamans healed people and observed celestial phenomena—they were remarkable, mastering knowledge no one else had.”
Chu Qianli nodded in understanding. “Still human, though.”
“Exactly—still human. That’s the point.”
“People find these things mysterious because they don’t understand them. Without the ability to differentiate, they either dismiss everything as nonsense or blindly believe in it. Both approaches are shallow,” Pan Yicheng said, chuckling. “Some people tell me they believe in Buddhism, then switch to Taoism a few days later. When I ask them about Buddhist or Taoist doctrines, they know nothing—less than me, someone who doesn’t believe. So what are they actually believing in? That’s just blind faith.”
“Only by studying and understanding deeply can you make informed judgments. Blindly accepting what others say shows a lack of critical thinking. I don’t have religious faith—not because my job or identity demands it but because I’ve studied religious culture seriously and ultimately chose not to believe.”
Chu Qianli detected an implicit message in Pan Yicheng’s words. Moved, she earnestly said, “I don’t believe in religion, and I don’t consider myself divine or even a member of the clergy.”
Pan Yicheng agreed. “Exactly. Historically, clergy were mostly highly educated. Right now, your academic qualifications aren’t there yet.”
Chu Qianli: “?”
Chu Qianli felt deeply wronged. She tugged on Tan Muxing’s sleeve and complained pitifully, “Did you hear that? Did you hear what he said…”
Tan Muxing’s tone was calm as he tried to mediate, “Alright, alright. You’re still going to college, right?”
Professor Pan Yicheng encouraged her, “Then you young folks need to work hard at your studies. These days, becoming clergy starts at a master’s degree or PhD.”
Chu Qianli: “…Great, that means I’ll never be cut out to be clergy in this lifetime.”
Late night, at the base.
Professor Pan escorted the two of them to their dorms, checked if they had forgotten anything, and confirmed the early meeting time for the next day before heading back to his room to rest.
As soon as she saw Professor Pan close his door, Chu Qianli muttered to herself while dragging her luggage to the side, “Even though he doesn’t practice fortune-telling, some of his views are oddly similar to my grandfather’s.”
Tan Muxing, carrying the shaman mask back to her room, asked curiously, “Professor Pan’s views?”
“Yes,” Chu Qianli replied. “My grandpa used to say the same thing: when you strip away all the complex layers, these practices are just meant to guide people toward goodness or help them live better lives. In the end, it all comes back to people.”
“They studied different things, but they seem to end up in the same place.”
Tan Muxing smiled. “Professor Pan knows your grandfather, right? Since they’re friends, it makes sense they’d get along.”
Chu Qianli’s tone turned cheerful. “You’re right! Just like we get along!”
Tan Muxing was momentarily stunned. He hadn’t expected her to say that. Feeling slightly embarrassed, he responded softly, “…Yeah.”
The rooms for the expert advisory team were close together, making it easy to communicate. Each room was a single occupancy, sparsely furnished but clean.
After bidding each other goodnight, Chu Qianli settled into her room, while Tan Muxing went next door to his.
Back in his room, Tan Muxing put away his belongings and called home to check in.
“Muxing, are you getting used to the place? Are you tired?”
“Everything’s good.” Tan Muxing paused for a few seconds and sincerely added, “I’m very happy.”
Happy that he could chat easily with her. Happy that they could experience new sights together.
The next morning, Professor Pan woke Chu Qianli and Tan Muxing early. After a quick breakfast in the cafeteria, they were ushered onto a vehicle to head to the day’s destination.
Professor Pan handed out materials. “You can look through this if you’re bored. It’s a map of the terrain where the railway will pass through.”
Tan Muxing studied the map and remarked, “It seems like it would be very difficult to build a railway here.”
Professor Pan was intrigued. “You know feng shui, too?”
Tan Muxing shook his head, slightly embarrassed. “No, I’m just analyzing it using geography knowledge.”
Professor Pan burst into laughter. “Then you and Lao Zhou are the same kind of person!”
Chu Qianli looked at the map and immediately felt overwhelmed, as if she had encountered a particularly tough exam question back in school.
Professor Pan noticed her discomfort and chuckled awkwardly. “Take your time. No rush.”
Leaving the two young people in the back, Professor Pan moved to the front to sit with Zhou Qu.
Tan Muxing noticed Chu Qianli’s strange expression and asked curiously, “What’s wrong?”
“You were right earlier; it really is difficult to build a railway here. The terrain is very tricky,” Chu Qianli said, scratching her head in frustration. “No matter how you plan it, you’ll end up breaking some taboos.”
“Taboos?”
“Yeah. Feng shui and geomancy are about creating a suitable living environment—whether it’s for the living or the dead. Some of the principles can even be explained by science. For example, in cases of ‘piercing heart’ structures, where wind blows straight through a building—it makes people prone to illness,” Chu Qianli explained helplessly. “But now, with the way housing prices are, it’s impossible to avoid all taboos.”
In ancient times, wealthy families had the freedom to build homes as they pleased. Nowadays, with mass-produced apartments, perfection is impossible.
“This is the same case,” Chu Qianli continued, shaking the map. “From a feng shui perspective, it’s a poor location for construction. But since the railway can’t just stop midway, the best we can do is minimize the impact.”
It was an unavoidable trade-off. Ancient teachings discouraged building on burial grounds, but in some cities, the entire underground is full of burial sites. Strictly adhering to old principles would halt progress, so modern experts have to find solutions.
Chu Qianli and Tan Muxing browsed the materials for a while before succumbing to the bumpy ride and dozing off.
After a long journey, the group finally arrived at the destination work station.
The scenery became increasingly desolate as they approached. Unlike the base, which was dotted with the occasional yurt, the work station was eerily quiet and barren.
“It really seems deserted, huh?” Chu Qianli stretched as she got out of the vehicle, curiously looking around.
Tan Muxing stood nearby, snapping photos to document the starkly different landscape from the base.
Zhou Qu said, “It’d be nice if it were truly deserted. Not long ago, there was some trouble here. Luckily, nothing major happened.”
“Why were people so upset?”
“Well, think about it. Workers have to come all the way out here to work. It’s tough enough, and then they don’t feel welcomed by the locals. Of course, they’re going to feel wronged…” Zhou Qu furrowed his brow. “These are people who’ve braved the frozen ground of the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau to lay tracks, only to be resented here.”
Professor Pan said, “True, but we’re not setting up a station here. The locals probably feel like there’s no benefit to them—it’s just trains passing through, disrupting their lives.”
From a broad perspective, the railway would benefit the entire region. But from a local perspective, remote areas without stations wouldn’t see much of that benefit.
“On top of that, they have their mountain gods and other beliefs. I tried asking around, but even they don’t all believe in the same thing.”
While Zhou Qu and Professor Pan discussed the project, Chu Qianli and Tan Muxing encountered someone from the work station.
A man with dark skin and a high nose bridge, adorned with colorful decorations characteristic of a minority group, spotted Chu Qianli in the crowd. His face lit up, and he greeted her enthusiastically, “Tegsh sain bainuu!”
Caught off guard, both Chu Qianli and Tan Muxing quickly returned the greeting, looking a bit bewildered.
The man’s accent was distinct, with a rhythmic quality typical of his ethnicity. Smiling with interest, he said, “My name is Batu. You must be the shamans from afar!”
“I’m not, I didn’t, stop making things up…” Chu Qianli, terrified he might break into another dance, quickly said, “We’re all socialist builders!”
Sure enough, the next second Batu started chanting something incomprehensible and looked ready to break into a dance while performing a grand gesture toward Chu Qianli.
Chu Qianli, already traumatized by dancing since her arrival, instinctively looked at Tan Muxing, desperately sending out silent pleas for help, her face screaming helplessness.
Tan Muxing had no choice but to step in, hesitantly saying, “Ah, uh…”
At that moment, Zhou Qu stepped in and stopped Batu, exclaiming in surprise, “Batu, what are you doing?”
Zhou Qu, having just finished discussing work with Pan Yicheng, turned to find his subordinate awkwardly dancing (or trying to?) for the expert advisory group.
Called out by his leader, Batu instantly abandoned his singing and dancing posture, his tone becoming formal and switching seamlessly to fluent Mandarin. “I was just welcoming our distinguished guests from afar. It’s not often we see outsiders here.”
“You went to university in the capital. How is it that you’ve rarely seen outsiders?”
“I just didn’t want them to be disappointed after coming all this way. Outsiders always think people here wrestle, shoot arrows, and dance. I thought I should live up to our province’s reputation.”
Zhou Qu: “?”
Feeling slightly speechless, Zhou Qu introduced Batu to the two visitors. Batu, stationed at the railway work site, was an ethnic minority, but aside from his appearance, he had very little connection to his heritage—he couldn’t even speak Mongolian.
Chu Qianli and Tan Muxing suddenly understood. Batu was a mischievous fellow who relied on his unique looks to play into stereotypes and fool them.
“But just now, you spoke Mongolian…” Chu Qianli said.
“I only know that one phrase,” Batu admitted, before switching to another tone and exclaiming, “Lei hou ah!” (a Cantonese-style greeting).
“…”
Tan Muxing politely asked, “Did you study at university in the capital?”
“Yes, it was quite an adjustment. Back here, we ride horses to school, but you can’t do that in the capital.”
Hearing Batu continue to spin tall tales, Chu Qianli decided to play along. She responded leisurely, “Of course. Back in my village, I rode a panda, but that didn’t work in the capital either.”
Batu nodded appreciatively. “Finally, someone who understands the pain of having no horses to ride!”
Tan Muxing: “…” These two must have suffered greatly studying in the capital.
Zhou Qu, overhearing the younger folks’ chatter, didn’t understand their jokes but commented, “The people you bring along are just as good at talking nonsense as you are.”
“As if your people don’t do the same,” Pan Yicheng retorted, glancing at Tan Muxing. “Be thankful the other person I brought doesn’t talk much. Otherwise, their truths would sound even more outrageous than this nonsense.”
Pan Yicheng thought to himself: Riding horses and pandas? That’s nothing. At this rate, they’ll be piloting planes soon.
