TGA Chapter 64

Zhou Qu originally planned to bring the expert advisory group here just for a look, but the work was progressing so smoothly that they decided to finalize things quickly to avoid any future complications.

After some discussion, everyone agreed to return to the base for the night, then bring their luggage to the workstation the next day in preparation for the long fieldwork ahead.

Batu would remain stationed at the workstation, while the rest of the team returned to the base.

The vehicle bumped along the rough road.

Chu Qianli was dizzy from the ride. By the time she got off, she was already lightheaded and had to grab Tan Muxing’s backpack strap to steady herself as they walked back to the base. “Why does it feel like I’ve spent the past two days in a car?”

“Because you have,” he replied.

“This commute rivals that of first-tier cities.”

Pan Yicheng still needed to coordinate the work for other members of the expert advisory group, so Chu Qianli and Tan Muxing went to the cafeteria to eat before heading back to their dormitory to pack and rest in preparation for the next day’s departure.

In the dormitory, Chu Qianli finally had a stable internet connection. She made a video call to her parents to update them about her life over the past two days.

Yu Xin asked with concern, “Qianli, are you adjusting well there? How’s the dormitory?”

“Our dormitory is decorated in the ‘Stay True to Our Original Aspirations’ style,” Chu Qianli said obediently, holding up her phone to show her surroundings. She spun around the room with a cheerful smile. “The vibe is all about simplicity and leading by example.”

Yu Xin, worried her daughter might not be eating or drinking well while away, was relieved to see her smiling and lively. She laughed along and reminded her to watch out for weather changes.

He Zhenghe asked, “So, when are you coming back?”

Hearing this, He Shichen, the only one focused on career matters, chimed in from the side, “…Shouldn’t you ask about her project progress instead?”

“The project’s going well, of course. I’ve only been here two days and already received two outfits,” Chu Qianli replied. Thinking of the shaman robes, she added, “I might end up with a whole wardrobe by the time I go back!”

He Shichen was puzzled. “What outfits? Are they work uniforms?”

“…It’s reasonable to call them work uniforms.”

After reassuring her family, Chu Qianli started packing for the workstation. Her gaze unintentionally landed on the robes she brought back from the village. After some thought, she decided to pack them into her suitcase to bring along the next day.

The following day, Pan Yicheng assigned other team members to work in different locations and brought Chu Qianli and Tan Muxing to the workstation. After dropping off their luggage, the group once again visited the village.

The village environment was just as it had been, but the locals were notably friendlier and more enthusiastic. They waved warmly at Tan Muxing, while treating Chu Qianli with great reverence, even bowing to her solemnly.

Pan Yicheng remarked, “I didn’t expect our youngest team member to be the most popular.”

Feeling awkward about the villagers’ gestures, Chu Qianli could only respond politely with bows of her own. When they reached the site of the previous day’s ceremony, she sighed wearily. “This is exactly why I only ever contacted Pingping when I came to the village. I didn’t expect it to be like this here, too.”

Tan Muxing chuckled and reassured her, “This just shows they recognize your abilities.”

“But carrying the weight of others’ expectations is such a hassle. I’d rather they think I’m nobody,” Chu Qianli said with a helpless expression. “Sigh, once the altar location is confirmed, I’ll come to the village less often.”

That day’s divination using animal bones went exceptionally smoothly. The elderly woman performed the ritual and then led the group to the site.

The elderly woman was named Saren. It was said that her ancestors included shamans, but unfortunately, she didn’t inherit their abilities. She could only follow the traditions passed down by her predecessors. Saren knew some simple healing methods, had a few survival skills, and occasionally presided over sacrificial ceremonies, all based on the knowledge of those before her.

The surrounding environment was harsh, plagued by frequent natural disasters, with virtually no traces of human habitation. Shamans had once led their people to settle here, establishing one of the very few villages in the area and leaving behind a thread of life in the desolation. As a result, the villagers held shamans in the highest regard, considering them the core figures who sustained their clan.

Not far from the village, under Saren’s guidance, the expert advisory group discovered the altar, which turned out to be a small-scale shamanic relic.

Saren respectfully performed a ritual at the front, while Chu Qianli and the others carefully observed the site, studying the nearby totems and paintings.

Pan Yicheng commented, “It’s not large, but it’s been here for some time.”

Tan Muxing held up his camera and asked cautiously, “Can we take photos here?”

Saren agreed to let the expert group photograph and document the site. She stood quietly nearby, occasionally offering brief explanations.

“Is this village history?” Chu Qianli admired the rough, primitive paintings. Her mind conjured up vivid imagery, particularly the depiction of a star-filled sky.

“She said it’s the story of the village’s founding. The shaman observed the stars and led wandering people across the grasslands until they finally found a place to settle.”

Saren looked at Chu Qianli and solemnly said something else, her gaze unusually serious.

A colleague translated, “She said that if a shaman reappears, it must be for a reason.”

Chu Qianli looked uneasy. “Goodness, if Grandma knew I’m here to build roads and open up the land, which conflicts with their beliefs, would she feel deceived?”

For now, the two sides got along harmoniously, mainly because the topic of construction hadn’t come up yet.

After examining the altar, Chu Qianli became convinced that construction was inevitable. The shamanic relics here were small and of limited value. With so many famous historical sites in the country, the village’s resources didn’t even qualify as a tourist attraction.

Pan Yicheng had also made up his mind. Their job was to assess and provide ratings. Once it was determined that construction posed no issues, the subsequent work would be handed over to Zhou Qu and his team.

The railway would pass through numerous villages and areas, and it was impossible to halt progress for a single small settlement.

After the advisory group finished collecting data on the altar, the villagers warmly invited them to stay for a meal—an unprecedented gesture. Pan Yicheng understood it was thanks to Chu Qianli but politely declined the villagers’ hospitality, insisting on dining back at the workstation.

At the village entrance, Chu Qianli and Tan Muxing stood waiting to leave when they noticed a woman and a child dressed in ethnic attire not far away.

The little boy, wearing a small cap and a pendant around his neck, tugged nervously at his clothes, hiding behind his mother and sneaking shy glances at the two with his dark, pearl-like eyes. He lingered, unwilling to step forward.

The woman gently coaxed him, bending down to comfort him. She smiled and pointed toward Chu Qianli and Tan Muxing, her expression filled with encouragement.

The two watched the scene unfold with a sense of puzzlement, momentarily unsure of what to do.

After a while, the boy finally gathered his courage. He dashed forward in small, quick steps, shyly extending his hand to place something in theirs before running back to his mother like a startled deer, as if he’d used up all his bravery.

Tan Muxing froze. “What is this…?”

Chu Qianli opened her palm to find a piece of candy wrapped in simple paper.

The two wanted to thank the boy, but after his act, he refused to look at them again. He buried his head in his mother’s arms, his face flushed red, too embarrassed to meet their gaze, like a little ostrich hiding its head in the sand.

The staff at the workstation helped communicate with the mother, who explained, “He said he hopes the shaman will like the candy.”

Chu Qianli was taken aback. After a few moments of hesitation, she unwrapped the candy and popped it into her mouth. It tasted plain yet sweet and sour. She said, “Thank you. It’s very good.”

The words were relayed back to the mother, who passed them on to the boy.

The boy’s eyes lit up with pure joy, but he still didn’t dare approach them. He remained shyly nestled in his mother’s embrace, stealing glances at the two from time to time.

Tan Muxing waved at him kindly, but the boy hesitated for a long time without coming forward.

Even as the group departed, the boy stayed timidly in place, avoiding further interaction with Chu Qianli and Tan Muxing.

“He’s pretty adorable,” Pan Yicheng remarked with a laugh. “That kind of pure, childlike innocence.”

Chu Qianli said softly, “Precisely because it’s so endearing, it makes things more difficult.”

Tan Muxing handed her his piece of candy and asked, “Do you want to eat this one too?”

“No…” Chu Qianli reflexively replied. But seeing the candy in his palm, she hesitated and then changed her mind. “Actually, give it to me.”

Chu Qianli didn’t eat the candy. Instead, she kept it, placing it on her desk in the dormitory at the workstation.

In the following days, the group finished assessing the village’s altar and began studying the terrain to provide recommendations for the construction project.

Chu Qianli spent most of her time conducting on-site evaluations. True to her word, she didn’t return to the village, instead accompanying Pan Yicheng and Tan Muxing as they worked tirelessly, often ending up covered in dust and aching all over.

Although she previously understood feng shui, she had little field experience. Under Pan Yicheng’s guidance, she learned a great deal, discovering overlaps between civil engineering and feng shui, and even learning to explain some feng shui principles scientifically.

Her grandfather had understood feng shui but lacked knowledge of civil engineering, teaching only the methods without explaining the reasons behind them. Professor Pan now filled in those gaps.

As the three worked together, they grew increasingly familiar with one another and occasionally reminisced during their breaks.

Chu Qianli and Tan Muxing sometimes asked about Pan Yicheng’s past as the renowned Master Yetang.

When Pan Yicheng took the crimson crystal compass, he examined it repeatedly, filled with nostalgia. “This is an old relic. I can’t even remember the last time I saw it. I didn’t expect it to end up in your hands.”

“Seeing it makes me feel old,” Pan Yicheng said with a wry smile. “I used to travel with your master, and now I’m out here with you two.”

He didn’t observe the compass for too long and soon returned it to Chu Qianli.

Chǔ Qiānlí asked curiously, “Professor Pan, do you know the origin of the compass?”

Pan Yicheng had appeared in Chǔ Yìliè’s travelogue, so he might know about her grandfather’s journeys.

Tán Mùxīng added, “And the stone on the compass?”

“Your master studied it back then too, but he didn’t come to any conclusions,” Pan Yicheng recalled. “I remember that they each had one at the time. It seemed to have been passed down through their respective lineages. As for me, I guess I didn’t have one.”

Chǔ Qiānlí reminded him, “…No, you have a university degree.”

“In our country, the well-known schools of mysticism are only a few. Many people argue about their sects, claiming theirs is the true orthodox lineage. But honestly, after so many generations, the branches have multiplied significantly. However, the people I knew in my younger years were truly skilled. The founders of their schools usually had extraordinary encounters—similar experiences, maybe.”

Pan Yicheng pointed to the red crystal in the center of the compass. “Your master wanted to uncover what those encounters were. The two of us traveled all over the country—though I was doing engineering work, and he just came along for free meals. Later, he told me the timing wasn’t right, and I think he returned to his sect.”

Chǔ Qiānlí froze. “Free meals?”

“That’s right!” Pan Yicheng chuckled. “Back then, resources were scarce. I had a higher rank and better allowances, so I could get more supplies. Your master only liked refined grains, so he’d often come to my place to eat… Looking back, it’s quite nostalgic. Times have changed, but I’m not as well-off as his apprentice now,” Pan Yicheng lamented sourly.

Tán Mùxīng tried to comfort him, “But aren’t we still working under you now?”

“Exactly! When I think about it that way, it all balances out. Your master ate a lot of my food back then, so it’s only fair his apprentice pays it back!” Pan Yicheng said smugly.

Chǔ Qiānlí looked bewildered. “?”

She suddenly realized that her grandfather’s so-called “travelogue” wasn’t about travels at all—it was essentially a record of freeloading, eating wherever he went, and putting the bill under his own name.

When Pan Yicheng heard that the two were studying the compass, he guessed that Chǔ Qiānlí was trying to avoid early misfortune. He said, “I’ll look for someone to help you inquire. If that doesn’t work, I’ll pull some old strings. I’ve seen all three items before, but after so many years, I’ve forgotten most of the details. Let me see if I can borrow them for you to take a look.”

“Other than your master disappearing without a word, the others should still be reachable,” Pan Yicheng sighed. “Though he did talk to me about his fate, so it’s understandable.”

Tán Mùxīng looked puzzled. “What fate?”

Chǔ Qiānlí explained calmly, “In this line of work, there’s a saying about the ‘Five Wretched and Three Lacks.’ Grandpa had no close relatives in his later years. Strictly speaking, there wouldn’t even have been anyone to arrange his burial. Forcing ties with family or old friends could’ve brought greater discord. Even the strongest relationships might’ve fractured.”

The Five Wretched are widowhood, loneliness, orphanhood, isolation, and disability, while the Three Lacks are wealth, longevity, and power.

Chǔ Qiānlí hadn’t expected Pan Yicheng to know about this, which explained why he always referred to Chǔ Yìliè as “your master” instead of “your grandfather.” He must’ve been certain that Chǔ Qiānlí wasn’t blood-related to Chǔ Yìliè.

Tán Mùxīng suddenly recalled Wang Píng mentioning that Chǔ Qiānlí had arranged Chǔ Yìliè’s burial alone. At this moment, he gained a deeper understanding of the situation.

After days of hard work, the team finally adjusted the railway’s route, moving it further from the village. This wasn’t to accommodate the villagers’ beliefs but rather because inspections revealed potential safety hazards in the original plan, considering future changes in the mountain terrain. It was better to address these risks now.

The new plan also made it slightly easier for Bātú and the others to communicate with the villagers. The revised route minimized disruptions to the village.

Chǔ Qiānlí, after inspecting the surrounding area, confirmed through geomantic methods that the mountains here were mostly ominous. She predicted that the population would likely not increase in the future.

Holding the candy gifted by the little boy, Chǔ Qiānlí felt conflicted. “Sigh, once there are expectations, things get complicated.”

Tán Mùxīng noticed her hesitation. “What’s wrong?”

Chǔ Qiānlí repeatedly fiddled with the candy wrapper, looking at the melted candy inside. She admitted, “A railway can be seen as a source of wealth. The old plan being closer to the village might extend its vitality a bit, but it clashes with their beliefs. The new plan is farther away, weakening its impact…”

“But ultimately, this place isn’t suitable for living. The feng shui isn’t favorable,” Chǔ Qiānlí lamented. If she hadn’t noticed, it wouldn’t matter. But now that she had, whether she intervened or not, more issues would arise.

She had to decide the best course of action, knowing that each choice carried its consequences.

Tán Mùxīng said, “But Grandma Sārén mentioned that the previous shaman chose this location, saying it was the most habitable spot.”

“Of course, given the limitations of the time. They could only wander within this area. The village’s location is just the best of a bad lot—there wasn’t a better choice nearby,” Chǔ Qiānlí replied. “But things are different now. People can move further out and find more options.”

Chǔ Qiānlí slumped. “But this creates new work, and they may not even want to accept the advice.”

Tán Mùxīng understood. If Bātú and the others had already faced disagreements about construction, Chǔ Qiānlí suggesting they shouldn’t live there would be like stepping on a landmine.

He suggested, “Why not discuss it with Professor Pan? Maybe there’s another solution.”

At the workstation, Pan Yicheng was finalizing details with Zhōu Qú. When he heard their idea, he was surprised. “You want the entire village to relocate?”

“That’s not feasible,” Pan Yicheng glanced nervously at Zhōu Qú, worried he might angrily dismiss Chǔ Qiānlí’s seemingly outlandish idea.

Zhōu Qú, usually rigid and old-fashioned, was unexpectedly calm. He gave Chǔ Qiānlí a surprised look and said, “Old Pan, the person you brought thinks things through more thoroughly than you. We originally planned to relocate them and even found a site, but they refused to move.”

Pan Yicheng was stunned. “I had no idea. I thought the commotion was about opening the mountain.”

“It wasn’t. At first, we wanted them to relocate and merge with other villages into a shamanic folk village near our base, creating a larger settlement,” Zhōu Qú explained. “But the locals didn’t want to leave, so the plan shifted to construction. Then we brought your team in.”

Chǔ Qiānlí said bluntly, “Is it because the compensation for relocation wasn’t enough? If you offered them enough, like the equivalent of ten houses, maybe they’d be willing to move. Perhaps it’s just a matter of money.”

Zhōu Qú replied, “It’s really not that. The local folk village has government support, and the conditions are actually pretty good. But they just don’t want to leave. Even now, the children in the village travel a long way to attend school, and they still refuse to move closer to the school.”

Tán Mùxīng hesitated and asked, “Is it because of their faith? Worshiping the mountain god and refusing to leave the mountain?”

“I’m not sure,” Zhōu Qú replied, turning to Chǔ Qiānlí with a serious expression. “If relocation really becomes an option, you won’t have to worry about the procedures. The key is whether you can convince them. I’ve heard that people have come several times to try to persuade them. If you succeed, it would be a huge achievement.”

Pan Yicheng added, “If you really want to try, you can ask Bātú to take you to the village again. If they appreciate it, you can move forward. If they really refuse, then just let it go. Forced outcomes never work well.”

The two had initially thought that the chances of relocating the entire village were extremely slim, but to their surprise, Zhōu Qú and his team had already considered it. The only difficulty lay in persuading the villagers.

Walking along the familiar path, Bātú and the others led the way, with Chǔ Qiānlí and Tán Mùxīng following behind.

As she headed to the village again, Chǔ Qiānlí’s feelings were entirely different. She joked self-deprecatingly, “I might have been a shaman in my past life. After today’s talk, everyone might be calling for my head.”

As an astrologer, Chǔ Qiānlí deeply understood that sometimes mentioning things people didn’t want to hear could invite scorn. Yet, there were moments when avoiding the truth wasn’t an option. She wasn’t sure if the villagers’ attitudes would change, but she could only act with a clear conscience.

Bātú tried to reassure her, “Don’t worry. They probably can’t beat your friend. After all, he’s won at bök wrestling against the villagers. If anyone’s at risk, it’s us.”

Tán Mùxīng weakly protested, “Bātú, your attempt at comforting is a bit… off.”

Chǔ Qiānlí perked up at the thought, clenching her fist confidently. “You’re right. With Star here, it’s unlikely I’ll get beaten up.”

Tán Mùxīng: “?”

Bātú, already aware of the full story, spoke as they approached the village entrance. “Even though I’m working on engineering here, deep down, I hope they’ll move. It’d make things much easier. But honestly, I understand why they don’t want to leave.”

“You mean their reluctance to move?” Chǔ Qiānlí asked.

“Yeah. The main issue is, where would they go? I grew up moving from place to place, but now, apart from what it says on my ID, I’m not even sure which ethnicity I belong to,” Bātú said wistfully. “My college friends think I’m a minority. My grandfather’s side of the family thinks I’m not. So many things broke off by the time it got to me. Sometimes I don’t even know which side I belong to. I just get by day to day.”

“I once wanted to learn Mongolian,” Bātú continued nonchalantly. “But I gave up because it was too hard. It’s one of those things that just fizzled out.”

Chǔ Qiānlí and Tán Mùxīng fell silent. Neither of them had experienced anything like that, so they didn’t know how to respond.

Bātú smiled bitterly. “Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll forget my roots.”

Having blended so seamlessly with the people around them, they occasionally found themselves unsure of their identity. They’d think about reclaiming their cultural heritage, only to have those thoughts swept aside by the busyness of life.

Noticing Bātú’s somber mood, Tán Mùxīng struggled to comfort him and instead asked, “If you had the chance to choose again…?”

Bātú immediately snapped out of his melancholy and responded decisively, “Then I’d still be a minority. At least sometimes we get bonus points.”

Tán Mùxīng was stunned by how fast he answered. “?”

Chǔ Qiānlí laughed, “Looks like your subconscious hasn’t forgotten your roots.”

Bātú smiled gratefully. “Thanks, you guys. You’ve given me confidence. If you’re asking me like this, then there’s no way I can forget.”

Tán Mùxīng: “…”