Time had arrived at June — the final page of Xi Tie Cheng’s historical chapter.

This mass relocation of ten thousand factory workers became the grandest carnival the scrap industry in Tie Cheng City had ever seen. Scrap dealers large and small had all converged on Xi Tie Cheng; word had it that one dealer had worn himself to exhaustion and collapsed from a sudden heart attack right on his three-wheeled cart. Throughout the factory’s residential districts, spontaneous secondhand markets had sprung up everywhere, with residents unloading accumulated household goods in one great clearance: ancient Red Lantern brand radios, solid-wood beds fashioned from Soviet-style ammunition crates, stack upon stack of complete sets of Fundamentals of Chemical Engineering.

Xiao Man brought Chunchun back to Xi Tie Cheng. The two of them wove through the secondhand market and heard a group of children running through the stalls singing: “Sunday morning, white as fog, old men who pick up scrap line up in rows, the squad leader gives the signal, they charge into the rubbish heap, copper scraps and broken iron piled up in a great mound, the wind blows and the paper flies, the old scrap-pickers chase it all down the street…” This was a rhyme Xiao Man had known since childhood, and he never imagined it would prove so prophetic — Xi Tie Cheng, glorious for decades, had finally collapsed into a heap of scrap metal and broken copper.

Xiao Man and Chunchun picked their way carefully into the residential district. The area presented a scene of utter dilapidation everywhere the eye could see: uncollected rubble and refuse, dank and crumbling illegal lean-to annexes, kitchen extensions jutting out into the air from balconies, electrical wires strung haphazardly between buildings, water pipes clinging to walls as if about to topple. Compared to the flourishing construction happening outside in the city, this place had been all but forgotten by the world.

On the transformer between the buildings hung a massive notice: Severely Crack Down on Criminal Activities Involving the Theft of State-Owned Assets from the Chemical Factory. Xiao Man had just finished reading it and turned around when he walked straight into someone coming from the opposite direction — a man with his head wrapped in white bandages.

“Are you… Xiao Man?” the man in the white bandages asked. “Even a great immortal like you has come back?”

“Director Liu?” Xiao Man recognized him as Director Liu from the Trade Union’s Mass Relations Department, and hastily shook his hand. “The factory is going through its tribulation — I had to come back and see for myself. I was afraid you’d all forgotten me.”

“Have you finished all your paperwork?” Director Liu asked.

“I didn’t have many years of service, so the paperwork was simple.” Xiao Man’s gaze moved to Director Liu’s white bandages. “Director Liu, how did you end up getting injured?”

“Hah, don’t even mention it. After the policy for buying out years of service came down, some workers were unhappy and wanted me, as head of the Mass Relations Department, to lead everyone in a petition. I told them — I’m just a staff member who handles benefits and organizes events, do I actually have that kind of authority?”

“That’s right, you mainly managed cultural and recreational activities before.”

“Exactly! If only they could be as reasonable as you. At the time I was standing on a chair holding a megaphone trying to explain the situation to everyone, when a worker rushed forward and kicked the chair out from under me. My head hit the concrete floor — concussion, blood everywhere.”

“I heard things got quite chaotic at the factory a while back. They even brought out guard dogs on patrol.”

“It was actually not too bad, all things considered.”

After saying goodbye to Director Liu, Xiao Man led Chunchun through a series of twists and turns until they reached his front door. As he opened it, he joked: “My darling, this place is a re-education base for the poor and lower-middle peasants — if you’re having second thoughts, there’s still time.”

“Not at all — look at these lilac trees outside your window. The breeze that blows into the room carries their fragrance. That’s a benefit you simply don’t get in high-rise city apartments.” Chunchun stepped inside and looked around, touching things here and there. “How strange — why are your bed boards painted green?”

“Every family in Xi Tie Cheng has boards like this. The wood comes from the factory’s ammunition crates — moisture-proof, insect-resistant, extremely sturdy. Far better than those thin compressed-glue boards you find in furniture stores.”

Chunchun picked up Xiao Man’s pen holder. “Was this originally a shell casing?”

“Yes, a 57mm artillery shell,” Xiao Man tapped the rim of the container. “Hear that? That’s the sound of copper-clad alloy steel.”

The two of them first wiped the accumulated dust from the furniture, then set about tidying the kitchen. Seeing that the oil and salt containers were both empty, Xiao Man picked up a basket and headed out to the street.

On the street, only “Da Shi’s General Store” still had its door open. His senior fellow student Da Shi was behind the counter, wholly absorbed in watching the television drama Moment in Peking. The black-and-white television was thoroughly decrepit, the channel dial long since gone, its bare spindle held in place by a wrench.

“You change channels with a wrench?” Xiao Man craned his neck to peer at it.

Da Shi only then looked up, his expression full of surprise. “Xiao Man, you’ve finally come back! If you’d waited any longer there’d be no factory left.”

“That’s right, I came back to see everyone.” Xiao Man pointed at the television. “I say, senior fellow — even the scrap collectors wouldn’t take this thing!”

“Worn-out mats and cracked pots are treasures at home. My mobile phone is even more broken — you definitely can’t imagine.” As he spoke, Da Shi pulled out a phone case, inside which was a bare green circuit board, the copper traces and tin plating all plainly visible.

“Can this still work?” Xiao Man asked.

“It works fine without a case — makes calls no problem. If you don’t believe me, I’ll call you right now.”

“Please don’t — I believe you.” Xiao Man shook his head. “I bow before you. Go get yourself a new phone.”

“This one will do for now,” Da Shi also shook his head. “You have no idea how poor the people of Xi Tie Cheng have been these past few years…”

The shelves in the store had almost nothing left in the way of daily necessities; instead they were stacked with padlocks, ropes, and tape. Xiao Man made a circuit of the shelves before finding cooking oil, salt, and dried noodles, then asked Da Shi: “Why are there so many padlocks for sale?”

“Everyone still feels there might be a chance to come back. A locked door means the home still exists.”

“It’s impossible to come back — the water and electricity are cut off. You can’t live in ruins.”

“That’s the rational answer,” Da Shi nodded, “but people can’t quite turn that corner in their hearts. Call it wishful thinking.”

Leaving Da Shi’s General Store, Xiao Man didn’t hurry home. He carried his basket and wandered along the street, hoping he might run into familiar faces. He walked first to the billiard hall, pushed open the door, and found it completely empty — nothing left but one grimy billiard table and cigarette butts covering the floor.

Xiao Man reached out and brushed the dust from the green felt of the table, remembering the old days — gathering friends together to while away the hours, the laughter and teasing that had filled the air, the curling cigarette smoke.

Yet at this moment, there was only him.

“Is Xi Tie Cheng really finished just like this? Will a place where ten thousand people lived for forty years simply disappear? How can we prove that we ever lived here?” Xiao Man murmured to himself.

Xiao Man called Xia Lei to ask when he and Xiao Dan would arrive. Xia Lei said on the other end that he’d need to get his annual leave approved before booking tickets. Xiao Man said to let him know as soon as the tickets were booked — he intended to cook a welcome dinner personally. Xia Lei said there was no need for so much trouble, they could find a restaurant in the city. Xiao Man said that wouldn’t do at all — Xi Tie Cheng people had to eat in Xi Tie Cheng, hometown flavor was the only authentic flavor.

After hanging up, Xiao Man spread out a sheet of notepaper and discussed the welcome dinner menu with Chunchun.

“The first dish has to be braised chicken with mushrooms,” Xiao Man said. “Xia Lei and Xiao Dan can’t get the real thing in Shanghai. Apparently the northeastern restaurants outside the region use broiler chickens and shiitake mushrooms to fool customers — how could that compare to a free-range chicken and wild hazelnuts mushrooms?”

Chunchun wrote it down. When they got to the second dish, Xiao Man asked: “My darling, have you ever eaten snow-floss red bean paste?”

“I’ve only heard of it, never eaten it.”

“No one who hasn’t eaten snow-floss red bean paste can call themselves a true northeasterner. This time I’ll make sure you make up for what you’ve missed.”

The two continued discussing, and settled on two more dishes — catfish braised with eggplant, and hot pepper stir-fried with bean jelly noodles.

“Four dishes, and we still need a soup,” Chunchun said.

“Then let’s do old yellow cucumber and egg drop soup. That’s an almost-forgotten old-fashioned recipe,” Xiao Man said. “The free-range chicken and old yellow cucumbers — Old Hu on the front building has them. Let’s go see him now.”

Old Hu Shifu had once worked as a school custodian at the factory’s children’s school. His ground-floor courtyard had a few free-range chickens that crowed every morning before dawn.

When they reached Old Hu’s front gate, Xiao Man pushed it open and walked right in. Chunchun grabbed him: “Why don’t you knock? That’s so rude.”

“In Xi Tie Cheng we don’t lock our doors during the day. Everyone up and down the building knows each other — it’s been that way for decades,” Xiao Man said.

As luck would have it, Old Hu was in the little courtyard mixing feed for his chickens; a flock of barred chickens stretched out their necks waiting. Xiao Man walked into the courtyard and immediately asked: “Old Hu, when you move, can you take the chickens with you?”

“Cats and dogs can come along, chickens and ducks can’t. In a few days I’ll slaughter them.”

“Save a live one for me. A very dear friend of mine is coming back to the factory in a few days.”

“Is that the top scorer on the university entrance exam from your year?” Old Hu asked.

“That’s him! What a good memory you have!”

“How could I forget? When that boy ran away that year, the factory loudspeakers broadcast a search announcement throughout the whole compound, dozens of people went out with flashlights at night to look for him. I was on the night shift then and searched every classroom one by one.”

“Old Hu, Xiao Man also has a classmate named Yan Xiaodan who’s coming back this time,” Chunchun piped up from beside him.

“Director Yan’s precious daughter? Yes, I remember her too.” Old Hu began to talk freely. “That girl had a good father — Director Yan was the shrewdest mind in the factory. In those days he quietly arranged his transfer papers ahead of time without anyone knowing, and the moment the university entrance exams were over, the whole family immediately ran off to take up a post in Suzhou. Some people said he’d opened a pass-through accounting company in Suzhou, and the factory’s money in its later years all went around through Suzhou once before coming back…”

“That, um… let’s talk about what’s in front of us,” Xiao Man hurried to cut him off. “Old Hu, where are you planning to move next?”

“Honestly, I don’t want to go anywhere.” Old Hu sighed. “I’m over seventy. I’ve treated this factory as my home for fifty years — I want to live and die in Xi Tie Cheng. From when our factory was first lit up in Heilongjiang, through the three years of hardship, to the relocation to western Liaoning to build a new plant — the Cultural Revolution, earthquakes, explosions, floods — my whole life has followed this factory wherever it went. Through every hardship and danger I never fell behind. I never imagined the ranks would just scatter like this in the end. Of the old veterans who founded this factory alongside me, over a hundred have already passed on and been buried in the hills behind us. Tell me — isn’t Xi Tie Cheng my home?”

The great dissolution of ten thousand people was the biggest upheaval the people of Xi Tie Cheng had experienced outside of birth, aging, illness, and death. Of the factory’s five thousand households, some were merged into other military-industrial factories, some were resettled in coastal cities and towns, and still others chose to seek out relatives and friends, from that point scattering to all corners of the country. Before the relocation, hundreds upon hundreds of families came to stand before the factory’s administrative building to have their family portraits taken beneath the statue of Chairman Mao.

More than thirty years ago, this aluminum statue had followed the workers south to the newly built Xi Tie Cheng factory. The young men who had built the factory, full of vigor and high spirits, had their photographs taken in front of the statue’s new location and sent the pictures to relatives still up in the north. More than thirty years later, those young men had become white-haired grandfathers, and before leaving Xi Tie Cheng they gathered their entire families for one last photograph in front of the Chairman’s statue — beside them their devoted partners of half a lifetime, behind them children and grandchildren who had branched out to fill the world.

Besides family portraits, many people also came to the statue to lay flowers and say farewell. Xiao Man accompanied Teacher Tong and her husband to lay flowers as well. Teacher Tong and Teacher Xu had graduated from teachers’ college more than thirty years ago and been assigned to Xi Tie Cheng Middle School, where they worked, fell in love, married, and had children — now approaching retirement, they had been caught up in the great Xi Tie Cheng dissolution. Before the statue, Teacher Xu removed his cap and bowed deeply, murmuring: “Chairman, you once said that without the Third Front construction you couldn’t sleep soundly, that if there was no money for Third Front construction you would rather donate your own manuscript fees. Now the international situation has changed, and the times have moved on. Our Third Front factories could not keep pace with the times, and now we too must leave this place. Today we came for one last look at you, sir. Farewell!”

Teacher Tong and Teacher Xu were moving to Shenyang to join their son. Xiao Man helped the old couple sort through many boxes of accumulated possessions — books alone numbered over a hundred volumes. Teacher Xu’s son called to say they should travel light: “Don’t bother bringing the sewing machine — no one uses one in a big city. The washing machine doesn’t need to come either, nobody uses old-style washing machines anymore and there’s nowhere to get them repaired if they break. Throw out the pillows too — everyone sleeps on memory foam pillows now… In short, out with the old, in with the new.”

On that end of the call Teacher Xu disagreed: “I don’t want anything new. I sleep comfortably on my buckwheat-hull pillow and I don’t want any memory foam pillow.”

The son on the other end grew impatient: “You and Mom are welcoming a new life — don’t make it seem like you’re fleeing a famine. Shed the burdens of the past to move forward!”

Teacher Xu slammed down the phone, turned and grumbled to Xiao Man: “My son sees everything as a burden from the past! Just wait until that boy gets old himself — he might not even measure up to his old father!”

Xiao Man helped Teacher Tong and Teacher Xu repack their things, then hurried off to Master Ding’s home to lend a hand.

Master Ding said that all the salvageable scrap from his home had been sold, the rest had been packed up, but now that he was leaving, he was somewhat reluctant to go without paying his respects to the old workmates buried on the western hill and wanted to go up and make an offering sometime. Xiao Man said there was a perfect opportunity to go together — he could visit his grandparents’ graves at the same time. Master Ding said he’d need to go back to town to buy paper money for burning. Xiao Man said he’d bring some white chrysanthemums instead — the flower shop had plenty. Master Ding said in that case, bring both flowers and paper money.

A few days later one afternoon, Xiao Man picked up a bag of paper money offerings and white chrysanthemums, met up with Master Ding who brought along several bottles of “Frontier Baijiu,” and together they climbed up the western hill.

The south-facing slope of the western hill was the factory’s public cemetery. Xiao Man found his grandparents’ graves and laid a bunch of white chrysanthemums. Master Ding said: “Flowers are fine, but the paper money can’t be left out.” So Xiao Man drew a circle in the earth with a stick and prepared to light the paper offerings. Master Ding instructed him: “You don’t need to draw a circle when burning paper money at a grave — and when you’re done you need to kowtow.”

After Xiao Man finished paying his respects, Master Ding had already walked a circuit of the cemetery and returned to say: “Looking around this time, there are more than ten graves I need to pay my respects to. Old comrades I’d nearly forgotten — seeing their names today brought them right back to mind. Xiao Man, give me the cigarettes. I’ll light one at each grave, just to say hello to them.”

Xiao Man handed Master Ding a pack of cigarettes and followed behind him. Master Ding moved among the graves, lighting cigarettes and pouring liquor, pointing out — this one was the old workshop director, that one was the old section chief, this one was a comrade who joined the factory in the same period, that one was his junior fellow student from back in the day. At the last grave, Master Ding collapsed to the ground and wept openly: “Old brothers, I’m sorry — the factory has folded, the living are withdrawing, and only you are left here in this mountain valley…”

“People are like the wind and the flesh returns to earth — don’t grieve, Master,” Xiao Man consoled him.

“How can I not grieve?” Master Ding’s old eyes streamed with tears. “What you see, Xiao Man, are just gravestones and names you don’t recognize, but when I see these names, what comes to mind are living, breathing people. I keep feeling as though they were here just yesterday, as though we played basketball together just last week.”

As the sun tilted westward, master and apprentice began to walk down from the cemetery. They hadn’t gone far when Master Ding stopped in his tracks. “Oh no, I forgot one young soldier. We have to go back and say goodbye to him.”

“How would there be a soldier’s grave here?” Xiao Man asked.

“Back when the factory’s strategic railway line was being built, a military engineer was killed by a flying rock during the blasting work. He was buried right here in our factory cemetery.”

So the two of them turned back to the cemetery and found the military engineer’s grave marker. Master Ding brushed the dust from its surface, revealing the carved inscription: Shenyang Military Region 703 Engineering Corps, Died in the Line of Duty.

“What is this 703?” Xiao Man asked.

“That was the project code for the founding construction of our Xi Tie Cheng factory — it was a classified project at the time.” Master Ding crouched down to read the epitaph. “Look, it says here the young soldier’s hometown was in Sichuan. He was only eighteen when he died.”

“So young — what a pity.”

“Yes, still just a child,” Master Ding drew one white chrysanthemum from Xiao Man’s hand. “Best not to offer cigarettes and liquor to a youngster. Let’s give him one white flower instead.”

The next day Xiao Man slept until noon before his mobile phone finally woke him. The call was from Wang Dongdong, who wanted to arrange for him and Xiao Bai to get together that evening for barbecue and drinks.

“I’ve been going non-stop,” Xiao Man said, stretching in his covers. “Yesterday I drank quite a bit when I got back from the cemetery visit with Master Ding — can we make it another day?”

“Let’s do tonight. The three of us can drink less and talk more,” Wang Dongdong said on the other end.

“Alright, it’s settled!” After agreeing, Xiao Man snapped the phone shut and prepared to lie in a while longer. Then the phone rang again — it was Chunchun calling.

“You lazy thing — how much did you drink last night at Master Ding’s?” Chunchun asked on the other end.

“I did drink a bit too much,” Xiao Man said. “In a few days Master will be moving back to Heilongjiang. There won’t be many chances to see each other after that.”

“I know you’ve had a lot of social engagements these past few days. Remember to drink less, and come back early,” Chunchun urged on the other end.

“Yes, ma’am! This is the last round of drinking tonight — I’ll head back tomorrow.”

As night fell, the streets of Xi Tie Cheng went dark without streetlights, with only a few barbecue stalls glowing with charcoal fires and giving off white smoke. People who had spent the day sorting through their belongings came out in the evening to share parting drinks with close friends at roadside stalls. Tears were not uncommon, and sometimes people drank themselves into shouting matches and smashed bottles.

Wang Dongdong and Xiao Man sat on low stools waiting for Xiao Bai. After several years apart, Xiao Bai had grown considerably fatter. In the darkness they could see a big pale face coming toward them from a distance.

“How did you get so fat — living the high life?” Xiao Man asked as soon as they met.

“I haven’t been properly working this past year, eating and sleeping all day — how could I not get fat?” Xiao Bai said.

“How have our technical school classmates been split up?” Xiao Man opened a bottle of beer and handed it to Xiao Bai.

“More than half the classmates bought out their contracts. The remaining minority are like me — following the production line to merge with the Liaodong factory.”

“I heard that factory isn’t too far from the urban area,” Wang Dongdong said.

“It’s still in a mountain valley. It’s hard for family members who move there to find work — there might well end up being two-household separations,” Xiao Bai said. “By the way, Dongdong, now that you’ve bought out your contract, what are you doing next?”

“I’m planning to go to Hainan to drive a taxi.”

“Isn’t that too far?” Xiao Bai asked in surprise.

“You just don’t understand — there are a lot of northeasterners in Sanya.”

“Never mind all that for now — let’s the three of us drain this cup first!” Xiao Man raised his glass. “The moon bends and shines on all nine provinces, some families rejoice while others grieve. Whether going to Liaodong or going to Hainan, we’re all people leaving home behind. With Xi Tie Cheng gone like this, I feel damn awful inside.”

“I feel awful too,” Xiao Bai raised his glass. “Back in the day, only the best people with the best capabilities were sent to the Third Front. That generation of our parents all talked about political consciousness — when the organization gave the order, the factory burrowed into the mountains for decades. And the result? Like the most obedient eldest son, they ended up the most impoverished.”

“Even if our factory is poor, even if it’s closed down, we people of Xi Tie Cheng are no stray dogs — we’ll stand tall and live with our heads held high!” Wang Dongdong raised his glass. “Xi Tie Cheng factory — outstanding! Glorious!”

“Outstanding! Glorious!” The three of them clinked glasses and drained them together.

They had just set down their cups when they heard a voice behind them: “Students, here you are drinking and only thinking of yourselves — how could you forget your teacher?”

The three of them turned to look, and there was Teacher Dai with his wife. Teacher Dai was carrying a bottle of liquor, swaying unsteadily on his feet — clearly already quite drunk. His wife was supporting him and explained to Xiao Man: “Your Teacher Dai just finished at the gathering next door and happened to see you.”

Xiao Bai and Wang Dongdong hurried to help Teacher Dai sit down, and Xiao Man poured him a cup. Teacher Dai raised the cup and downed it in one go, then reached for more.

“That’s enough, Lao Dai — just talking is fine,” his wife urged him to stop.

“I urge you to drink one more cup, for west of Yang Pass there are no old friends,” Teacher Dai waved her aside and said thickly, “Come, come — fill them up for everyone!”

Xiao Man had no choice but to pour Teacher Dai another full cup.

“Fifteen years as a teacher, hundreds and thousands of students in that time, and now it will be hard to see my peach and plum blossoms again… Next week I’m going to work at a private school out of town. My most obedient student Xiao Bai, my most troublesome student Wang Dongdong, and Xiao Man who least liked to listen in class — we may never see each other again, and my heart is especially heavy.”

“Teacher Dai, I actually loved your classes most of all — I remember everything you taught us,” Xiao Man quickly said to console him.

“Good! Then Xiao Man, recite Yu Guangzhong’s Nostalgia for me!”

“I’ll try,” Xiao Man wracked his memory, “When I was young, nostalgia was a small, small postage stamp, I was on this side, and mother was on that side…“

“Good, keep going!”

“When I grew up, nostalgia was a… something train ticket…” Xiao Man truly couldn’t remember any more. “That’s it, I’ll penalize myself with a drink.”

“It’s no wonder you can’t remember it. At the time you were all young people who didn’t understand what sadness meant.” Teacher Dai said. “Tonight I’ll teach you a different poem about nostalgia — are you willing to learn?”

“We are!” The three of Xiao Man’s group applauded vigorously.

“Good! When you are past the midpoint of your lives, you’ll know what it means to be deeply attached to your homeland.” Teacher Dai rose to his feet, spread his arms wide and began to recite: “Bury me on a high mountain, from where I can look upon my homeland; my homeland I cannot see, there is only sorrow. Bury me on a high mountain, from where I can look upon my native place; my native place I cannot forget, it will never be forgotten…“