Yan Xue first noticed the issue when she went to the train attendant to buy her ticket.
Even though she clearly remembered Shan Qiufang mentioning Jinchuan, she couldn’t help but ask, “Are there two Jinchuan Forest Farms?”
She worried Shan Qiufang might have misspoken in her haste. Now that the train had already departed, there was no way to go back and confirm.
The attendant, flipping through her ticket folder without looking up, replied, “There’s Jinchuan and Little Jinchuan. They were established at different times, so the fares are different.”
After a brief hesitation, Yan Xue handed over forty cents for a ticket to Jinchuan Forest Farm.
Since Shan Qiufang had said Jinchuan, she’d start her search there. If she couldn’t find what she was looking for, she could always head to Little Jinchuan later.
The attendant mentioned the two weren’t far apart—just one stop away—and she could walk along the train tracks to get there.
The narrow-gauge train meant cramped quarters, with no long benches, just pairs of seats on either side. After buying her ticket, Yan Xue found a spot near the aisle. No sooner had she sat down than snow began swirling outside the window.
The snow beyond the mountain pass was unlike anything she’d seen before—wild and unrestrained, as if it could paint the entire world white in an instant.
When the train first left Chengshui, the snow outside only reached calf height. After two stops, it had already climbed past her knees. The flakes grew heavier, quickly obscuring the view.
Yan Xue swayed along with the train for over an hour before the attendant announced their arrival at Jinchuan Forest Farm.
Though the station at Chengshui had been small, it was at least a proper stop. Jinchuan Forest Farm didn’t even have a platform—Yan Xue had to jump down from the last step.
Steadying herself, she surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings through the curtain of snow.
Since the 1950s, when the state began logging operations in the Changbai Mountains, several forest farms had been established around Chengshui. Jinchuan was one of the newer ones, nestled deep in a mountain hollow. At a glance, it appeared to house at least two or three hundred families.
The snowfall kept most people indoors, but one woman who’d disembarked with her noticed Yan Xue’s unfamiliar face and asked warmly, “Who are you looking for, dear?”
“Auntie, do you know Qi Fang? He must’ve arrived in the last few years—tall, about six feet, and very handsome.”
Yan Xue wasn’t one to shy away from such direct friendliness. She described him clearly, hoping to pinpoint his whereabouts.
The woman didn’t recognize the name but was eager to help, leading Yan Xue straight to the administrative office. “They manage all the workers here—they’ll know.”
This time, she got an answer. There was indeed a young worker named Qi Fang at Jinchuan Forest Farm. The good news was Shan Qiufang hadn’t given her the wrong location—Yan Xue wouldn’t have to trek to Little Jinchuan. The bad news was that this year’s logging zone was far away, and the workload was heavy. To save time, the logging teams were staying up in the mountains and rarely came down.
“Why don’t you stay at the guesthouse tonight and see if there’s a shuttle going up tomorrow?” the office worker suggested.
Waiting for Qi Fang to come down wasn’t practical, and the mountain path from the forest farm was long, buried under deep snow. Walking there on foot, Yan Xue might not arrive before dark—especially since she didn’t know the way.
Nodding, Yan Xue thanked him with a smile and was about to pull her scarf back up when the office door opened again.
“Wait a moment,” the office worker called out, turning to the newcomer. “Did you get that tractor fixed?”
“Yeah, just waiting to adjust the engine before hauling it up the mountain. These KT-12s are on their last legs—over a decade old, and the Soviets won’t supply us with parts anymore. They break down every other day.”
The man, around thirty, wore an oversized blue-gray padded coat. Clearly familiar with the office worker, he complained while pulling off his mittens to warm his hands by the iron stove.
The office worker sighed. “Hang in there—just get through this winter. I heard the bureau’s sending two new Jucai-50 tractors this year.”
“Hope they’re not like those Dongfanghong-54s,” the man grumbled.
Back when logging first began in the Changbai Mountains, transportation was primitive—oxen and horses pulling sleds in winter, river rafting in summer.
Efficiency only improved in the 1950s with the introduction of Soviet-made logging tractors. But then came the Great Leap Forward, with forest farms competing to set logging records, pushing the machines past their limits. The Dongfanghong-54s, originally agricultural tractors, were ill-suited for logging—low clearance, inefficient, lacking specialized equipment. After a trial period, they were reassigned to forestry and farming.
The office worker knew this well. “The Jucai-50s are good. Some farms have been using them for years—much better than the KT-12s.”
Then, to the newcomer: “Since you’re heading up, take this young lady with you. She’s here looking for someone.”
“I’m hauling a tractor, not running a shuttle. How am I supposed to take her?” The man shot Yan Xue an impatient glance—but paused when he saw her face, his tone softening slightly. “If she comes, she’ll have to ride in the trailer.”
Yan’s mother hadn’t blessed her with height, but she’d inherited her mother’s striking looks—a sweet, doll-like face.
The office was warm from the stove, and out of politeness, Yan Xue had pulled her frost-stiffened scarf down to her chin, revealing delicate features: bright, smiling eyes, small and finely shaped, with soft lines that made her approachable.
The office worker sensed an opening. “Is riding in the trailer okay with you?”
The alternative was waiting until tomorrow for a shuttle—if one even came. Yan Xue had no objections.
So, for the second time that day, she switched vehicles, this time to an open-air ride, braving the snowstorm as they ventured deeper into the mountains.
“Visiting family?” the man—who’d introduced himself as Brother Liang, one of Jinchuan’s two tractor drivers—asked along the way.
“Something like that.” With things still uncertain, Yan Xue didn’t mention she was here to meet a potential match. Instead, she asked, “Logging in this cold must be tough, isn’t it?”
“No kidding. Every night, our pants are soaked through—have to dry them by the stove or we can’t wear them the next day. And this is just winter work. Back when we logged year-round, we’d leave before dawn and come home after dark. Kids would grow up not even recognizing their own fathers.”
Brother Liang grew talkative on the subject, and Yan Xue listened quietly.
After a while, he circled back. “So, who are you looking for up there?”
There was nothing to hide, so Yan Xue answered truthfully, "Qi Fang."
"That guy, huh?" Brother Liang paused, as if recalling something. "He’s quite capable."
Soon, the tractor engine dragged the trailer to a temporary camp set up on the mountain. Brother Liang drove the tractor down and insisted on personally taking Yan Xue to find the person she was looking for. "Tractors are already in short supply, and this one’s always breaking down. Logging’s been halted these past few days—everyone’s just been clearing the ice chute. You don’t know your way around here, so you’d never find him on your own."
Unlike in later decades, forestry workers in this era had never heard of "snow days." The heavy snowfall never stopped, but it didn’t slow their fervent work either.
Afraid the snow might bury the felled timber and cause it to be missed during transport—leading to rot in the mountains by spring and failing inspection—the workers had actually sped up their efforts. From a distance, Yan Xue could hear the rhythmic chants of the loggers as they carried the timber in teams of four or six, their voices rising and falling in unison.
"That’s the ice chute—where we send the logs down. Never seen one before, have you?" Brother Liang pointed to a long, snowy track not far away.
The chute somewhat resembled the ones used in later-day snow amusement parks for tire sledding, but it was much larger and longer. The ice beneath the snow looked treacherously slick. Yan Xue really hadn’t seen anything like it.
As they walked, Brother Liang explained, "We have to start building this thing as soon as the snow falls, and the location has to be just right—a gentle slope with a slight curve. Too steep, and the logs will gain too much momentum and go out of control. Too sharp a turn, and they’ll fly right off. Sometimes, if the logs aren’t sliding well, we pour water on them. Still, it’s way faster than carrying them by hand or using oxen."
Just then, a shout came from up the slope: "Here it comes!" The logs, arranged like fishbones at the top of the chute, were levered up at one end, and one rolled into the chute.
The trees in these old forests had grown for decades, some weighing over a thousand pounds. The log landed in the chute with a heavy, muffled thud, then careened down with several turns before reaching the bottom. Workers waiting there, having taken cover behind barriers, quickly moved in to measure and load the logs onto trucks, transporting them to the storage yard at the foot of the mountain.
Brother Liang squinted through the snow and led Yan Xue toward the group. "Should be this team."
The snow was deeper up here, but the logging crew had trampled plenty of paths while working, making the walk less difficult than expected.
Brother Liang, leading the way, glanced back at Yan Xue. "Keeping up?"
"Yeah." She could already feel the snow seeping into her boots, chilling her calves, but she didn’t slow down. "Is it safe for us to be this close?"
She’d seen firsthand how much force those logs carried when sliding down and couldn’t help feeling uneasy.
"Relax, I know what I’m doing. Before we had tractors, I was the one leading the ice chute operations." Brother Liang brushed off her concern.
Before Yan Xue could say more, a figure suddenly darted forward, grabbing Brother Liang by the collar and yanking him back several steps.
Brother Liang, who stood well over five and a half feet, was completely helpless against the force and landed hard on his backside in the snow.
"Who the hell—?" He jerked his arm free, ready to curse, when a log as thick as a man’s embrace shot past the spot where he’d just been standing, skidding violently across the ground.
It slid another dozen meters without losing momentum. Had it hit someone, even a glancing blow would have caused serious injury or worse.
Brother Liang’s words died in his throat. Yan Xue, though farther away, was equally startled.
The person who’d pulled Brother Liang to safety now stood shielded behind a nearby boulder. His gaze swept indifferently over Yan Xue before settling on Brother Liang’s pale face. "Still here? Waiting to become a safety training case study?"
Every year before logging season, the entire forestry station underwent safety training. Brother Liang, a veteran worker, shouldn’t have made such a basic mistake.
Brother Liang flushed. "Who the hell built this year’s chute? Logs shouldn’t fly out this far."
It was clearly an attempt to save face. The other man’s expression grew even colder. He didn’t bother responding, simply looked away.
The dismissal stung more than mockery. Brother Liang’s face cycled between red and white. "What’s with the attitude? If I weren’t helping you out, you think I’d be here?"
Helping him out?
Yan Xue reached to help Brother Liang up. "You okay?" Her eyes flicked back to the stranger.
This time, she studied him more carefully. He was young, towering well over six feet, his height giving him an almost lanky frame. Like the others, he wore the forestry station’s blue-gray padded uniform, but on him, it didn’t look bulky at all.
At Brother Liang’s words, the man lifted his eyelids, casting a disinterested glance their way.
The fur-lined ear flaps of his woven safety hat obscured part of his face, but his striking features were still evident—especially his peach-blossom eyes, the kind that should look tender even at a dog, yet radiated an aloofness from within.
If this was Qi Fang, then her great-aunt had seriously undersold him…
"Not bad-looking" was an understatement. The man was downright gorgeous.
Before she could dwell on it, Brother Liang waved off her helping hand. "You’re looking for Qi Fang, right? That’s him." He got up on his own, scowling, and strode off without another word.
Now it was just her and the young man. His gaze finally settled on her face. "You were looking for me?"
His tone gave nothing away, his expression bordering on indifferent.
"You’re Qi Fang?" Though Brother Liang had confirmed it, Yan Xue double-checked.
Instead of answering, he asked, "What do you want?"
His reaction made it seem like he’d forgotten about the arranged meeting entirely. If not for the name, appearance, and height matching her great-aunt’s description, Yan Xue might’ve wondered if she’d found the wrong person.
So she pressed further. "You should’ve received the letter a few days ago, right?"
Once things were settled, her great-aunt had sent a reply, stating Yan Xue’s planned arrival time—which, by her calculations, should’ve been around now.
Sure enough, the man’s eyes lifted slightly, revealing dark pupils that had been half-hidden beneath his lids. "You’re Yan Xue?"
