Meeting at 10 a.m. on Saturday morning is a popular choice—for several good reasons. First, you can sleep in naturally. Second, you can enjoy a solid breakfast. Third, you can swing by the morning market to pick up some fruit or whatnot. And the fourth reason? Well, shh… come closer—“I found a penny on the roadside.” Hehe, every little bit counts.
Black Brother said it takes “20 minutes” to get to Victory Restaurant from my place, and he especially reminded me, “Don’t be late.” “No way,” I said—I’m the most punctual person around. I left 50 minutes early, but halfway there, I saw the bus stop clearly marked “4 stops away.” Oh no, I dashed over as fast as I could. Thankfully, I made it in 40 minutes without being late.Liu Hong, Black Brother, Zhiweng + Xiaoli, Xiangxiang’s family—we were three cars and eight people. It took us just over 50 minutes to reach Mayufang in Changping. After dropping off our luggage, I had just poured myself a glass of water when the mahjong table was already set up—“every second counts.”
After lunch, we drove to Shuanglong Mountain. It wasn’t far—just five li—but the road was extremely rough. To save on gas, we all crammed into Zhiweng’s car. There were ups and downs, sharp turns, and countless unmarked forks in the road. At one steep uphill, faced with a three-way intersection, the men debated which way to turn? It was absolutely nerve-wracking.
The ticket was 15 yuan, but annual passes were valid. Xiaohong had bought an electronic ticket online for 13 yuan, with the password sent to her phone. A whole crowd of us showed up, but not a single cent was collected—yet the ticket-selling girl was super annoyed and demanded we pay 10 yuan for “parking.” There was no reasoning with her, so we just “went along with it.”
Spring has already arrived in the south. A friend sent me photos of blooming flowers—“Not by the plum tree but by the willow, who among us will pick up the painting of the moon maiden? Reunions need not recall the arrival of spring fragrance; parting with the west wind marks another year.” The imagery? Just one word: “beautiful.” But up north, Shuanglong Mountain was still huddled in the cold winds of winter. Though there were pines, cypresses, and prickly ash trees, and the rugged rocks stood tall, the vast mountain with its yellow earth and barren soil looked gaunt and undernourished—nowhere near “majestic” or “exquisite.” The hike up was nothing to write home about.I only made it halfway up the mountain, and the whole way up there was nothing to see—so I’ll just skip that part.
I needed to use the restroom, but looking around from the higher ground, there was “nothing in sight.” People say that expecting “civilized amenities” in the deep mountains and forests is just too pretentious. I felt a bit indignant—“At Fragrant Hills Park, the ticket is only 5 yuan, but you get clean facilities and clear signage. Shuanglong Mountain charges 15 yuan, lacks basic amenities, and for some inexplicable reason has ‘two ticket booths.’ Could it be to provide jobs for officials?” Halfway up the mountain, there was a rest shelter—clearly built on the cheap: a shoddy iron sheet shack, with the seating area being less than three inches of thin metal. When you sit to rest, you have to sit bolt upright and hold your breath, with complete focus. Don’t even think about admiring someone’s long legs, or you might lean back too far and knock yourself out cold. No joke—I’m not spreading rumors; there are photos to prove it.
I once stayed in a place in Austria called Schladming, where the 42nd World Alpine Skiing Championships were held in 2013. The area is surrounded by mountains. In the morning, I went hiking with the locals. Parking was free, and there was no entrance fee to the mountains. At the entrance, there was a big sign with diagrams of several mountain trails, labeled “Route A, suitable for those of moderate fitness, takes about 90 minutes. Route B, for those with strong stamina, takes about 60 minutes,” and so on. At the mountaintop, there were clean restrooms and even a mini amusement park—with adult swings, a sandbox for kids, scattered toy tractors, plastic sand trucks, shovels, buckets, and little children’s tricycles. The water pipes came in two heights—one for adults and one for pets. Nearby, there were several rows of tables and chairs for those who brought their own food to have a picnic. There was also a sign detailing “a comprehensive introduction to each mountain trail starting from there,” so you could choose based on your fitness level. All of this cost very little—“it could be done”—just skip building an extra “ticket booth.”
Once we got down to the bottom of the mountain, we succeeded—and Cheng’s wife had already caught up with us. They had only made it to “the mountain’s thigh.” I immediately felt a sense of superiority. Cheng’s wife pulled peanuts, pine nuts, chocolates, and even my favorite “Want Want rice crackers” out of the car. Her car was like Alibaba’s treasure cave—she had everything. “Too cold?” There was a military coat. “Tired?” She’d hand you a little stool. “What, you want hot soup?” No problem—the stove and gas canister were ready, and an egg and tomato soup would be ready in minutes. That day, we camped out and grilled lamb skewers, but the fire wasn’t strong. Cheng the successful brother pulled out a “multi-functional” fan like magic. Someone asked, “How is a fan ‘multi-functional’?” Anyone who asks that isn’t cut out to be a Fortune 500 CEO—“not sharp enough.” Cheng’s fan had one side featuring Daiyu—easy on the eyes—and the other side was white tin foil, which could be used as a “reflector.” Women love backlit photos; harsh sunlight not only darkens your skin but also makes it hard to open your eyes, and worst of all, it highlights every wrinkle—absolutely horrifying. With a reflector, everything’s fine. At six in the evening under the setting sun, the reflector casts a soft glow on your face—Xiaojuan herself could be on the cover of a magazine.
The hike wasn’t anything special, but let’s talk about the people—starting with Successful Brother. He’s truly a “model worker.” On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, people ask him to buy rice wine; on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, others ask for recommendations on two-way radios. There are requests for car repairs, camping site suggestions, and whether you know them or not, he’s never annoyed. What he worries about most is organizing activities once a week—reserving food, lodging, and transport in advance. Just the phone calls alone cost quite a bit, and on top of that, regular folks aren’t exactly known for their discipline; things often change last minute. Someone says they’re coming today, but then wakes up to howling winds and immediately crawls back into bed to call and say, “You guys go ahead, I’ll catch up later.” Yesterday, two tables of food were reserved for noon, but he quickly had to notify the restaurant, “Make it one table instead.” All of this is completely voluntary. Successful Brother is like your friendly neighborhood uncle—no airs, dressed plainly, almost shabbily—you wouldn’t pick him out of a crowd. You’d never guess he used to be a famous brand’s fashion designer. Though “heroes don’t mention past glories,” in the last century, the clothes he designed actually won awards—there’s a certificate to prove it. If your eyesight is still good and you’ve got the energy, put on some reading glasses, grab a tape measure, and he’ll size you up. Then he’ll hop on his sewing machine at night, and voilà—you’ve got today’s trendy “bespoke tailoring.” A coat for twenty thousand yuan, and that’s even at the “family discount” price.
Wuyou and his wife also came, and dinner was, as usual, the highlight. Today, the “Guojiao 1573” didn’t make an appearance, so we drank Jiangxi rice wine and ate Qingtuan from Jiaxing. The rice wine doesn’t give you a hangover; it has a smooth taste, and after a few cups, you’re at most slightly tipsy. No wonder it’s called “women’s wine”—“nourishing without hurting the stomach.”
About a dozen of us played two tables of mahjong. I watched from the sidelines and realized “mahjong is like life.” The guy on the left wanted to play “seven pairs,” just threw down the “East Wind,” and immediately another one blew his way. The guy on the right was definitely “waiting for a tile”—his excited expression said it all. He talked nonstop, gave up two chances to “win,” and was happily planning a “self-draw.” Who hates money, right? But you can’t outplan fate—the unassuming, expressionless Cheng’s wife “won the hand.” In the end, there’s always someone happy and someone upset. Actually, either choice is a 50/50 shot—you can’t really say it’s good or bad—it’s “fate.” If you live long enough, you’ll realize that being outstanding or ahead at a certain point in time is just a “scattered smile” in the grand journey of life. Those paper fortunes aren’t worth “envying, hating, or being jealous of.”
At 10:30 p.m., I hitched a ride home with Wuyou. The young couple had driven dozens of kilometers that afternoon just to play mahjong—and finally got their wish. Their luck was insanely good. At the Badaling Expressway Qinghe toll station, the ETC displayed “14.75 yuan.” Wuyou said cheerfully, “Successful Brother sponsored it.” The ride back was smooth, and with someone else covering the gas, I was in such a great mood I felt like I was at a wedding banquet. In less than an hour, I was already sitting on my own heated bed at home, watching TV.
