A mix of black and white, along with the three primary colors—red, green, and blue—created a bizarre and fantastical passage that seemed endless, with no beginning or end in sight. Huang Xuan sat upright on his family's blanket, flying aimlessly along this passage, his left hand pressed under his leg to steady his trembling pinky finger.
Fifteen-year-old Huang Xuan was still a middle school student, and everything before him clearly exceeded his imagination. Just an hour ago, he was merely curious about why the ground of the newly dug swimming pool at home was so dry and hard. A few days ago, when the school transplanted a big tree, they dug very deep, and the pit was filled with water, just like after a rainstorm. With the curiosity and investigative spirit typical of a young person in the new century, Huang Xuan pretended to read in the garden pavilion after dinner, wrapped himself in a blanket, and sneaked to the edge of the swimming pool, where he began digging deeper with a shovel.
Although it was still early spring and the wind was blowing, the weather in Nanjing wasn't particularly cold. Huang Xuan dug energetically, reaching a depth of about a meter, when he noticed the ground getting increasingly harder. Seeing no water seeping out, he felt tired and decided to pick up a hammer left by the workers, striking it hard a few times to vent his energy before heading back to rest. But then he heard a hollow "woo-woo" sound.
Huang Xuan hefted the hammer in his hand, then turned to look at the corner where the tools were piled. He selected the largest sledgehammer, slung it over his shoulder with a grin, and muttered to himself, "Let me give you a few hard hits."
And then... Huang Xuan found himself in this kaleidoscopic passage.
He shouted loudly and cursed in frustration, but the passage didn't even echo back. Defeated, Huang Xuan fell silent, feeling a tingling numbness in his limbs and a loss of control over his body—clearly, he was trembling.
Of course, Huang Xuan refused to admit that he was scared by a bunch of flashy colors. After all, he had been to plenty of amusement parks... though, honestly, being kidnapped to an amusement park would have felt safer.
The blanket beneath him floated like a sheet of paper on a river, gently rising and falling, and Huang Xuan's body moved with it. After a while, he shouted again, "I'm thirsty, give me some water."
Given the two dangers, he would have preferred being in the hands of kidnappers rather than trapped in some strange contraption—at least his parents might have been able to handle the former, but as for the latter, judging by the ratio of main characters to supporting ones in countless novels and movies, survival was purely a matter of luck.
Still, there was no response. Huang Xuan instinctively lowered his head to check his watch, but just like when he first arrived, the watch had stopped.
Maybe it was the exhaustion from digging, or perhaps the shouting had drained his energy. Huang Xuan drifted off to sleep for a while, only to be jolted awake by a "zzt" sound, like an appliance being unplugged. Remembering his situation, he quickly flipped over and opened his eyes.
In the distance, he saw a ring of white light, starkly visible in the multicolored world. Before Huang Xuan could get a clear look, a neutral voice spoke: "Destination reached, P112T1061968W7890."
"Who are you?"
"According to your understanding, you can call me a time-space shuttle."
"What kind of thing?" Huang Xuan's anger flared up, but he was also a bit fearful. He raised his voice slightly, saying, "Send me back. Where is this place?"
"P112 dimension, equivalent to the time-space coordinates of P113 dimension in 1968, geographic address 7890."
"I don't care where this is, send me back, stop with the tricks. My dad is really **," Huang Xuan blurted out as the white light ring grew larger, feeling increasingly uneasy.
The neutral voice replied coldly, "I cannot send you back. You have already breached base security. In light of your actions violating Section 3, Clause 5, and Section 11, Clause 4 of the Time-Space Convention, the base's guard, in absentia, has determined that the P113 biological entity qualifies for exile."
Before Huang Xuan could say anything more, he and his blanket were thrust into the thick white ring.
A day later, Huang Xuan was almost certain that he was indeed in the time of 1968. Although he had only heard about this era from his elders' conversations, that didn't stop him from talking to the people on the streets, visiting bookstores, or even walking out of the town to hitchhike on the highway, asking drivers questions, checking license plates, and examining various receipts, ration tickets, and even machine serial numbers.
Every trace was evidence.
This morning, Huang Xuan walked into the town's largest building—the post office. Seeing the neatly stacked stamps under the counter, a smile appeared on his face.
It was both a bitter smile and one of relief. Huang Xuan was very familiar with the stamps under the counter: the "Whole Nation is Red" series, a famous stamp that was issued and then quickly recalled on the day of release. It was also the most valuable stamp issued since the founding of the People's Republic of China—its rarity was inversely proportional to its value. And now, Huang Xuan saw a thick stack of them, not even cut apart.
In Huang Xuan's time, this well-known stamp was discovered to be inaccurate by an editor at the China Map Publishing House, just hours after its release—the map of China on the stamp did not include the Xisha and Nansha Islands. The Ministry of Posts and Telecommunications noticed the issue and urgently ordered post offices nationwide to stop selling it, but a few post offices had already sold some, causing a limited number to circulate. But now, Huang Xuan didn't know whether he was lucky to be in that day or if this era was different from what he knew.
Behind the counter was a single female employee, lazily knitting on the desk. Piled on the desk were stamps, all of them the "Whole Nation is Red" series. Unlike in later years, the post offices of this time usually sold only one type of stamp, selling what they had until it ran out before switching to another. Huang Xuan, feeling a bit dizzy, took a few steps forward, straightened his collar, and with what he thought was his most friendly smile, asked, "How much for these stamps? Can I take a look?"
Most likely due to his standard Mandarin—a benefit Huang Xuan had enjoyed several times over the past two days—the female employee brushed her hair with her pinky finger, stood up, and, with just one glance at Huang Xuan's "strange attire," lost interest in looking any further. In a soft Wu dialect, she asked, "How many do you want?"
"I'd like to take a look first." Huang Xuan maintained his smile. He had no money besides his mud-stained clothes and a blanket, and even though each "Whole Nation is Red" stamp was worth at least 200,000 dollars in the future, its face value was only 8 cents.
The female employee's already unenthusiastic expression grew colder, her mouth curling into a sneer as she casually tossed a sheet of stamps, two of which had already been cut off, onto the counter before sitting down to resume her knitting.
Huang Xuan was never one to be particularly patient. In fact, as a member of the Huang family, he had inherited some of Old Master Huang's temperament: simple and quick to anger, but also capable of thought, along with a bit of adaptability and resilience. Moreover, as a 15-year-old, Huang Xuan had a bit more rebelliousness. However, at this moment, he maintained his composure, smiling as he picked up the stamps.
Huang Xuan had seen his grandfather's stamp collection many times, and while he couldn't claim to be an expert, he just wanted to examine this rare stamp closely to see if it differed from what he knew. As for the stamp's authenticity, to be honest, Huang Xuan would prefer them to be poor imitations. That would mean this small town and its surroundings were just a bothersome farce...
But if, by some chance, he really was in 1968, these stamps could very well be his lifeline—eight years from now, they could be his house, his bread, his computer and game console, and even his woman.
In this era, there were no merchants, no capitalists, and no ID cards; only ration tickets, fabric tickets, meat tickets, and letters of introduction. Ten years from now, in '78, the Third Plenary Session of the 11th Central Committee would be held, and those looking to get rich would tentatively begin to peer out...
Huang Xuan had no idea what a 15-year-old like him could do. He didn't even know when the Cultural Revolution would end, but two things were certain: this era would inevitably end, and the "Whole Nation is Red" stamps would skyrocket in value, with an investment return of nearly five million times, or 500 million percent. That's a difficult number to comprehend.
After looking at the stamps in his hand a few more times, Huang Xuan couldn't help but feel his pocket, which was empty. Yesterday, he had prepared to dig the pit, and the blanket was brought only to disguise his trip to the pavilion. If not for that, he wouldn't even have anything to keep warm with last night.
Huang Xuan finally understood the feeling his grandfather had when talking about the "Whole Nation is Red" stamps—stamps that would be worth 300,000 dollars each in the future, lying there on an old, peeling table. There were over a hundred sheets, with 50 stamps per sheet. In other words, if he could just preserve these things for 30 years, those little pictures on this shabby table could theoretically be worth over 400 million dollars, enough to buy a hundred Mercedes-Benz cars, equivalent to 800 years of hard work for a small clerk earning 4,000 dollars a month. And to buy them now, he only needed 400 dollars.
The thought of never seeing his grandfather, parents, or future again made Huang Xuan's heart tighten, his mouth going dry. He shook his head to push those thoughts away, tugged at the only valuable item he had left—his blanket—and leaned over the counter, saying, "Sister, let's make a deal."
"Speak." The woman behind the desk showed no interest and spoke in a muffled voice.
"You see, I'm just a student and don't have much money. I want to buy some stamps. How about I trade this blanket for some?" Huang Xuan had thought it through. He didn't know how long he would have to stay here, and this was 1969, an era unfriendly to strangers. There were no small merchants, no golden weeks for tourism, and definitely no talk of getting rich through labor. He had no labor power to sell either, meaning this blanket could keep him from freezing to death, but it couldn't keep him from starving to death. In that sense, it was useless for survival.