"No," the woman replied firmly.
Huang Xuan was momentarily stunned. He didn't understand—during this time, no one was allowed to exchange goods privately. Whether it was grain tickets or yarn, everything had to be purchased from state-run stores, and private selling or trading was considered speculative and profiteering, a serious offense that could lead to imprisonment.
"Please help me out. I really need this," Huang Xuan pleaded, feeling helpless as the blanket was all he had left. His watch was worth more, but it seemed too extravagant to trade it for stamps, and besides, his Vacheron Constantin was far too advanced for 1968.
The clerk simply waved him off, not even looking at him as she continued knitting. Huang Xuan noticed the yarn in her hands, and an idea struck him. He handed the blanket over the counter and said, "This isn't just any blanket; it's a wool blanket, made from cashmere. It's much warmer than ordinary yarn. My family bought it from Beijing. Take a look."
Perhaps the mention of Beijing piqued her interest. The clerk grabbed a corner of the blanket and squeezed it, eyeing Huang Xuan suspiciously. "You didn't steal this from home, did you?"
"If I were going to steal something, I'd have taken money," Huang Xuan saw an opening and pressed on, "Just one sheet of stamps, okay?"
Yesterday, while wandering the streets, Huang Xuan had already inquired about the prices. There was only one kind of blanket available, made of yarn, measuring 2 by 1.5 meters, and it cost 5.5 dollars each. The stamps, of course, were priced by their face value—50 stamps for 4 dollars. For the clerk, it was a deal too good to pass up.
The clerk seemed to do the math, but she still hesitated, feeling the blanket again and again. Seeing that no one had come into the post office for a while, she finally relented and said, "Alright, consider it a favor." With that, she snatched the blanket away and was about to hand over the stamps.
Startled, Huang Xuan quickly waved his hands, "No need to trouble yourself, I'll get them myself. Could you please find me a box to put them in?"
Without waiting for her response, he carefully pulled out two sheets of stamps, gently pinching the white borders as he laid them on the counter, scrutinizing them as if handling his grandfather's prized fish tank. He realized that his father's annual salary as a professor was about equal to the value of one of these stamps.
Suppressing his sighs, he accepted the box the clerk handed over with a cold expression and gently placed the stamps inside.
Ignoring the clerk's practiced glares, Huang Xuan cradled the box like a treasure and walked briskly out of the greenish post office.
His first priority now was to find a place to hide these stamps. After that, he planned to seek help from the local police. After all, in his 15 years, every police officer or uncle he had ever met had been kind and helpful...
As he thought of seeking help, his stomach growled again. Just as he was looking around, that unforgettable neutral voice spoke again: "Do you want to go home?"
"Of course!" Huang Xuan didn't care about the curious stares from passersby as he shouted, "Where are you?"
"Do you want to go home?" The voice repeated in the same tone, like a record playing in reverse.
Huang Xuan's mind raced. He was sure he had never thought so hard on an exam—well, maybe when his father was questioning him. Now, he was desperately trying to figure out what this so-called time-space shuttle was up to. He had too many questions but didn't dare to ask them. Generally speaking, when dealing with strong figures like his father, saying less and doing more resulted in less criticism, not the other way around.
"Do you want to go home?" The voice repeated like a broken record.
"Yes." Huang Xuan walked out of the crowded main street, replying as he went. No matter how much the stamps might be worth in 20 years, he wanted to go home more.
"Very well, I can send you back to P113, but you will need to provide something in return."
Huang Xuan paused, a little suspicious, and asked, "What exactly do you want from me?"
"Given the current situation, my primary task is to ensure the security of the base, so I can pardon your transgressions." The voice paused momentarily before continuing, "Because your disappearance may threaten the base's security, I've decided to send you back to P113."
"Are you the base guardian?" Huang Xuan still remembered the inexplicable judgment from a day ago.
"Yes."
At this point, Huang Xuan more or less understood the so-called base guardian's intentions. Most likely, he had been thrown here by this guardian, and now his mother was probably frantically searching for him, possibly even digging up the whole yard. If he didn't go back soon, this so-called base might be exposed. So the guardian now wanted to send him back.
But this was all speculation. Although Huang Xuan prided himself on his intelligence, given his poor grades and evaluations, he decided to "tactically" inquire about the correct answer: "Aren't you worried that I'll expose your base when I return?"
This time, the voice from nowhere paused for a full half-minute before responding, "I will be monitoring you at all times. Additionally, I can offer you some compensation."
"Monitoring me at all times." Huang Xuan was skeptical. If this so-called constant surveillance was effective, why not just throw him back home the same way he was brought here? Why bother with this discussion about compensation? Clearly, the guardian needed his help. But his desire to return home outweighed everything else, so he said, "Alright, send me back first."
A faint light flickered, and Huang Xuan once again saw that dazzling passage. After a brief moment of disorientation, he came to and found that the box of stamps was still securely in his arms.
Suppressing his excitement, Huang Xuan tapped into his mother's business acumen and said, "Guardian, you want me to help you protect your base, right? Then shouldn't you provide me with more information? Is your base really under my swimming pool? And what's your name? I can't keep calling you 'Guardian,' can I?" The first rule of negotiation is to understand the other party's cards, a principle instilled in him by his mother.
As Huang Xuan was surrounded by a circle of dim light, after what seemed like a long time, the guardian's voice returned, "The area under your swimming pool is merely the outer defense of the base. Due to certain factors, I am currently unable to relocate the base, so I need you to keep this secret." After a pause, it continued, "You can call me H113, or Lorin." The voice explained further and then said, "We are nearing our destination. Have you made your decision?"
"And if I say no? Where will you send me then?" Huang Xuan asked as he tightened his grip on the box.
Lorin, with the same unchanging tone, replied, "Your disappearance could potentially trigger some crises, but these crises only have the potential to threaten the base's security." Then Lorin added, "If you agree to keep the base's secret and prevent further excavation, you can keep the contents of your box."
"The contents of this box are mine to begin with," Huang Xuan said angrily. "Is that your idea of compensation?"
"Bringing them from P112 to P113 requires a significant amount of energy, far more than you can imagine."
"I weigh a lot more than a box," Huang Xuan retorted sarcastically.
Lorin seemed to miss the sarcasm, saying, "You are a living organism, with a life state."
"The blanket isn't a living organism," Huang Xuan naturally thought of the cashmere blanket but didn't dwell on why moving a living organism would consume less energy.
Perhaps unable to argue further, or perhaps unwilling to continue, Lorin dropped the subject, saying, "You may request one reasonable compensation." The word "reasonable" seemed deliberately drawn out.