Chapter 17: Taking the Train

The next morning, on the way to the train station, Zhang Zhiwei spent a few coins buying some steamed buns, meat pies, steamed bread, roast duck, and the like.

Anyone who has taken the green trains in later times knows that the food on the train is expensive, so it’s best to bring some provisions before boarding.

The steam trains of the Republic era were much slower than those later green trains; having some food prepared was definitely wise.

Zhang Jingqing agreed wholeheartedly.

Upon arriving at the station, it was time to buy tickets.

In those years, transportation was scarce, train tickets were costly, yet business was still booming. The ticket windows were crowded with people lined up.

“Master, please have a seat for a moment; I’ll go buy the tickets!” Zhang Zhiwei said.

He scanned around and found a window with a shorter queue.

After a short wait, it was his turn.

The ticket clerk asked, “Sir Daoist, which class ticket would you like?”

“Is there a difference?” Zhang Zhiwei asked.

“Is this your first time riding a train, Daoist?”

“Yes.”

Since it was his first time, the clerk explained, “Our train cars have classes: first class, second class, and third class. This window sells only first and second class tickets. For third class, you’d have to go to those windows over there with longer lines.”

So the division between business, first, and second class seats was already well established…

Zhang Zhiwei inquired, “What’s the difference?”

The clerk said, “Quite a lot. Each class offers a different experience, and naturally, the prices vary.”

“First class is the most comfortable, with luxurious furnishings, spacious seats, carpeting on the floor, dressing rooms, toilets, and all amenities.”

“To put it simply, the seats are stuffed with goose down. When you sit down, you feel surrounded by softness — it’s incredibly comfortable.”

“Second class is slightly less ornate, but still has cushioned seats and plenty of space.”

“Third class is the simplest: hard wooden benches, extremely cramped, no sleeping berths, and passengers cannot enter the dining car.”

“Especially at night, with dim lighting and crowded conditions, it’s impossible to read or rest. You probably wouldn’t be able to meditate or chant either.”

“Daoist, would you prefer second or first class?”

“How much do they cost?”

The clerk replied, “Third class tickets are 2.5 silver dollars, second class 5, first class 10. Both second and first class include sleeping berths, but sleeping requires an additional fee.”

Zhang Zhiwei casually tossed out a 20 silver dollar note. “Two first class tickets, window seats, side by side.”

Before the note even landed, a hand caught it.

It was Zhang Jingqing.

She pocketed the 20 silver dollars, took out 10, and handed them to the clerk.

“Just two second class tickets will do.”

The clerk glanced at Zhang Zhiwei, hesitating.

Zhang Zhiwei nodded, “This is my master. Buy as she says.”

The clerk eyed the 10 silver dollars and couldn’t help but advise, “Master Daoist, you clearly aren’t short of money. You should buy first class. It’s far more comfortable and spacious than second class.”

Zhang Jingqing said sternly, “Second class only.”

Seeing this, the clerk said no more and handed over the tickets.

“Please keep your tickets safe.”

Zhang Zhiwei took the tickets and, following staff directions, went to the waiting hall.

The waiting hall was specifically for second class passengers.

First class had a VIP lounge.

Third class had to wait by the tracks, inhaling coal dust.

Inside the waiting hall, Zhang Zhiwei asked, puzzled, “Master, why not first class?”

He expected some lofty reasoning about wanting to observe the world’s realities or that first class wasn’t convenient.

Instead, Zhang Jingqing said gravely, “Because the first class carriages are full of red-haired devils — they stink!”

“Red-haired devils…”

Zhang Zhiwei was momentarily taken aback before recalling the term’s meaning: originally referring to Dutch colonists, later generalized to all foreigners.

Was his master avoiding seeing foreigners?

Recalling the clerk’s description, Zhang Zhiwei understood immediately.

First class was for the rich and noble, mostly foreigners or officials steeped in feudal remnants.

Both groups looked down on ordinary people.

Especially the foreigners, who often called China the “sick man of Asia.”

With their Daoist robes and long hair, Zhang Jingqing and he would certainly draw hostile attention, judgment, and ridicule.

As the saying goes, “One who wields a sharp weapon naturally harbors murderous intent.” If the mockery was directed at himself, Zhang Zhiwei might not care much.

But if his master was insulted, he might not hold back and could retaliate fiercely.

Thinking this over, Zhang Zhiwei said, “Most of those red-haired devils probably have body odor and cover it up with perfume. If they gather in groups, the smell must be unbearable. Master, your wisdom is truly impressive!”

Zhang Jingqing squinted and gave him a sharp look. “If you say any more nonsense, I’ll use the Dragon-Chasing Jade Talisman on you and throw you right into the midst of those red-haired devils to experience it for yourself!”

Zhang Zhiwei: “…………”

The Dragon-Chasing Jade Talisman was a mystical charm enhancing one’s sense of smell to that of a dog’s.

If one were plunged into a place filled with overwhelming body odor and perfume…

Zhang Zhiwei shivered. Normally, the scent of strong perfume made him sneeze, let alone with heightened olfactory senses mixed with body odor.

He immediately resolved to behave himself, keep silent, close his eyes, and meditate quietly.

Before long, the train arrived.

Passengers boarded the various carriages in turn.

As he boarded, Zhang Zhiwei glanced at the first and third class cars.

The first class carriage was shortest, just as he had guessed. Most passengers wore Western suits and carried canes.

There were also some in long robes and traditional jackets.

These people looked down on everyone but lowered their heads before the foreigners.

The third class carriage was the longest and most crowded, packed like sardines—reminding Zhang Zhiwei of Indian trains from later times.

Satisfied, he looked away.

He and Zhang Jingqing took window seats side by side.

Opposite them sat a young couple with a baby.

Soon, with the clattering sounds of the train starting up, the baby began to cry incessantly, much to the annoyance of nearby passengers.

The couple apologized sincerely while trying their best to soothe the child.

But none of this disturbed Zhang Zhiwei and Zhang Jingqing. The master and disciple sat cross-legged in their cushioned seats, focusing on meditation and cultivating their inner energy—true Daoist sages.

The couple, after calming the baby, came over to chat.

“The child is on his first train ride and is a bit restless. Sorry to disturb your cultivation,” the man said.

“No trouble at all,” Zhang Jingqing smiled.

“May I ask which sect you Daoists belong to?” the man inquired.

“We are disciples of the Zhengyi Sect from Mount Longhu,” Zhang Jingqing replied.

“Ah, so you’re Daoists from the Celestial Master Mansion!” The couple beamed with joy and hurriedly offered two silver dollars to Zhang Jingqing.

She waved them away, “Kind benefactors, we are monks. We accept fate, not money.”