At that time there weren’t as many trains as there are now, and besides Unit 701 was based in an out-of-the-way little rural county, a backwater – until our work unit moved out there, they didn’t even have a train station. Every day the trains just went through with a whistle; they were not willing to stop. Unlike buses, trains are proud creatures: they don’t halt when they see people. Of course, it depends on what kind of person you are; for a member of Unit 701, trains go when you want them to and stop when you say so. If there isn’t a track, then one has to be laid; if there isn’t a platform, then one has to be built. That’s why after our arrival at that rural backwater trains had to stop there. There was only one direct service a day from Beijing Main Train Station though, and it didn’t stop for long, just three minutes. That train left at eleven o’clock in the morning. Because Huang Yiyi didn’t want to go with me, it took ages to get her ready and she kept being tiresome: one minute she wanted to do one thing, the next she wanted to see so-and-so – anyway, what with one thing and another we were delayed. The train left at eleven, and on the stroke of eleven we were running for the platform. Like I say, trains aren’t like buses: you can’t yell at them to stop. The train was deaf – even as I yelled, it started gathering speed as it pulled out of the station. I could see carriage after carriage speeding past me as it left the platform, each of the windows packed with black heads, and I was so furious that if I could have ripped up the tracks, I would have done!