They were close to a two-hour train journey.
After all, you couldn't expect old railway lines, older than Gu Tongxiang, to run at the speeds of modern trains.
It could still operate every half hour without fail.
That was no small miracle.
I don't know if the 1000 Myanmar Kyat ticket for a first-class compartment was beyond most ordinary people's purchasing power.
Or if the station master treated him as the nephew of Chen Shenglin, specially clearing out the compartment to curry favor with Gu Weijing, leaving only their group in this sunlit, tranquil old room.
Upon boarding.
The staff thoughtfully provided a lily set meal—a plate of stir-fried beef with celery and lilies around which flies buzzed, accompanied by a pot of instant coffee in a chipped, paint-shedding thermos.
On such an outdated train, there was actually a small dining car.
The lily set meal was for first-class passengers, while the local rose-brand cookies set meal was for second and third-class compartments.
