73: Chapter 73 Connecting the Way: The Sound of Reading in the Mountains and 5G Signals

Mengneng County was a remote mountain settlement over a hundred kilometers away from Pangkham.

In the past, whenever this place was mentioned, outsiders only had two words for it: poor and chaotic. With its towering mountains and dense forests where the mist never dispersed year-round, it used to be a natural shield for drug traffickers to hide their filth, and a 'blood bank' for warlords to press-gang recruits.

The villagers had lived in these mountains for generations without ever leaving. They were illiterate, and besides growing poppies to trade for a bit of salt, they simply waited for the day they might be killed by a stray bullet.

But today, it seemed that the root of this thousand-year poverty was finally being pulled up.

In the early morning, as milky mountain mist still swirled around the treetops, the area beneath the century-old banyan tree at the village entrance—said to possess a spirit—was already as bustling as a market fair.

Originally, it had been hung with hunters' dried animal skins and bones of unknown creatures, exuding a sense of savagery.

But now, that dilapidated sight was gone, replaced by a newly painted primary school with snow-white walls.

The school was not large, even a bit crude, but against the backdrop of the surrounding blackened stilt houses, it looked as magnificent as a palace. The flagpole stood straight, and a brand-new flag of the Kokang Autonomous Region snapped in the morning breeze; its vibrant red color pierced through the grayness of the mountains.

"a——o——e——" "b——p——m——f——"

The crisp, childish, and slightly unpracticed sound of reading pierced through the damp morning mist and echoed over the village.

To the old folks in the village squatting against the wall to soak up the sun, this sound was even more pleasant and sacred than the chanting of monks in a temple.

In the classroom, a dozen or so half-grown children sat upright before new wooden desks that emitted a fresh, woody scent.

They wore the uniformly issued blue and white school uniforms. Although a bit oversized, the clothes were washed clean, with no patches and no mud splatters.

The children's eyes were wide round, staring fixedly at the blackboard as if afraid of missing some precious treasure.

On the podium, a young female teacher who had come from Yunnan, Longguo, to support education, tied her hair in a ponytail. Holding half a piece of chalk, she was writing pinyin on the blackboard stroke by stroke. Chalk dust danced in the sunbeams, like specks of hope.

Outside the window, several old people with headscarves and faces wrinkled like old tree bark were squatting there, eavesdropping. Their faces were smiling like blooming chrysanthemums, and even though they only had a few teeth left, they couldn't close their mouths from smiling.

"Listen, everyone listen! This is authentic Longguo language!" The village chief puffed on the old dry tobacco pipe that had been with him for decades, exhaled a cloud of blue smoke, and looked smug. "The cadres who came from Pangkham a few days ago said that Chairman Zhang calls this... what was it... 'Mandarin'! Once they learn this, our children will be able to walk out of this poor mountain gully in the future, go to Pangkham, or even go to work and do business in Longguo. They will be educated people! They won't have to be like us, scratching a living from the dirt!"

"Yes," an old woman with one blind eye beside him wiped her moist eyes. "In the past, our children here did nothing but herd cattle or help drug traffickers harvest poppies; their lives were as cheap as grass. It's better now; not only is the school free, but I heard they even give the children milk and eggs at noon, calling it some 'nutritious lunch.' In this lifetime, I truly never expected to live to see the day things got better."

Education was the century-long plan set by Zhang Cheng, and it was also the most thorough method of 'de-narcotization.' He had slammed the table at a meeting: "Put pens into the children's hands, and they will never pick up guns again!"

Meanwhile, in the center of Pangkham, a silent 'integration' was also underway, and at an astonishing speed.

Beside the old post office, which was originally dilapidated, with peeling walls and only a few empty frames left, a brand-new blue and white sign appeared overnight, as if by magic: "Kokang Autonomous Region Power Company (State Grid Technical Operation)."

Under this sign, a service commitment was written in both Chinese and Burmese: 24/7 power supply, transparent pricing, and fair dealing for all, young and old.

Early in the morning, a long line had formed at the door. In the queue were locals wearing longyis, as well as businesspeople speaking with various accents.

Uncle Yanwen clutched the clearly printed electricity bill in his hand, his palms sweating. He felt nervous and curious, and even a little afraid.

Paying electricity bills in the past? That was simply a nightmare! Soldiers carrying guns would kick the door open—that kick could crack the door panel. They wouldn't even check the meter; they would just demand thousands of Burmese Kyat. If you didn't pay? They would smash things, cut the power, or even take you away. Where was there any bill? Where was there any reason to be reasoned with?

"Next!"

Behind the bulletproof glass, a local girl in a uniform called out in fluent Chinese, her voice as sweet as honey.

Uncle Yanwen quickly wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers, stepped forward, and handed the bill and a stack of money he had prepared in advance inside. He had specifically exchanged for Renminbi, having heard that paying with Longguo money could get a discount. In this region now, Renminbi was much more useful than the worthless Burmese Kyat.

"Uncle, you used 120 kilowatt-hours of electricity last month. According to the residential electricity standard, it's 0.5 yuan per kilowatt-hour, totaling 60 yuan." The girl's fingers tapped rapidly on the keyboard, and clear numbers appeared on the computer screen. "You gave one hundred, here is forty back. This is your receipt, please keep it safe."

"Re... receipt?" Uncle Yanwen was stunned. He took the slip of paper with the red stamp, his hand trembling slightly. In his entire life, he had never seen the authorities give a receipt when collecting money.

"Is that... it? No need to pay any... maintenance fees, service fees? Or that... tea money for the soldiers?" He asked tentatively, his voice very low, fearing he might offend someone.

The girl smiled, revealing a row of neat white teeth, her smile full of confidence: "Uncle, what you're talking about is ancient history! Now it's Chairman Zhang in charge. We are under formal management and only collect electricity fees. Charging even a penny extra would mean going to jail! If you don't want to use cash, next time we can help you set up a card; you can just swipe it or pay with your phone. It's very convenient!"

"Hey! Hey! Good! That's good!" Uncle Yanwen clutched the receipt as if it were a family heirloom, walking out of the hall in a daze. As the sun shone on his face, he felt that even the sky looked bluer than before.

He wasn't in a hurry to go home; he still had his old, broken mobile phone in his pocket that he had used for several years. Following the flow of people, he wandered over to another newly opened store next door—the "Pangkham Mobile Communications Business Hall."

The store was even more crowded, as if things were being given away for free. Rows of brand-new smartphones were displayed on the counters—the latest Huawei and Xiaomi from Longguo. The screens were dazzlingly bright, making one's eyes spin.

"Uncle, do you want to look at phones or set up a card?" A spirited young man approached him, wearing a name tag on his chest.

Uncle Yanwen took out his old phone, its screen cracked like a spiderweb, a bit embarrassed: "I... I just want to ask, that... that Douyin app that all the Longguo people are playing with, can I watch it too? I want to see... the world outside."

"Of course! Absolutely!" The young man enthusiastically took his phone and glanced at it. "Uncle, this card of yours won't work; it needs to be changed. Our base stations now were all built overnight with help from the Longguo side. We have full 4G coverage, and there's even 5G in the core area of Pangkham! The speed is lightning fast! Come, let me set you up with a 'China-Myanmar Connection' package. It has plenty of data and isn't expensive. Watching videos won't lag at all; it's the same speed as in Longguo!"

A few minutes later, Uncle Yanwen stood at the street corner, holding his newly purchased thousand-yuan phone. He clumsily swiped open the screen, and the familiar black musical note icon slowly pulsed. Immediately after, a dynamic piece of music and a clear, smooth video popped up—it was a Longguo internet celebrity dancing, with a background of skyscrapers.

There was no stuttering, no buffering circles; the picture was so clear that one could even count the eyelashes of the girl in the video.

He grinned, revealing a mouthful of smoke-stained yellow teeth. As he scrolled through the videos, watching all the strange and fascinating things, he felt as if he was no longer separated from this vibrant world by those mountains.

Banking, electricity, telecommunications, education... these infrastructure systems, which were once tools for warlords to amass wealth or simply did not exist, were now, with an unstoppable momentum, fully aligning with Longguo standards.