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Departing at 4:25 pm on July 25, 1985, I took a civil aviation Duyin 707 flight from Beijing to Chengdu. The journey was sunny and windy, but as I entered Sichuan, clouds and fog began to form. When I arrived in the sky above Chengdu, there was already a thick fog outside the window, which seemed to be rolling towards the plane with countless traps. I was panicking and secretly prayed for the Buddha's blessing. The plane seemed to be spiraling down, then finally took off twice and landed. Several foreigners clapped their hands, but the Chinese just heaved a sigh of relief. The road from the airport into the city is lush and green, with snacks along the way. After getting off the bus, it took a lot of trouble to find a place to stay. When you asked for directions, you were given random directions. The tricycle driver followed you all the way on an open tricycle, speaking Chengdu dialect with a heavy drawl, ranging from enthusiasm to sarcasm. We were unfazed and in a good mood. The bus stop sign is very high. The girls on the street are just scenery.