原文：
火车嘶哑而尖厉地叫了一声,轰隆轰隆靠了站,身后扬起一阵雪末的粉尘。这是一列从北京直达沈城的特快,夜晚从北京站口出发时漫天大雪已经开始落下,经过八百公里地的疾驰穿越广阔的华北和东北平原,终于在黎明天色微蒙之际滑进市区。车轮有节奏地咣当咣当地在铁轨上敲打,一车的旅客都坠入似梦非醒的昏睡。雪花飘舞,大地沉寂。古老的山川、树木、河流以及寥廓无垠的天庭,都在暗夜里静静地幽暗青蓝,闪出一种动人的暗紫色。漫天浮动的雪光灯影,倏忽照亮后世前尘,也足以令人忘却现世今生。雪霰洗拂不尽老高梦里的尘埃,相反,在他一夜失重的感伤忧惧中,梦,却像一群忽忽悠悠的棉花,将他浑身上下围裹得紧紧匝匝。
火车进入市区时大概是清晨七点钟的光景,整座城市仍笼罩在一片清寂之中。进站的笛声给冻了两冻,再叫出来时尾音就淌出了大鼻涕, “呜——嗷”“呜——嗷”,叫出了几声东北大碴子味儿。老高一脚从车厢脚踏板上下来,一股子冷气“吱溜”一下钻进裤腿儿,裤子霎时间就给打透了,衣服成了摆设,简直就像是浑身光不出溜地站在雪地中。北风烟雪小刀片一般迎面割来,刷的一下,脸颊和嘴唇就给冻肿。老高心里边的后悔这时就像一口黏痰,忽地一下子涌了上来,却又堵在嗓子眼儿的某个部位,吐也吐不出来,吞又吞咽不下去。这个季节,东北天寒地冻的十一月份,就连鸟儿都知道要飞往南方。老高却架不住老歪的撺掇,八百多公里地从京城赶往冰天雪地的沈城,为的就是参加个老同学二十周年聚会。
译文：
A whistle's shrill scream announced that the Special Express to Shenyang had arrived in a swirling cloud of white powder. Later that evening when it pulled out, thick heavy snow was drifting down from an unbroken Beijing sky; 800 kilometers later, after plowing through the never-ending North and Northeast China plains, the train met up with the murky daylight again as it chugged into downtown Shenyang. Entranced by the rhythm of the wheels clicking on the rails, passengers had dozed off, lethargically falling into their private worlds. Snowflakes danced wildly in the wind, and the land became desolately silent. The ancient mountains and rivers, the towering trees, and the endless sky loomed dark-green in the still of the gloomy night. The engine's headlight searched its way through swirling snowflakes, seeking out the life ahead, bringing illumination to the past, and soothing its passengers into releasing their current worries. Yet the pure snow could do little to erase the grime that clogged Gao's dreams. A succession of fogs, thick with sorrow and apprehension, held him captive with relentless memories that floated all the night.
When the train rolled into Shenyang around seven the next morning, the city was still enveloped in chilly silence. The whistle seemed to have frozen, its last call trailing off as if it was blowing its nose. The moment Sui Zhigao got off the train, a gust of chilly air rushed up his trouser legs and his clothes instantly became useless decorations; he felt naked statue in the snow. Misty snowflakes, driven by the north wind, pierced his face like razors, and in seconds his cheeks and lips were numb with the biting cold. Instantly, he kicked himself for taking this trip, feeling as if he had something trapped in his throat yet was unable to swallow or spit. In November, particularly in freezing Northeastern China, even birds would instinctively fly south to escape the cold. Yet, Sui Zhigao, unable to resist Lao Wai's pestering, had journeyed northward over 800 kilometers to snowbound Shenyang, for no more reason than to attend the twentieth anniversary of his university graduation.