The Badain Jaran Desert sits at an average elevation of fifteen hundred meters. The temperature swings between day and night are enormous—hot enough to cause heat stroke during the day, and sometimes snowflakes drift down at night. It has the rippled pattern of ocean waves; at first glance it shimmers and undulates like light on water, yet it is in truth a parched sea of sand.

Once night fell, visibility was poor, and everyone drove very slowly, scanning the ground for any litter that might indicate the three students had passed through. They took turns driving through the first half of the night; in the second half, to ensure search efficiency the following day, they had no choice but to make do sleeping in their vehicles until dawn.

There were some plastic wrappers along the way—mineral water bottles, instant noodles, crackers, tissues, all manner of things—but none of it could be confirmed as belonging to the students. Old Wang said that the first time he took clients through the desert on the standard route, he’d borrowed a GPS for navigation and still taken a wrong turn. He worried that even if the students had brought a GPS, they might have wasted a lot of ground going the wrong way.

Ba Yunye woke up in the middle of the night from the cold, and found that on top of the blanket covering her was Diao Zhuo’s jacket. She turned her head—his seatback was reclined and he was also resting. He’d given her his jacket and had only a military blanket pulled over himself; she couldn’t tell whether he was cold.

She was tough, but not because she had never known warmth—she could tell good from bad. It was simply that other people’s warmth had always been too brief. Only one’s own strength could keep a person undefeated, and kept them from being easily constrained.

She lit up her phone to check the time: half past three in the morning. All was still, save for the thousand miles of starlight beyond the window—shared with him alone, on this night.

When out in the field, Diao Zhuo always slept lightly. The brief flicker of light beside him was enough to wake him.

“So sensitive…” Ba Yunye switched off her phone screen with a soft laugh.

“What are you thinking about at this hour?”

“Contemplating the cosmos and the meaning of life.”

Diao Zhuo knew full well her habit of talking complete nonsense. “And what conclusions did you reach?”

“There are so many stars tonight. Tomorrow will be a fine day.”

“I thought you’d been contemplating long enough to compose an epic poem. If not that, you could at least recite one.”

“Oh, I can recite one. Listen—By my bed, the bright moon—”

“Don’t open with anything about beds.”

Ba Yunye paused. “Then a different one… erm… I raise my head to gaze at the bright moon, I lower it and think of home.”

That’s still the same poem!

He reached out, found her hand in the dark, and held it. Her five fingers were ice cold.

Feeling the warmth of his palm, Ba Yunye gave a small surprised laugh. “You gave away your jacket and you’re not even a little cold.”

“It seems the jacket was useless for you anyway. I might as well take it back.” Diao Zhuo’s voice held a trace of hoarseness.

“No.” She pressed her advantage shamelessly. “Since you know one jacket isn’t enough, you should have taken off every piece of clothing you have and given them all to me.”

Diao Zhuo let out a thoroughly insincere laugh. “You might as well ask me to go pluck a star from the sky—I’d sooner agree to that.”

“Then go pluck me a star.”

“Alright.”

“And then?” Ba Yunye waited for what came next.

“I just said yes, didn’t I?”

“Is that all?”

Another utterly insincere laugh from him.

Ba Yunye closed her eyes, ready to go back to sleep, when he asked quietly: “If you weren’t out driving, would you really want to find a guesthouse somewhere and settle in as its owner?”

“Hmm?” Caught off guard by the question, she was momentarily at a loss. She thought for a long time, then gave a definitive sound of agreement.

“Where would this guesthouse be?”

“By the Erhai Lake, I suppose,” she said offhandedly, then waved a hand. “Actually, that’s just a pipe dream. Do you have any idea how expensive that area is? There’d be renovations, staff to hire… how many years would I have to drive to save enough? Besides, driving is a young person’s trade. For me—ten years? Twenty? It couldn’t possibly last that long. And I’m not fit for much else, so I’ve been learning some of Long Ge’s skills for running a guesthouse. One day, when I’ve saved enough, I’ll look around. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you going to stay put and work steadily until retirement?”

Diao Zhuo rubbed his eyes, pressing his hand over them. The question genuinely perplexed him. “Not necessarily.”

“Why not join our convoy?” Ba Yunye was suddenly wide awake, eyes wide with the idea. But the moment the words left her mouth, she laughed at herself. “Never mind—that would be a waste of your talent. A man of Team Leader Diao’s caliber really ought to stay in an important position and make his contribution to the country.”

“Is that sarcasm?”

“Genuinely meant.” She said. “If my older sister were still here, she’d probably be on the front lines too.”

“What was your older sister like?”

“Hardworking, conscientious. Not great with words, but with a very good heart—a slow-tempered person. Ba Yuanzhang—that’s our institute director—used to say that if someone insulted her, she might not think of a comeback for several hours. Nothing like me. She was a good student from a young age, and she always told the rest of us that education was our only way out.” Ba Yunye gave a soft laugh and repeated the words: “Ha… our only way out…”

Diao Zhuo was silent for a moment, thoughtful.

As drowsiness crept in, Ba Yunye clasped Diao Zhuo’s hand tightly, turned onto her side, her eyelids growing heavier, and drifted off to sleep again with her head tilted to one side.

The next morning, the sky was overcast and gloomy. As noon approached, the sky darkened further, and a layer of yellow haze had already risen in the distance. It was precisely at this moment that the sharp-eyed Ba Yunye spotted an empty mineral water bottle planted upside down in the sand, with some colorful bits of packaging stuffed inside.

“Long Ge, the sandstorm is almost on top of us—what is Ba Yunye going down there for?!” Hippo said, pointing ahead.

“Looks like she found something.” Long Ge opened his car door. “Let’s go see.”

Pulling out the bottle, they found that in addition to cracker wrappers, there was also a black hair tie inside. Looking closely, they could see several long strands of hair wound around it. Ba Yunye dug deeper and found a box from a packet of Huoxiang Zhengqi medicinal water—judging by how little wear the surface showed, it was still relatively new, meaning it had been discarded no more than a few days ago.

She worked the hair tie out, pinched one end of the strands of hair, and slowly drew them out in full. They turned out to be quite long—evidence that the owner of the hair tie had a flowing head of long hair.

Everyone had photos of the missing students on their phones. Comparing them, they confirmed that Meng Xiao’ai indeed had hair of that length, and that she had also dyed it.

“This must have been left by the students as a trail marker for rescue workers, in case something happened to them along the way—though we still don’t know what route they took.” Diao Zhuo held the mineral water bottle, feeling equal measures of relief and worry in his heart. The students had been safe and clear-headed when they passed through here, at the very least—and the fact that the Huoxiang Zhengqi packaging had been left alongside the bottle indicated that Meng Xiao’ai was likely suffering from heat stroke.

It was fortunate they had arrived first. Otherwise, once the sandstorm hit, the empty bottle could easily have been swallowed beneath the sand.

Long Ge gazed into the murky distance of the horizon. “They chose to leave objects as signals—on one hand, because they didn’t yet feel things were critical; on the other, they still intended to press on with the crossing. They just wanted to leave themselves a lifeline.”

Diao Zhuo turned to Long Ge: “At a pace of four kilometers per hour, walking straight through from Guriyai to the destination—how many days would that take them?”

Long Ge made a rough internal calculation. “If it were me, at least seven or eight days—and that’s with sufficient water, no injuries, and no heat stroke. For them to have made it this far would have taken around three or four days. But it looks like the girl has already developed heat stroke, so the second half of the journey will be even slower.”

The sky was darkening by the minute, the cloud cover lower and more turbid than before a heavy downpour. Ba Yunye could already feel the sharp wind, laden with fine sand, slapping against her face. “It’s been almost six days since they entered the desert…”

Xiao’ai got sand in her eyes and tears poured out involuntarily; it took several rubs before they cleared. And oddly enough, even those few tears—she felt almost reluctant to shed them.

The more she tried to ration her water intake, the less she was able to control her thirst—especially under this relentless blazing sun. To reach the end of the desert sooner, Zhang Tian’en had cut back on rest time: only three hours of rest during the day, and only five hours of sleep at night.

The sand dunes were endless, each one over a hundred meters high and some reaching as tall as two hundred. Everyone’s hiking boots were constantly flooded with sand; when they took them off to look, the tread on the forefoot of the soles had been completely worn smooth by the sand.

Xiao’ai suffered another bout of heat stroke, her need for water more desperate than ever. She had drunk through all of her own supply, and Zhe Ming, gritting his teeth, gave her his water too, leaving himself so parched his throat felt like it was on fire—every word he spoke cut like a blade.

Zhang Tian’en wasn’t doing much better. He was only urinating once a day, and what came out was a deep yellow. He couldn’t fathom how, with daily water intake falling so far short, his body could still produce any fluid for excretion at all.

During the midday rest, both of the young men stripped down and furiously dug pits, burying their bodies in the cooler sand beneath the surface—which brought some relief. Zhe Ming dozed off and dreamed he was swimming in the ocean, and though there was not a single girl in a bikini in sight, as far as the eye could see, there was row upon row of ice cream parlors.

Xiao’ai was a girl and couldn’t lie bare the way the two of them could. She was weak and limp all over, her face flushed deep red, though her lips had gone pale. She drifted in and out of consciousness and seemed to see Zhang Tian’en and Zhe Ming walking away from her, their figures growing smaller and smaller in the distance. She called out to them but neither turned around, and she could no longer tell whether this was a dream or reality.

“Xiao’ai… wake up, we need to go.” It sounded like Zhe Ming’s voice. “The sky has turned weirdly dark for some reason. Tian’en says something isn’t right…”

“Don’t go… wait for me… don’t leave me…”

“What do we do—she seems to be… running a fever. She’s burning up!” Zhe Ming said frantically.

Zhang Tian’en reached out and touched Xiao’ai’s forehead. It was indeed very hot. He went and dug up a good amount of cool but dry sand, wrapped it in his buff neck gaiter, and placed it on Xiao’ai’s head.

“How far are we from the freshwater lake?” Zhe Ming asked.

“Should be a bit more than thirty kilometers still.”

“Give me some water.” Zhe Ming held out his hand.

Zhang Tian’en froze. “You two… don’t you still have two or three bottles left?”

“We finished them.”

Zhang Tian’en felt as if a thunderbolt had exploded directly above his head, blasting his very soul apart.

“What did you just say!”

Zhe Ming lowered his head. “We drank through both of our supplies.”

Zhang Tian’en fell into silence. A long moment passed—then the veins at his temple suddenly bulged, and he bellowed with every ounce of strength he had: “Are you out of your minds! When did you drink it all?! How could you dare finish the water! Do you know at our current pace it will take us at least two more days to reach the freshwater lake on the map?! And that’s only if we don’t take a single wrong turn! Two days! And you have no water left now! What were you thinking?! What were you thinking?! Are you trying to die?!!”

Xiao’ai was jolted awake by his shouting, and stared at them with her mouth open. Her lips had cracked and bled as well. “Zhe Ming… I’m so thirsty. I want water…”

Zhang Tian’en sprang to his feet and walked away, each step as if landing on a landmine. He needed every last shred of willpower he possessed to keep himself from turning around and throwing a punch at Zhe Ming.

“Tian’en!” Zhe Ming called after him. “Just lend us a little water—give some to Xiao’ai, she…”

“Where was this concern before?!!” Zhang Tian’en roared.

“You said we were almost at the freshwater lake.”

“We’re not there yet! What did you drink for?!! In a rush to meet your maker, are you?! Got a number queued up with the King of Hell?! About to be called?! Didn’t you say you’d consider yourself lower than dirt if you took one more sip?! Well, congratulations—you’re lower than dirt! Damn you and everyone who came before you!” Zhang Tian’en, in that moment, looked like a raving, cursing wreck, but he was past caring.

No wonder the two of them hadn’t complained of thirst for so long—they had secretly drunk through at least three days’ worth of water in a single day. He should never have told them about the freshwater lake!

“Just give us a little,” Zhe Ming said, looking at him imploringly. Right now, Zhang Tian’en was the only one with water, and only a fool would refuse to lower his head. “We’ve got all the time in the world ahead of us—when we get out, I’ll repay you with a full case, ten cases if you want.”

Zhang Tian’en was incandescent with fury. He locked eyes with Zhe Ming, his fists clenched so tightly that his uncut nails drove deep into his palms—yet he felt no pain. Any small mistake during an off-grid wilderness crossing could snowball until it crushed you, and Zhang Tian’en’s mistake had been agreeing to let the two of them come along in the first place. Their reckless behavior had now forced him to pay the price—and in the desert, that price was fresh water, which was worth nearly as much as life itself.

This situation was already bad enough, and Zhang Tian’en had no idea how to handle it. Then, on the distant horizon, a roiling yellow haze began to rise. His heart lurched—surely not…

“A sandstorm…”

“A sandstorm?! What do we do!” At the possibility of a sandstorm, Zhe Ming was terrified, and nearly forgot he’d even been asking for water.

Zhang Tian’en looked at him now and found fault with everything about him. Then, unbidden, a voice surfaced in his mind—Don’t tell him what to do. Better he dies in the sandstorm. The water would be yours. And so would Xiao’ai.

The thought startled even himself.

During the summer break, when he had been researching all the guides and trip reports about the desert, he had come across a passage written by another traveler:

The desert appears to hold nothing, yet it is a jungle of the senses—it strips away all artifice, leaving only the unbroken dunes and the shifting sky. In the open expanse, light and shadow fill the space alongside curves that formed without human hand, stirring by force of synesthesia thoughts of all that is boundless—time that has passed, the murk and obscurity within human nature.

More terrible than starvation is dehydration. More terrible than dehydration is… human nature.

Among the three of them, there was now only one bottle of water left.

“We should… run…” Xiao’ai forced herself upright, her whole body burning, her eyes bloodshot red. But the moment she steadied herself, she collapsed to the ground again.

“Xiao’ai…” Zhang Tian’en stepped forward to catch her, his gaze filled with too much to name.

“Tian’en, that sandstorm…”

“We get inside the tent, that’s all—but watch how the sand piles up around it. A sandstorm can last who knows how long. If too much sand builds up on the windward side and the pressure caves the tent in, that’s a real possibility.” Zhang Tian’en gritted his teeth and said, “Best not to step outside the tent at all. If you absolutely have to go out, wrap a piece of clothing over your head. Even if the sand is pelting your skull and it hurts, do not lift the cloth!”

He’d learned that from Bear Grylls’s Man vs. Wild—never tested it himself, but it was the only option. He trusted Bear Grylls far more than he trusted the couple standing in front of him right now.

“The water…” Zhe Ming still wasn’t ready to let it go.

“Once the sandstorm passes, we’ll figure it out.” Zhang Tian’en said, his face grim.

Zhe Ming’s expression shifted, but with the sandstorm nearly upon them, it was no time to argue. Only—as he rummaged for something to cover his head, he glanced at Tian’en, then at Xiao’ai, and his mouth drew down at the corners, as if something were quietly unsettling him.