(1)

Ke Lie was a remarkable creature with a compass embedded in his very soul — as long as he was around, there was never any danger of getting lost. Lian Kai had once joked that the kid’s cerebral cortex must be etched with latitudinal and longitudinal lines, his very cells arranged in orderly rows from south to north.

When the yak carcass was being dealt with, Lian Kai did not allow Wen Xia to get out of the vehicle. She watched from inside by the light of the headlamps as Ke Lie poured nearly half a jerrycan of gasoline over the body, while Li Zechuan lowered his head to light a cigarette, took a single draw, and then tossed that faint, flickering ember onto the gasoline-drenched carcass.

The flames erupted in an instant — a vast and ferocious flower blooming in the sand-laden night wind, an innocent life sleeping peacefully at its heart.

Nuobu wore a look of dazed confusion. He leaned close to Ke Lie and asked in a hushed voice: “Brother Ke Lie, why on earth did that wild yak block our path?”

Ke Lie glanced over at Li Zechuan. Li Zechuan stared at the fire as it burned ever fiercer, and said: “It was being hunted and driven. It came to us for help.”

Nuobu let out a soft sound of understanding, the bridge of his nose prickling faintly.

The raging sand and swirling ash merged together, sketching out a bleakness that seemed to pierce the very heavens. Wen Xia watched as four figures stood shoulder to shoulder like a city wall. Li Zechuan was the first to raise his hand, fingers sliding to the edge of his brow in a solemn salute.

A vulture shrieked as it swept across that ancient sky. Wen Xia could not make out the expression on Li Zechuan’s face, yet she felt, with inexplicable certainty, that his eyes must be bright — as though harbouring a great fire within, burning eternally in the dark.

By the time they returned to the protection station, it was already the middle of the night. The four forest rangers huddled together and held an impromptu meeting.

The situation had changed. Li Zechuan directed Lian Kai and Zhaxi to remain at the station together and conduct separate interrogations of the two Khampa men they had brought back — they absolutely had to extract something useful from them.

Zhaxi raised an eyebrow and smiled, flashing a set of fine white teeth. “Rest easy,” he said.

The remaining members were to rise at six the next morning to take stock of their supplies, and set out at half past six sharp for Kekexili.

After precisely synchronising their watches, the meeting dispersed on the spot.

Wen Xia had gone without food the entire day and had endured what amounted to a wild taxi chase on top of that; her complexion had gone green enough to press juice from. She shuffled listlessly towards the dormitory. Li Zechuan was perched on the bonnet of the Humvee, one long leg propped up at an angle, pulling off his tactical gloves and giving them a little wave in her direction.

Wen Xia’s eyes were full of wariness. “I don’t have the energy to argue with you right now,” she said. “It would be best to keep a safe distance between us.”

Li Zechuan gave a brief smile, reached out, grabbed Wen Xia by the collar, and walked her in the direction of the kitchen. Wen Xia was short with small steps; she stumbled at the sudden tug and began babbling in a chaotic jumble: “Let go! I’ve had training too, you know! If you dare act improperly again, I’ll show you what it means to have a ‘fist the size of a sandbag’!”

Li Zechuan deposited Wen Xia beside the kitchen stove, turned around, cracked two eggs, chopped a handful of spring onions, and produced — as if by magic — two steaming bowls of noodle soup.

Wen Xia’s mouth watered as she pointed at her own nose. “Is that for me?”

Li Zechuan teased her, shaking his head. “For Yuanbao.”

Wen Xia gave a scoffing sound, snatched one of the bowls, and buried her head in eating. The two of them crouched side by side in front of the stove, heads nearly touching. Li Zechuan stirred the contents of his bowl with his chopsticks a couple of times and said: “Skipping meals is not a good habit. Hunger combined with altitude sickness — within a few days a person just falls apart. You don’t want to be carried out of the protection station on a stretcher, do you?”

Wen Xia bit down on her chopstick and gave a sly grin. “One moment you’re urging me to leave at the earliest opportunity, the next you’re telling me to eat properly and take care of my health — Officer Li, the people have their suspicions that you may have a split personality!”

Li Zechuan bent his head over his noodles and gave no reply, taking the opportunity to transfer all his own egg and vegetables into Wen Xia’s bowl, fearing she might be short on vitamins.

Wen Xia could not help but laugh. “You say one thing and do another, Officer Li. Acting this way — saying the opposite of what you mean — at your age! If I were your mother, I would—”

The word “mother” had barely left her lips when Wen Xia realised she had stepped on forbidden ground. She stopped awkwardly, her expression lost and at a loss.

Li Zechuan pretended not to have heard, wolfed down his noodles with a loud clatter, then set his bowl and chopsticks down in front of Wen Xia. “I cook,” he said. “You wash up. A pleasant partnership.”

Wen Xia bit her chopstick and sneaked a cautious glance at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

Li Zechuan’s face showed no particular expression. He stood up. “It’s all in the past. There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

Wen Xia reached out and caught his sleeve, looking up into his eyes. “Since it’s all in the past,” she said softly, “when do you plan to start a new life?”

Li Zechuan turned and walked out, speaking as he went. “What do you mean, a new life? Isn’t this pretty good, the way things are now?”

Wen Xia’s voice followed from behind, relentless as a stubborn little squirrel: “Li Zechuan, you can fool others but you can’t fool me. You have trapped yourself in the shadow of the past — imprisoned yourself, sealed yourself off. That is not the behaviour of a courageous person. It is cowardice. At its very core, you are a selfish, cowardly person who frightens easily. But even so, I still love you.”

Li Zechuan’s footsteps faltered. He heard the trembling in Wen Xia’s voice. That trembling voice spoke each word distinctly: “I said — no matter what you become, I will go on loving you. I am willing to endure the darkest nights by your side. And if the dawn is long in coming, I am willing to be your sun.”

His steps paused — only for a moment — and then he walked on without looking back.

After washing the dishes and drying her hands, Wen Xia fished a professional textbook from her luggage and knocked on the door of the duty room with an air of affected seriousness.

Li Zechuan was sitting behind the computer, writing a report — each word and sentence coming with great difficulty. His mind flickered from time to time with memories that were not entirely pleasant, and with Wen Xia’s tear-filled eyes; the mingling of bitterness and sweetness had his thoughts thoroughly tangled.

At the knock on the door, he looked up to see Wen Xia peering in through the gap, half her face visible, her expression even more grave than the summary report on his computer screen. “My roommate’s asleep,” she said. “If I turn on the light to read, I’ll disturb her. I was hoping I could borrow your lamp for a while.”

Li Zechuan was struck by a quiet admiration — this girl had a truly remarkable ability to turn the page. In the blink of an eye she had become as if nothing had happened.

He pointed to the empty chair beside the computer desk, gesturing for her to make herself at home.

For a time, the room was filled only with the mechanical sound of keys being struck and the soft rustle of turning pages. After struggling through two lines of text, Wen Xia’s mind began to wander. She pushed her feet against the floor to slide her swivel chair, edging towards Li Zechuan little by little.

Before she could push her luck any further, Li Zechuan spoke up at the opportune moment: “Stop fidgeting. It’s noisy.”

Wen Xia gave a small cough. “I’ve just confessed my feelings to a certain someone,” she said. “Doesn’t that certain someone want to say something to me?”

Li Zechuan kept his eyes on the screen, not turning his head. “If this ‘certain someone’ refers to me — then what would you like to hear? An apology, or a word of thanks?”

Wen Xia, the veterinarian, felt her expression crumple. She held up her book to hide her face and murmured: “Perhaps you’d better not say anything at all.”

However lively one’s spirit, exhaustion will eventually win out. With the black text on white pages before her and the rhythmic percussion of keystrokes in her ears, it was not long before Wen Xia fell asleep. She rested her cheek on her arm, her long lashes lowering gently, like a butterfly settling into stillness.

Li Zechuan watched that “dark-winged butterfly” for a while, and found himself inexplicably recalling another chance encounter with Wen Xia — one that had happened after the promotional event.

(2)

It was Tao Qianqian’s birthday. She loved liveliness, and friends had gathered with friends until quite a crowd had assembled. They had reserved a table at a well-known local bar and were clamouring to drink until they dropped.

The bar had a pirate theme and was called “Sparrow” — a tribute to the legendary Captain Jack.

The décor was distinctive: the bar counter was fashioned from an old brigantine vessel, the liquor cabinet styled as a pirate’s treasure chest, the bar stools shaped like rum barrels, and a projector cast skull-and-crossbones imagery onto the floors and walls.

The deep blue of conjurer’s lanterns rippled like the stormy Caribbean Sea, their light and shadow falling across a ship’s-wheel-shaped stage, where a long-haired singer lurked in the dimness, performing Bon Jovi’s most celebrated song.

Oh she’s a little runaway No one heard a single word she said They should have seen it in your eyes What was going around your heart ……

The drinking game involved shaking dice. Wen Xia’s luck was absolutely dire — she lost every single round; a tower of empty bottles had piled up to waist-height, and her stomach was in full revolt. She turned her cup upside down to signal her surrender. She truly could not drink another drop.

A girl named Fu Yage had a score to settle with Wen Xia — there had been some unpleasantness during a group assignment — and had been biding her time, looking for an opening. Seeing Wen Xia yield, she jumped to her feet and taunted her: “Everyone else is playing. How can you be the only wet blanket? If you won’t drink, you have to accept a forfeit — do you see that table across the aisle? Go over there, pick the most handsome one out of the lot, and give him a kiss. As long as you dare to do it, I’ll drink the rest of your share.”

Wen Xia glanced over. The table across the aisle had around a dozen people gathered around it, more men than women, all dressed to impress — and none of them looked like the easy-going sort.

Tao Qianqian had long since drunk herself into a state of merriment and was busy playing a clapping game with someone else. She had no attention left to spare for Wen Xia.

Backing down in front of someone she didn’t get along with would be more painful for Wen Xia than death itself. She decisively knocked her glass on the table and smiled. “Drinking my leftovers seems rather unpleasant for you. And I find your lipstick shade garish, anyway. How about this — I give someone a kiss, and you drink three bottles straight. Do you dare?”

Fu Yage was wearing a black strapless dress, her hair in waves, lips painted red, her figure curvaceous. She laughed a little, folding her arms across her chest. “Fine by me — who’s afraid of who!”

The reason Wen Xia dared to accept this challenge — beyond Fu Yage’s talent for getting under her skin — was chiefly that she had spotted a familiar face in that crowd.

Li Zechuan was blessed with remarkable good looks; even in a crowd, he was always the most conspicuous person there.

He had a monolid eye, features as sharp-edged as a blade, like the bold, assertive strokes of a pen moving in reverse. He had dyed his hair — a pale linen grey with green-tinted undertones — and had swept all his fringe back, leaving his smooth forehead bare, a fine neck chain resting against his collarbone. He had one arm draped over the back of the sofa, his long legs crossed, his manner languid.

A girl had taken the initiative to strike up a conversation with him, deliberately leaning close to his ear. He frowned and moved aside, looking somewhat weary.

Wen Xia’s arrival drew immediate attention. A man wearing a backwards cap raised an eyebrow and asked with a smile: “Are you looking for someone, sweetheart?”

That single remark drew everyone’s gaze — including Li Zechuan’s. Wen Xia seized the moment and walked directly to him. Smiling brightly, she said: “You remember me, don’t you? We ran into each other a few days ago. I’ve been playing dice and I lost — I couldn’t keep up with the drinking either — so I promised to do something to make up for it.”

Li Zechuan made a disapproving sound. “You’re not asking for my messaging contact, are you? That’s a rather unimaginative forfeit.”

Wen Xia shook her head and pointed at the glass in his hand. It was still about a quarter full of liquor — amber-coloured, with ice cubes floating in it; it looked like whisky. “Could I have what’s left in that?” she asked.

Li Zechuan said nothing. He tipped his head back, drained the glass, and turned it upside down on the table with an expressionless face. His refusal could not have been plainer.

Someone let out a whistle, and a wave of playful jeering swept the table, punctuated with teasing: “Dachuan, you’re being way too harsh on the poor girl — what are you going to do if she cries?”

Wen Xia showed no trace of shame or displeasure. She looked at Li Zechuan with complete seriousness and pointed to the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t drink it all the way. There’s a little bit left.”

And with that, she leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth.

At the moment Wen Xia’s lips met his, Li Zechuan’s eyes flew wide open, and he forgot entirely to pull away. In that instant, he caught the faintest fragrance drifting from her hair — like violet, soft and subtle, sinking into his very lungs.

The whisky melted between them as the motion brought their lips together. It was Wen Xia’s first time drinking spirits, and it was exactly as she had imagined: fierce and burning against her throat.

A moment of silence, then another eruption of raucous noise — people hammering tables, smashing bottles, an uproarious clamour.

Wen Xia straightened up amid the whistling. Her face was slightly flushed, but her expression held not a trace of coyness. She met Li Zechuan’s eyes with perfect composure, smiling as she said: “I kissed you — that was me taking advantage of you. If you’re angry, you’re welcome to kiss me back!”

The man in the backwards cap was the most enthusiastic of all, saying with great delight: “This girl is something else! Dachuan, if I were you, I’d kiss her back!”

The people around them burst into laughter, shouting: “Kiss her back! Kiss her back!”

Li Zechuan stared at Wen Xia for what felt like a long time without finding any words. Seeing that he was silent, she took matters into her own hands: “Well, since you’re not going to kiss me back, I’d better be going!” As she spoke, she began to turn away, giving Li Zechuan a cheerful wave. “Until we meet again, photographer.”

She had only half completed the turning motion when someone behind her grabbed her wrist, taunting her: “Where does a little girl like you come from, wandering around a nightclub looking for men?”

Wen Xia startled so sharply she nearly leapt into the air. She wrenched her hand away, breaking free from the person’s grip.

Standing behind her was a man in a floral shirt, layered in so many colours he looked like a macaw parrot.

The “Parrot” grinned lewdly and gave his glass a little swirl. “He won’t buy you a drink — that just means he’s tight-fisted. Come to big brother here, and big brother will keep the drinks coming as long as you want!” As he spoke, he stretched his arm out to drape it over Wen Xia’s shoulder.

Before Wen Xia could even cry out, a figure flashed before her eyes. Someone rose from the sofa, stepped across the table, and launched himself at the “Parrot” — seizing the “Parrot’s” fingers and bending them sharply backward with the momentum of his movement.

“Aaaah!”

The “Parrot” let out a bellow of pain and swung a fist.

The figure sidestepped and simultaneously drove a kick into the “Parrot’s” side, sending him flying; the man was a long time struggling to get back up.

Only then did Wen Xia recognise clearly that the person who had leapt to her defence was Li Zechuan.

In that instant, a line from the Bible came to Wen Xia’s mind: “To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven — a time to be born, and a time to die, and a time for the heart to be moved.”

The moment Wen Xia’s heart was truly and fully moved by Li Zechuan was precisely this one.

In the midst of chaos, he descended at her side with the radiance of a guardian, and from that moment on, her world could hold no one else.

When the “Parrot” crashed to the ground, he knocked over several tables. Glasses and bottles tumbled and shattered on the floor in a cacophony of breaking. The other patrons nearby showed not the slightest alarm; instead, caught in the shifting glow of the conjurer’s lanterns, they let out wild, frenzied screams as if caught up in the spectacle.

The “Parrot” had several followers with him, and they all squared up, ready for a brawl.

Li Zechuan raised a hand and pointed at them, his eyes laden with a cold, lethal edge: “Don’t come any closer if you’re not capable enough. A broken bone hurts, no matter which one it is.”

Li Zechuan’s friends all rose to their feet as well — more than a dozen of them, clearly the larger group by far. The “Parrot’s” underlings exchanged glances with one another, and none of them dared to make the first move.

Li Zechuan inclined his head toward Wen Xia. “Go inside,” he said. “Sit beside me.”

Wen Xia nodded obediently. As she brushed past him, she grabbed hold of his sleeve and murmured: “Don’t fight. It’ll hurt your hands. You’re a photographer — your hands are important.”

Li Zechuan had a sudden urge to reach out and ruffle Wen Xia’s hair.

The “Parrot” was helped to his feet by his followers; his nose was still bleeding and he could barely stand upright. He jabbed a finger at Li Zechuan and snarled: “Surname Li, you’d better watch yourself!”

“Watch myself for you?” Li Zechuan smiled, his expression entirely contemptuous. “Watch for you to come at me on a little three-wheeled scooter? Didn’t you lose badly enough last time on the mountain road? Have you had those knocked-out teeth replaced yet? And the time before that at the archery club — who was it who boasted he’d challenge me to a competition, then wet his trousers in fright when it was time to balance an apple on his head?”

Having his old wounds laid bare in public, the “Parrot’s” face cycled between pale and red. He flailed his fists and lurched forward again. Then, without warning, a thunderous noise rang out beside his ear, and a new figure appeared — pushing the “Parrot” hard in the chest and forcing him back.

The conjurer’s lanterns swept across the newcomer: twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old, a long, narrow scar at his temple, dressed in a white athletic tracksuit.

Everyone turned to look. Someone murmured under their breath: “Guan Feng — the owner of Sparrow.”

Guan Feng stood between Li Zechuan and the “Parrot,” a cigarette held between his lips, unlit, speaking with unhurried ease: “People come out to drink for a good time. If something’s bothering you, shout it out, curse it out — why get physical? Tables and chairs can be replaced if they break, but bones, once injured, can’t just be ordered from a shop — isn’t that right?”

Guan Feng was a notorious gang leader on the bar street, and no one dared to contradict what he said.

The “Parrot” nodded vigorously. “Brother Feng is absolutely right. We got carried away — my apologies.”

Guan Feng paid him no further attention and turned to look at Li Zechuan, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Long time no see, Dachuan. You so rarely come by — why didn’t you say hello?”

Li Zechuan met his gaze calmly. “Brother Feng is a man of many important matters. I wouldn’t want to trouble you.” He glanced at Wen Xia. “Let’s go. I’ll take you home.”

Wen Xia kept her head lowered as she walked past Guan Feng. Guan Feng spoke suddenly: “Is she a new girlfriend? I’ve never seen you bring anyone out before — she’s quite lovely.”

The word “new” was enunciated with particular clarity.

Wen Xia’s footsteps faltered. She raised her head and looked at Guan Feng. He happened at that same moment to look down at her. Their eyes met, and Wen Xia found that Guan Feng was actually very good-looking — only there was something predatory in his gaze, not the look of an upright person.

Li Zechuan drew Wen Xia behind him and looked at Guan Feng. “The reason I helped her,” he said, “is because I can’t stand watching certain people wear a human face while behaving like animals. The man who doesn’t take advantage of women — that was a lesson Brother Feng himself taught me.”

Guan Feng smiled, his meaning pointed: “There’s much I’ve taught you. You’d do well to remember it all.”

Li Zechuan said nothing more. He took Wen Xia by the hand, turned, and walked out.

(3)

That evening, it was Li Zechuan who took Wen Xia home. He borrowed a car from a friend — a silver-grey compact — and opened the passenger-side door for her to get in.

Wen Xia didn’t move. She hesitated for a moment and put out two words: drunk driving.

Li Zechuan let out a long sigh, handed the car keys back to his friend, and took Wen Xia across the road to hail a taxi.

The night was deep. The wind set the leaves of the roadside shrubbery rustling. Wen Xia said softly: “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Li Zechuan had his head tilted back slightly, as though watching the stars. “Stay away from Sparrow in the future. Guan Feng is not a good person.”

A private car came down the road in the distance, its high beams blazing white. Before Wen Xia could step aside, she felt a warmth before her — Li Zechuan had raised his hand to cover her eyes.

In the darkness, she heard his voice: “High beams are very damaging to the eyes. They can cause night blindness. Be careful when you walk at night in the future. There are many dangers in the world.”

“Hey, top-of-the-class,” Wen Xia said, tapping the back of Li Zechuan’s hand with a smile. “Do you know what a hero looks like?”

Li Zechuan glanced at her, his expression as neutral as ever, and said flatly: “Underwear on the outside?”

“Wrong.” Wen Xia shook her head with a laugh. “That’s a foreign hero. My hero has golden-tinted skin. His hair is pale linen grey with green undertones, monolid eyes, brows that break at the tail. He has saved me twice now, and I think I’ve fallen a little in love with him.”

Li Zechuan looked at her again. A trace of a smile appeared on his face, languid and careless: “Didn’t your mother ever tell you, when you were little, that men who are too handsome can’t be trusted? Looking the way I do, I’m especially untrustworthy. You’re still young — don’t go jumping into a pit of fire.”

It was quite a deft way to turn her down. Wen Xia pressed her lips together. She had no intention of giving up; she only felt that she ought to try harder.

After that night at the bar, Wen Xia was thoroughly captivated by the cold and aloof top student, Li Zechuan.

Tao Qianqian and Li Zechuan were alumni. Using the excuse that Tao Qianqian had failed to come to her rescue at the birthday party, Wen Xia procured Li Zechuan’s class schedule from Tao Qianqian in exchange for two jin of spicy crawfish.

She unfolded the pristine A4 sheet — and found it covered entirely with outdoor practical courses held at unspecified locations.

Wen Xia was stunned into silence.

Having accepted the crawfish without a shred of guilt, Tao Qianqian spread her hands with a helpless shrug: “Really, you can’t blame me for this. That’s just what his programme is like — they release you into the wild, and you might not see the person for half a semester!”

Wen Xia slammed down her plate in frustration: “Spit back those crawfish you ate!”

Tao Qianqian smiled cheerfully and peeled open another tail. “Although the photography students are always out running loose, they do have one compulsory shared course every week that requires physical attendance. The old professor who teaches it is obsessed with taking roll call — miss it once, and you fail the entire subject.”

Wen Xia’s expression lifted from stormy to clear. She and Tao Qianqian exchanged a look, and both smiles carried great hidden meaning.

The shared course met on Tuesday afternoons for the first period. Several classes were combined, and the tiered lecture hall was packed to the brim.

The sun was generous, so generous that even the two plump sparrows on the window railings were dozing off. Li Zechuan had spent the previous night retouching photographs until dawn and was heavy with drowsiness. He had occupied an entire four-person table by himself, and had just found a position more conducive to sleep, when a faint, sweet scent of fruit candy drifted past his nose.

He opened his eyes to find a round-faced girl sitting beside him, sucking on a lollipop, smiling at him with eyes curved into crescents.

“Hero,” Wen Xia said, “fancy meeting you here!”

Li Zechuan turned to look at her and said flatly: “You’re not a student here, are you?”

“We’re all one family under heaven — the whole world is a village now. What does it matter which school? I—”

“The student by the sixth seat on the left, near the window — would you please answer this question.”

The professor at the podium spoke suddenly. Wen Xia counted the heads according to “left side,” and with a look of horror pointed at her own nose: “Me?”

The old professor nodded, his presentation clicker in hand. “Yes, you. Tell me your thoughts on Fu’ertai.”

Wen Xia’s mind did not catch up immediately. She answered on instinct: “Fu’ertai? That’s Fu’erkang’s younger brother, isn’t it. Husband of Princess Saiya, second son of Grand Academic Fu Lun — I always thought he must have been secretly in love with Yan’er all along, because…”

She stopped herself dead halfway through. The realisation hit Wen Xia a beat too late, and her round face turned an extraordinary shade of crimson.

After a brief moment of stunned silence, the lecture hall erupted in helpless laughter.

Wen Xia bowed her head in shame, stammering: “S-sorry.”

Li Zechuan had lost all desire to sleep. He watched Wen Xia with great interest.

Several female students seated in the front rows had turned around for a look at the spectacle, only to find the famously cold-faced top student wearing a faint, subtle smile. The sight was so unexpectedly endearing that their hearts seized — they pulled out their phones and took a flurry of photographs.

Li Zechuan frowned and buried his face again.

Wen Xia had made no small spectacle of herself in the shared lecture. She was terrified the old professor might want to continue discussing Voltaire with her in depth, and the moment the bell rang she slipped along the wall and fled. She had nearly made it out of the building before remembering that her backpack was still in the classroom. She turned around to find Li Zechuan walking out — camera in his left hand, her backpack hanging from his right.

Her student ID card was clipped to the backpack. Li Zechuan glanced at it: Nongda. College of Veterinary Medicine. Wen Xia.

Wen Xia walked over, rubbing her nose. “I swear on the heavens — I wasn’t here to cause trouble.”

Li Zechuan tossed the bag into Wen Xia’s arms. She fumbled to catch it somewhat clumsily. He looked her up and down and said: “You made a special trip to our campus to audit a class, just to say hello to me?”

Wen Xia slowly adjusted her bag onto her back. “Saying hello was a secondary purpose.”

Li Zechuan looked at her. “And the primary purpose?”

Wen Xia’s eyes gleamed with a small, mischievous light. “The primary purpose was to find out whether you have a girlfriend! If you do, then I apologise — I shouldn’t have disturbed you. If you don’t, I’ll put in a little more effort!”

Li Zechuan found himself struggling to follow this small girl’s train of thought. “Effort?” he said. “Effort towards what?”

Wen Xia’s eyes brightened: “Effort towards becoming your girlfriend, of course!”

Li Zechuan was genuinely provoked into laughter. “I seem to recall rejecting you already,” he said.

Wen Xia immediately played dumb, her expression blank with theatrical amnesia. “Rejected me? I have no memory of any such thing — you must be mistaken. The only thing I remember is putting on a Pikachu costume at a promotional event, trying to hug you, and you thinking I was too ugly to touch. What about now? Could I have a hug?”

Li Zechuan didn’t know whether to laugh or be exasperated. He threw down a parting remark — “Read fewer romance novels” — and beat a hasty retreat.

Wen Xia was undeterred. She turned up again at the Chuanmei University shared course before long, occupying the seat next to him once more.

Li Zechuan had attracted no shortage of admirers, but he had never encountered someone who pursued him with such brazen, unapologetic persistence. Finding it somewhat aggravating, he frowned and tried to embarrass her: “What exactly is good about me? What is it about me that you like?”

Li Zechuan misjudged his own volume. Nearly half the lecture hall turned to look at the source of the sound.

The professor was deeply displeased: “Young man, if you dislike attending my class, you are welcome to stand outside. Do not disrupt my classroom order, and kindly be aware of the appropriate setting for your romantic conversations!”

Li Zechuan picked up his bag and walked out, leaving Wen Xia stranded in the lecture hall.

After that, Wen Xia did genuinely go quiet for a period — a full half-month during which she did not appear near Li Zechuan at all. Li Zechuan thought he had finally rid himself of this persistent creature, and felt relief — but alongside it, the exact feeling he had expected all along: surely enough, this is how it ends. These little “likes” between a man and a woman are all the same — nothing more than a three-minute spark of enthusiasm!

Li Zechuan had won photography awards back in high school, and by his first year of university had opened a column in a photography magazine, establishing a modest reputation in local photography circles. In his time outside of class, he took on commercial shoots at considerable fees.

On one occasion, Li Zechuan had been invited by an aquarium to photograph promotional materials. While his head was bent over his camera, a rather familiar silhouette flashed at the edge of his vision. He glanced over and saw Wen Xia standing beside a tall, slender young man of distinguished bearing.

From the angle at which he stood, Li Zechuan could not make out the man’s face; but the fabric of his clothing was of fine quality, and a carefully crafted jewelled cufflink was visible at his wrist.

Wen Xia wrinkled her nose and said something. The man tapped her on the forehead, then hurried away; when he returned, he was holding a rainbow lollipop as big as her face.

Li Zechuan’s hands slipped. He had set the camera to the wrong mode, and it let out a rapid series of clicks, producing over a dozen ruined shots.

How amusing. No wonder she had stopped chasing him — she had a new interest.

The model standing opposite him cast a seductive glance: “Magnus, does this look work?”

Li Zechuan glanced at her. “Your false eyelash has come loose,” he said. “Ask the make-up artist to reattach it.”

The shoot continued until late afternoon. The female model tried every approach to get his contact details. Tired of being pestered, Li Zechuan deflected: “I don’t add unfamiliar women on messaging apps — my girlfriend would make a scene.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he was caught off guard by his own response. Why had he never thought to use this excuse to fend off Wen Xia?

The female model was not in the least deterred. She pursed her scarlet lips and smiled coyly: “Oh, I’m very old-fashioned — I don’t mind in the slightest. It would be nice to have another sister to chat with.”

Li Zechuan was backed into a corner. He took his camera bag and went to wait for the lift, but the model actually followed him in eight-centimetre heels.

In the midst of this entanglement, he heard someone call his name — then a shadow launched itself straight at him and hung from his arm, crying out cheerfully: “I thought I was seeing things, but it really is you! Li Zechuan, don’t you think we’re fated to keep running into each other!”

Li Zechuan looked down at Wen Xia. His expression was oddly complex, layered with too many things to name.

The female model was leaning against the wall, watching Wen Xia with a smile that did not reach her eyes. She said deliberately: “So you must be Magnus’s girlfriend. You two can’t have been together long — I’ve been to several gatherings and I’ve never seen you before!”

Wen Xia’s attention caught entirely on the first half of the remark. Her eyes lit up instantly, and she answered in a rush: “Yes, yes, exactly — I’m his girlfriend! Absolutely certain, one hundred percent true — you have a good eye, how could you tell!”

Li Zechuan turned his face away and laughed. The female model was so disarmed by Wen Xia’s guileless enthusiasm that she could not find a single thing to say, and after a brief pause turned and left.

With the third party gone, the atmosphere became unexpectedly awkward. Li Zechuan thought of the tall, slender figure holding up the lollipop, and his expression darkened. He tapped at Wen Xia’s hand where it was wrapped around his arm —

“Let go. The lift is here.”

Li Zechuan’s tap was not gentle. Wen Xia winced slightly. She frowned, but held on tighter instead. “I’ve been officially recognised as your girlfriend now,” she said. “I’m applying to start immediately!”

Officially recognised by whom! Who gave their recognition!

Li Zechuan looked at her artless face, and could not resist the impulse to goad her: “A moment ago you were getting a lollipop from some other man, and now you’re my girlfriend — you’re keeping yourself quite busy!”

Wen Xia faltered. She loosened her grip on his arm, her mood deflating. “The person who bought me the lollipop is Wen’er. He’s my brother. I don’t latch onto just anyone, you know — I follow you around because I like you. How could you think of me that way?”

Her eyes reddened as she spoke.

Li Zechuan paused, and gave a small, self-directed sigh: “What exactly is it about me that you like?” What could possibly be worth liking, in someone as dull and dark-natured as me?

Wen Xia misread Li Zechuan’s meaning. The hurt in her eyes deepened. The lift had just arrived at their floor; without looking back, she stepped straight inside.

Li Zechuan stood rooted to the spot, unmoving. The two of them stared at each other through the slowly closing lift doors — one with shadowed, unreadable eyes; the other with an expression of dogged, unyielding pride.

Li Zechuan had assumed that was where his story with Wen Xia would end. To his surprise, after a full month apart, Wen Xia appeared in the lecture hall of the Chuanmei University shared course once again — this time, with a three-thousand-five-hundred-word analytical report in hand.

Song Ti, size four, standard formatting. His every charm and quality listed in orderly sequence, clear and well-argued.

When he received that report, Li Zechuan was utterly stupefied.

Wen Xia glanced at him, then turned and walked up to the podium.

Class had not yet started; the class representative was still setting up the multimedia equipment. Wen Xia seized the microphone from the class representative’s hands. Her bright, clear voice rang out from the speakers mounted in the corners of the room: “Li Zechuan, you asked what it is I like about you. Today I’m going to tell you, point by point. First — what I like most is the way you look when you’re protecting someone. Especially when that someone is me…”

After a brief hush, the classroom erupted in an entangled cacophony of shrieks and laughter.

Li Zechuan crossed the room in two strides, covered Wen Xia’s mouth with his hand, and took her out to the empty corridor. His composure had thoroughly fractured: “What on earth is it that you want?”

His manner could hardly be called kind. Yet Wen Xia showed not the slightest trace of fear. Her eyes were wide, and her shamelessness was so complete it seemed entirely natural: “What I want is really very simple — either you like me, or you let me like you. Your choice!”

Li Zechuan stood speechless for a long time. For the first time in his life, he felt the impulse to admit defeat. He pressed his hand to his forehead and said helplessly: “If I choose neither, are you planning to carry a loudspeaker to a public square and read out that ‘Li Zechuan charm assessment report’ in front of everyone, so the whole world knows you like me?”

Wen Xia curved her eyes into a smile: “That’s actually not a bad idea. Worth considering!”

Li Zechuan silently clenched his back teeth; the muscle at his jaw shifted. He held back the urge to overturn everything and leave, and said: “Wen Xia — were you born without the ability to feel embarrassment?”

Wen Xia touched her nose and stole a cautious glance at him. “Well, I used to have it,” she said. “But ever since I met you, I’ve had no room left for it. You’re so wonderful that I’m afraid if I don’t make my move, you’ll belong to someone else.”

Li Zechuan had been neatly turned around by her. He thought of the female model from the aquarium, and the words “I already have a girlfriend” rolled forward and back on the tip of his tongue, but would not come out.

One sentence — that’s all it would have taken to send her away long ago. Yet he had put it off until now, until it had grown into a debt too tangled to be settled.

Beyond the recollection, Li Zechuan pressed his fingertip hard against his brow, and closed his eyes against the sharp, sudden sting.

Admit it, Li Zechuan. You have been giving her the chance to draw close to you all along.

The situation today is the result of your own endless indulgence. The truth is, you have always been indulging her.

(4)

Wen Xia was jolted awake by the vibration of her multi-function wristwatch. She had apparently spent the entire night slumped over the wooden desk in the duty room. Outside, the night had not yet retreated, and Li Zechuan was nowhere to be seen.

Supporting her aching back, she checked the time: 6:15 exactly. She was late.

Without pausing to even splash water on her face, Wen Xia scrambled out in a headlong rush and ran straight into Nuobu in the doorway.

Nuobu gave a start, then stuttered: “Brother Sang Ji sent me to get you for breakfast. He said we’re about to head out — if you don’t want to be left behind at the protection station with nothing to do, you’d better move fast.”

The high plateau saw a late sunrise; it would not grow light until after seven. The staff canteen had its warm amber overhead lights blazing at full wattage. A group of tall, broad-shouldered men sat crowded around the tables eating breakfast, white steam rising and curling, blurring their faces into soft shapes.

Li Zechuan spotted Wen Xia as she walked in. He patted the empty seat beside him. “Hurry up,” he said. “We leave in ten minutes.”

Wen Xia sat down beside Li Zechuan and lifted the plate that had been covering her bowl — and stopped, momentarily caught off guard. Everyone else had a plain bowl of white noodles in water; hers had two peeled, hard-boiled eggs in it as well.

Li Zechuan drained his noodle broth and said: “Don’t be touched. That’s your overtime pay from last night.”

Wen Xia rolled her eyes and devoured the eggs with righteous indignation, imagining with each bite that she was eating Li Zechuan himself.

Lian Kai and Zhaxi remained behind to guard the station and interrogate the detainees. Nuobu drove with Ke Lie and the guide ahead to open the route. Li Zechuan drove the Humvee. When Wen Xia tried to take the passenger seat, Li Zechuan waved her to the back to hold the dog.

Wen Xia assumed Li Zechuan was deliberately avoiding her, and gave the tyres two furious kicks. Lian Kai said: “The passenger seat is far more dangerous than the rear compartment. Dachuan is protecting you. He’s the type who…”

A sigh, long and weighted with unspoken meaning. Wen Xia’s heart suddenly skipped an unsteady beat.

So it turns out you do care about me, just a little.

The vehicles rolled away. The sky gradually brightened. The morning sun hung low in the distance along the horizon, carrying the gold and warmth unique to a newly rising day. Boundless wilderness spread flat and wide before them, calling to mind an ancient battlefield from the age of the great flood — iron cavalry, signal fires, all dissolved now into drifting dust.

Snow-capped mountains stood at the very edge of sight, shrouded in deep amber, silhouetted like ink-wash paintings.

Wen Xia pressed her face against the window for a long while, then breathed out slowly: “This is actually the first time we’ve watched a sunrise together. It really is beautiful.”

After a brief pause, Wen Xia suddenly leaned forward from the back seat, draped her arm around Li Zechuan’s shoulder, and rubbed the tip of her nose gently against the side of his face. “A new day has begun,” she said softly. “I wish you happiness, my hero.”

Li Zechuan did not turn his head. The fingers resting on the steering wheel tightened involuntarily, the tendons on the back of his hand standing in clear relief.

This time, the journey went smoothly. No vehicles became stuck. No strange people were encountered. Li Zechuan glanced at the coordinates on the dashboard: East longitude 92°37′, North latitude 35°33′. They had arrived.

Kekexili Lake — also known as Kusai Nao’er — was a perennial river, low in mineral content. The lake area was bordered by wilderness steppe stretching as far as the eye could see, thickly overgrown with grass, interspersed here and there with drought-tolerant shrubs. Flocks of bar-headed geese glided past in the distance, the surface of the lake shimmering with scattered light.

The guide descended from the vehicle and looked around, then said: “The spot where the Tibetan antelope was discovered is somewhere nearby, but I can’t quite remember the exact location. It’s been a full night — it’s likely been picked clean by vultures and wolves by now, nothing but bare bones.”

Ke Lie stretched his limbs and said to Li Zechuan: “Should the two vehicles split up to search?”

The wind had risen. It stung the eyes with sand.

Li Zechuan put on his goggles. His profile was as sharp-edged as a blade. He extended his hand into the wind, letting the gusts pass through his fingertips, the colours of heaven and earth deep and vivid around him.

After a long moment, he said: “Where there are bar-headed geese, there are Tibetan antelope. Where there is blood, there are vultures. Follow the vultures — they know where the carcasses are.”

The basin covered by Kekexili Lake was not vast. Following the direction where birds circled overhead, two or three hundred metres from the lakeshore, in a shallow hollow of sunken ground, they found a patch of yellow-brown down.

Wen Xia had sharp eyes and was the first to notice it. Without waiting for the vehicle to come to a full stop, she jumped out with her medical kit. Upon landing, she turned her ankle — not badly enough to be truly painful — and, ignoring it, ran forward with an unsteady, stumbling gait.

The roar of the engine startled the vultures into flight, their wings beating the air full of yellow sand and the metallic scent of blood. Li Zechuan watched Wen Xia run up to that patch of mounded earth and then go still. He understood at once: there was nothing to be done here. He was already turning his mind to how he might console this girl if she started crying, when Wen Xia suddenly stripped off her jacket, wrapped something inside it, turned around, and waved him over.

Li Zechuan released the safety on his sidearm and tucked it behind him. He walked over. His first glance showed Wen Xia cradling something soft and fluffy in her arms. Only on the second glance did he recognise, to his astonishment, that it was a newborn Tibetan antelope calf.

The little creature, wary of strangers, had burrowed into the jacket, leaving only the very tips of its ears peeking out, trembling with unease.

Without her jacket, Wen Xia was down to a plaid shirt. Her small frame looked profoundly slight against the vast open wilderness. Holding the bundled jacket as carefully as though it were precious porcelain, she lifted the small antelope towards Li Zechuan, and said: “Look — look — it’s still alive. It’s a miracle!”

Li Zechuan looked. “What happened?”

Wen Xia said: “A difficult birth. The mother became separated from the herd. In her last moments, she scraped a hollow in the ground and hid the calf under her belly — to keep it warm, to let the infant feed from her even after death, and to shield it from predators with her own body. Three purposes in one — a very clever mother.”

As she spoke, Nuobu and Ke Lie walked over as well.

Nuobu was young-hearted and was so thoroughly undone by the tiny ears quivering in and out of the jacket that he cried out repeatedly: “Let me hold it! Let me hold it!”

Ke Lie rapped a knuckle on his head and told him to settle down.

It was midday, but the temperature was not particularly high. Wen Xia in her thin shirt was shivering in the wind.

Li Zechuan looked at her. “Get back in the vehicle,” he said. “It’s cold out here. Once we’ve dealt with the mother’s remains, we’ll head back. The little one needs to be fed and given a full check-up.”

Wen Xia nodded, and walked back, sneezing repeatedly as she went, her head bobbing with each one as if it might drop from her neck.

Li Zechuan had a strong inclination to throw his own jacket over her shoulders. He had the zip half-undone before he stopped.

He could not allow himself to be this obvious in his indulgence — it would only deepen Wen Xia’s attachment.

The mother antelope had died not long ago; her body was still supple. Her dark, lustrous eyes were half-open. Li Zechuan crouched beside her, reached out, and gently passed his hand over her eyes, letting them close in peace. “We’ll take good care of it,” he said.

Nuobu watched from nearby and felt suddenly that something warm and tender was radiating from Li Zechuan. He nudged Ke Lie’s shoulder and murmured: “Brother Sang Ji seems different somehow — ever since Xiao Xia came to the protection station, he’s…”

Li Zechuan turned his head. The goggles concealed every trace of his expression, and yet somehow his gaze still managed to feel piercing. Nuobu grinned sheepishly and retreated behind Ke Lie.

The warm red flames consumed the mother antelope’s remains, like a scattering of brilliant stars across the ground. Li Zechuan lit a cigarette from the gentle firelight, thin wisps of smoke curling from between his lips.

Ke Lie crouched down beside him. “This isn’t your fault. We all did what we could.”

Li Zechuan held his cigarette between his teeth and shook his head slightly. “I’m not blaming myself,” he said indistinctly. “I just feel the matter isn’t finished. A difficult birth and poaching — you can see what this is at a glance. So why didn’t the guide say so plainly? Why put up this pretence of possible poaching?”

Ke Lie was taken aback. “You think there’s an ambush waiting for us?”

“Hard to say. I just have a feeling something’s not right.”

From somewhere in the distance came a few low, muffled howls — or, if one listened carefully, they might have been the wind keening.

Li Zechuan paused, then murmured to himself: “Wolves howling in broad daylight. An ill omen.”

The area around Kekexili Lake had numerous shallow flats. By midday the temperature had risen, and the thawing earth and lake water mixed together into soft, yielding mud. On the return journey they adjusted their formation — the high-clearance Humvee taking the lead, the jeep following behind along the tracks left by the larger vehicle.

Even with every precaution, the jeep stalled. It could not be restarted. Ke Lie inspected the components, walked to the Humvee, and knocked on the window. “It’s the clutch,” he said. “We don’t have the part in the toolbox — we’ll need to get it from a town nearby, otherwise the vehicle’s done for.”

The guide stepped forward, posture deferent, and gave a small nod towards Li Zechuan. “Follow Kekexili Lake due east and you’ll spot National Highway 109 before long. From the highway, it’s not far to An’kang County. There’s an auto repair shop there — they should have the part you need.”

Li Zechuan pushed his goggles up to rest on his forehead. His eyes seemed to hold a flicker of pale amber light, pulsing gently. He smiled. “The most important thing in heaven and earth is a good meal,” he said. “Let’s fill our stomachs first, and deal with the rest after.”

The newborn calf had come into the world without its mother and was fraught with insecurity. The moment it was out of Wen Xia’s arms it bleated in a thin, milky voice without ceasing, leaving Wen Xia unable to spare a hand even to boil water.

Li Zechuan removed his tactical gloves and poked the little creature on its fuzzy forehead. “You’ve got the wrong mother,” he said. “She’s not your mum.”

Wen Xia replied: “Not a birth mother, but she qualifies as a godmother. And there’s still the position of godfather open — would you like to claim it?”

In matters of playful banter, Li Zechuan was never a match for Wen Xia. He wisely held his tongue, and instead pulled a windproof jacket from the boot of the vehicle. “Put this on,” he said. “If you actually fall ill from the cold, that’s just more trouble for everyone else!”

A textbook example of a person who has no idea how to speak kindly!

Wen Xia very much wanted to kick him. Her ankle twinged sharply, the motion went wrong, and she stumbled over her own feet.

Li Zechuan glanced at her. “What happened to your foot?”

Wen Xia turned her back on him, expression stony. “None of your business!”

Li Zechuan asked nothing further, and simply crouched down, took hold of her ankle, pulled off her boot, and let her step on his knee. Wen Xia nearly kicked him in the face, and demanded angrily: “What are you doing?”

Li Zechuan pressed gently on the swollen area several times, then scooped up a handful of clean snow and held it against the spot. The cold sensation radiated up from the extremities; Wen Xia hissed through her teeth. Li Zechuan glanced up at her face and said: “Does it hurt badly?”

Wen Xia shook her head quickly. “Just a little cold,” she said softly.

After a brief period of cold compress, Li Zechuan turned and called out to Nuobu: “Open the medicine kit. There’s an aerosol at the bottom.”

The spray was a pale yellow colour with a pleasant mint fragrance. After applying the medication, Li Zechuan helped Wen Xia replace her boot, taking extra care to tuck in a layer of gauze padding. “Be careful where you step in future,” he said. “Stop being so clumsy all the time!”

Wen Xia’s “thank you” lodged itself in her throat — neither possible to swallow nor to spit out — and sat wedged in her chest, profoundly stifling.

While Li Zechuan was tending to Wen Xia’s injury, Ke Lie produced a high-altitude windproof camping stove, set up the kettle, and began heating water to soak hard flatbread.

The altitude was too great; boiling point was barely above sixty degrees. The water could only soften the outer surface of the flatbread, while the interior remained cold. Wen Xia managed to force down half a piece alongside tinned rations before she could eat no more — the unyielding core of the bread was hard enough to make her teeth ache.

Li Zechuan took the half she hadn’t finished, bit into it without ceremony, and handed her a small steel cup of hot water. Wen Xia held it and drank two mouthfuls, then, while it was still warm, gave the rest to the little antelope.

Carrying the calf around in her arms was awkward. Wen Xia simply tucked the whole bundle — calf and jacket together — inside her windproof coat, and managed, just barely, to fasten the zip around them both, leaving only a small, three-parted muzzle and two perfectly round large eyes peeking out. Nuobu saw this and grinned, calling her “Mama Kangaroo.”

Li Zechuan lowered his voice and said to Ke Lie: “The calf is too young — it can’t take rough handling. You take the guide and Nuobu to the town to get the parts. Wen Xia and I will hold position here. Take Yuanbao with you too — the big dog is sharp-witted; if you run into trouble on the road, he’ll be useful in a pinch. On the way, make some conversation with the guide. Draw him out. I keep feeling he knows something.”

Ke Lie glanced at the guide in the distance. “Understood,” he said. “You be careful too.”

(5)

Having managed a quick, rough meal, Ke Lie set off with Nuobu, the guide, and the Tibetan mastiff. Three people and one large dog filled the Humvee to capacity. Before he left, Ke Lie broke a cigarette in half through the lowered window and flicked the portion across to Li Zechuan. Li Zechuan caught it with one hand, brought two fingers to his brow in a half-salute.

The wind and sand grew increasingly biting, stinging the cheeks raw. Li Zechuan and Wen Xia retreated into the jeep’s compartment to shelter. Wen Xia ignored Li Zechuan’s look of protest and took the passenger seat.

Li Zechuan unwrapped a mint sweet and held it under his tongue. He turned a pair of knuckle dusters between his fingers, and said to Wen Xia: “Next time you go anywhere, don’t sit in the front passenger seat. It’s not safe.”

Wen Xia stroked the calf’s fuzzy ears. “When someone else is driving,” she said, “I’d never fight for the passenger seat. It’s different when you’re driving.”

Li Zechuan smiled, his gaze concealed behind his goggles. “What’s different about it? Four wheels on the road either way.”

Wen Xia reached over and took Li Zechuan’s hand, her fingertips tracing the lines of his palm slowly and carefully. “I only want to be by your side,” she said. “Of course it’s different.”

Li Zechuan withdrew his hand. “Do you know where we are?” he said. “This is Kekexili. The no-man’s land. The forbidden zone of life. It is not a place for pursuing beautiful love stories. How many people have taken one step into this place and never walked out again? Under every inch of this yellow sand, there may be buried a set of human bones. Don’t play games with your life. That is the greatest disrespect you can show to the people who love you.”

The fingers that had reached out and found nothing curled slowly inward. Wen Xia half-rose from her seat and swung herself directly across the gear shift, settling on Li Zechuan’s lap.

She braced one hand on the seat back and grasped his collar with the other. Her eyes were burning. “I’m not foolish,” she said. “I know how terrifying this place is. And I came anyway. Because I want you to know — every ‘I like you’ I have ever said to you is not empty words.”

There was compassion in Li Zechuan’s eyes, and in his voice as well. He said slowly: “I know you came for my sake. But what does that change? Wen Xia — you know what kind of life I was living before. Everything beyond Kekexili is hell to me now. I can no longer leave this place. But you’re different. You deserve a better life. Don’t talk to me about only wanting to be with me — Wen’er cares for you so deeply. How can you bear to make him worry?”

Li Zechuan had struck her most vulnerable point with precision. A surge of sudden anger rose in Wen Xia. “Stop putting on this air of grand righteousness,” she said through clenched teeth. “Didn’t you come to Kekexili in the first place because you were running away?”

Li Zechuan said evenly: “I came here to escape. Staying here — that’s not escape. Forget Li Zechuan. You will find someone better.”

The compartment fell into silence. The only sound was the sharp, crisp snapping of sand and wind against the car door. At the furthest reach of their vision, columns of yellow dust were forming where cold and warm air met, drifting and shifting across the wilderness.

Something dark seemed to be wrapped inside one of those columns. Li Zechuan glanced at it, then suddenly pulled open Wen Xia’s zip, drew the calf out, wrapped it in a bundle of cloth, and tucked it underneath the seat.

“What’s wrong?” Wen Xia asked quickly.

The low, menacing growl of an engine answered her.

An old off-road vehicle came tearing across the ground at ferocious speed, flying as though it barely touched the earth. It closed the distance rapidly, but showed not the slightest sign of slowing.

Li Zechuan hit the central locking, and in the instant the off-road vehicle’s bonnet slammed into the driver’s door, he pulled Wen Xia with him and pitched them both out through the passenger side.

The shallow flat instantly soaked through both their clothes with ice-cold mud. Wen Xia was shaking from the cold. Li Zechuan’s body had barely stopped moving before he was already raising his gun and firing. The pistol spat tongues of flame in rapid succession; the mechanical cycling of the action sounded like the quiet pronouncements of death itself.

The bullets struck the windscreen of the off-road vehicle, flowering open in jagged cracks like shattered glass. The people inside were pinned down and could not raise their heads. Li Zechuan pressed a hand to the back of Wen Xia’s neck and shoved — desperate, frantic: “Run. Don’t look back!”

But it was too late.

A second vehicle came sweeping in from behind. Two men in heavy cotton coats jumped out. One seized Wen Xia by the hair, forcing her head back and her face up, and rammed the barrel of a gun into her mouth. The metal forced apart her teeth and pressed against her throat.

The other circled behind Li Zechuan. He swung his arm in a wide arc, bringing the gun’s butt crashing down like a hammer toward the back of Li Zechuan’s skull. Li Zechuan sensed the change in the air, and threw a sharp chopping strike — landing squarely on the man’s shoulder with a crisp crack of bone.

But the numerical disadvantage was too great. He evaded the first strike and the second, but not the third. The gun butt connected hard against the back of his head with a dull, heavy thud.

Li Zechuan dropped to one knee. The gun in his hand pointed at the ground. Darkness layered upon darkness before his eyes; his mouth was full of the taste of blood.

Figures swarmed and shifted around him, encircling him. One stepped forward and kicked his fallen pistol far out of reach.

Wind swept in from the horizon, picking up endless dust and sand — heavy, freezing, lacerating the open wilderness.

The gun pressed almost to Wen Xia’s throat. The metallic reek filled her nose, suffocating as a stranglehold. She fixed her gaze stubbornly on the place where Li Zechuan had fallen, and screamed through the obstruction in her mouth: “Get up! Get up!”

Get up. Don’t fall. Don’t go to sleep.

After the gunfire ceased, the wilderness became immeasurably quiet. A hawk wheeled overhead, wings spread wide, launching itself towards the place where the sun had risen.

The door of the old off-road vehicle was pushed open, and a tall, lean figure stepped down. Military boots struck the earth heavily, carrying in each step the arrogance of someone who had grown up answering to no one. A black American-style combat uniform, face obscured by goggles and a balaclava — the features hidden from view. One hand tossed a half-green apple up and caught it idly.

The figure stretched leisurely and sauntered over to Li Zechuan. The military boot came down on his shoulder, heel wedging into the collarbone with a hard, grinding press — painful just to look at.

This was someone well accustomed to inflicting pain. An old routine.

Li Zechuan shifted his shoulder and remained on one knee, making no sound.

The figure gave a short laugh. The voice came muffled through the balaclava, pressed very low. “Well, look at this. Who is it? None other than the great Officer Li himself — the sharpest weapon on the anti-poaching front. How many of our people have you arrested, how much of our cargo have you seized! And now here you are, brought down so easily in my hands — for the second time, no less. There’s no justice in the world.”

Those gathered around gave a burst of laughter. “Combat Uniform” drew his sidearm, let it spin around one finger, and pressed it to the forehead of the person nearest to him. “Shh,” he said quietly. “No one speaks while I’m talking.”

The laughter stopped at once. Only the wind remained, pouring in from the edge of the sky.

“Say something, Officer Li. Tell me — does murder carry more years in prison, or poaching Tibetan antelope?” The figure tapped the gun against Li Zechuan’s head, then bore down again with the heel. The collarbone cracked — a sharp, clear sound. “People like you are worth less than a four-legged animal. Yet you walk around all day wearing this air of righteous sacrifice, as though you’re giving your life for the nation — on that salary you earn, is it really worth laying down your life for?”

Li Zechuan said nothing throughout. But suddenly he seized the leg that was pinned against his shoulder, and as he rose he used the momentum to wrench hard. “Combat Uniform” was thrown off balance and crashed face-down into the mud.

The two men grappled furiously together. The followers of “Combat Uniform” didn’t dare fire at random, and all gripped their weapons taut.

Li Zechuan moved with terrifying speed. He drove his knee into the back of “Combat Uniform” and pressed down. The knuckle duster on his hand was fitted with a two-inch blade. He drove it toward the area dense with tendons with full force.

“Combat Uniform” showed not the faintest sign of panic. He laughed — wild, unbridled laughter — and extended his arm outward, swinging the gun around. The barrel was not aimed at Li Zechuan, pressing down directly above him, but at Wen Xia, five steps away.

A line of small craters was punched into the earth just ahead of Wen Xia’s toes. The man holding her drew a short blade, and the edge pressed against her chest, slicing open her jacket and shirt directly, exposing the thermal underlayer against her skin.

Wen Xia clenched her teeth down on the gun barrel and struggled — silent, desperate, with every ounce she had.

A woman’s bare skin lay exposed to the open wilderness. The sight sent the man’s eyes flooding with a crimson eagerness. He gave a vicious grin: “Brother Qi, give this one to me — I’ll make sure she’s nice and docile for you!”

“Combat Uniform” began to laugh along, his voice muffled through the balaclava: “Li Zechuan — drive it in! Stick me! No blood, you’re my grandson! Every inch you cut into me means one more piece of her clothing comes off! My brothers haven’t had a taste of anything good in months — tonight we enjoy ourselves properly!”

Sand and grit carried on the wind battered against her chest. The cold cut to the bone. Wen Xia shut her eyes tightly. Tear tracks were visible at the corners of her eyes.

Li Zechuan had “Combat Uniform” pinned beneath him. The knuckle duster blade hung suspended in mid-air. His heavy monolid eyes were lowered, the line of his gaze flowing and fluid as a brush stroke in reverse — holding a cold, pale light.

“Hmm?” “Combat Uniform” caught Li Zechuan’s hesitation and feigned puzzlement. “Why isn’t the little girl crying? No crying makes it no fun at all!”

At those words, one of his men reached out and snapped the left shoulder strap of Wen Xia’s undergarment with a sharp tug. A knee pressed between her legs, creeping slowly up the inside of her thigh in deliberate, grinding torment — degradation taken to its fullest extent.

Wen Xia knew that the more she let them see her fear, the worse it would become. She could only shut her eyes as tightly as she could and refuse to look, refuse to feel.

Li Zechuan drew a deep breath and released “Combat Uniform.” He stood upright. In an instant, a dozen gun barrels of varying lengths converged on Li Zechuan’s head.

He removed his gloves. He threw the knuckle duster at the feet of “Combat Uniform,” and said: “Your quarrel is with me. Don’t take it out on the girl. Kill me, do whatever you want to me — draw the line, and I’ll meet you on it.”