(1)

Li Zechuan’s leg injury was far more severe than anyone had anticipated. Nie Xiaolin’s blade and Song Qiyuan’s bullet had shattered his kneecap, and the catastrophic blood loss placed him in critical condition.

Wen’er immediately reached out to several internationally renowned orthopedic hospitals abroad, ultimately selecting one in New York City. After a multidisciplinary consultation, the medical team decided to perform a total knee arthroplasty — in simple terms, replacing his kneecap with an artificial one.

The total knee replacement surgery lasted more than ten hours. Wen Xia sat in the hallway outside the operating room, trembling. Wen’er removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, offering quiet comfort: “He’s going to be alright.”

Wen Xia lifted her head, her eyes brimming with tears. “Brother, I truly cannot bear to watch him suffer anymore. Not even a little.”

Four days later, Li Zechuan was transferred to a general ward. The doctors declared the surgery a success. When Wen Xia walked into the room, Li Zechuan lay with his eyes closed, as though he had fallen asleep. His lashes were long, sweeping downward like a veil of mist — mysterious as a rain forest that conceals fairy tales within its depths.

Wen Xia walked slowly toward him, crouched down, and buried her face in the hollow of his palm.

She felt the warmth of his skin. She knew he was still alive — and in that instant, she was filled with a contentment so complete that she wanted for nothing else.

Li Zechuan’s eyelids stirred. His fingers curved ever so slightly, his fingertips resting against Wen Xia’s eyes, brushing against the wet trace of her tears. Wen Xia looked up in joyful surprise, meeting his gaze — still a little unfocused. His dark pupils slowly sharpened, shifting their attention, until they came to rest on her, rising with a tenderness as deep and boundless as the ocean.

His voice was soft and unhurried. “I woke up and you’re still here. That means this isn’t a dream. How wonderful.”

The words she had once said to him — he had never forgotten them.

Wen Xia held her breath and leaned toward him, reaching past the clear IV tubing, and let her lips lightly graze his cracked ones.

He was covered in wounds. She did not dare to hold him. Instead, she gently brought both hands together and took his rough, calloused fingers in hers.

A single tear slipped from her eye, landing at the corner of his. The sunlight blazed up like a flame, brilliant and fierce, and the silhouettes of two people were swallowed whole within it.

“My darling — welcome home.”

Wen’er owned a private residence in New York, conveniently located near the hospital, which made it easy for Li Zechuan to return each day for rehabilitation. The surgery had been a complete success — no complications arose, no signs of rejection. The metal joint settled quietly within his body. The lead surgeon was overjoyed, declaring it a rare and perfect outcome.

Li Zechuan remained in New York for nearly a year and a half. He no longer followed the subsequent hearings of Nie Xiaolin’s case. As far as he was concerned, that story was over. His body needed to heal, certain memories needed to be left behind, and a new life was waiting to be lived.

Wen Xia was in the kitchen. The fragrance of food drifted out — warm and sweet and lovely. Li Zechuan sat in his wheelchair and heard the chime of an incoming email. He clicked the mouse in the afternoon light, and the first thing to appear on the screen was a wedding photo. Nuobu had gotten married. The bride was Qu Zhen — the granddaughter of the old grandmother.

The letter said that Ma Siming had retired due to illness, and Lian Kai had become the new station chief of Suonan Baohuzhan. The station had expanded its staff, and more and more young people were coming to understand the importance of environmental issues and wildlife conservation. Zhaxi had become a father. Everything was getting better. Everyone missed him dearly.

Alongside the wedding photo, there was another photograph: on the night the patrol team set out, every member stood in a single line facing the national flag, standing at attention and saluting. Their spines were like freshly forged steel rods — straight, unyielding, unbendable.

A thunderous roar rose to the heavens as the young men called out in unison:

“Ever ready — to guard the plateau!”

In that moment the wind surged with uncommon force, and the crimson flag whipped and snapped, filling the air with its sharp, fierce sound.

Li Zechuan’s gaze found Ke Lie’s face among the crowd, and stayed there for a long, long time.

That fellow would always look like the youngest one in the room. He would never grow old.

My friend. My brother. Time has held you in this place forever, unchanging, never to be different again.

Li Zechuan raised his eyes to the window. The sky of a foreign country stretched high and blue and clear, reminding him of the lake surface on the plateau — and of the prayer flags, whipping and tumbling in the fierce wind. Those flags had been the salvation he had given himself. They were the most beautiful sight his memory held.

The sun rises and the moon sets. Winter fades and spring arrives. Some people have gone — but certain spirits are passed down through the ages, enduring without end.

(2)

Later, Li Zechuan’s knee bore its lasting injury. He could no longer run at the front lines of the anti-poaching effort. He left Qinghai, and he and Wen Xia settled in the city where they had first met.

Two people. One home. A home with a soft sofa and a soft carpet.

Every night and every morning, Wen Xia loved to rest her head on Li Zechuan’s chest and listen to his heartbeat — thump, thump — full of vigorous, brimming life.

Li Zechuan was an early riser by habit, and he loved preparing Chinese-style breakfasts: soy milk and fried dough sticks, or steamed buns and millet porridge. Wen Xia would drift between sleep and waking, drawn out by the scent of food. She clutched her blanket and rolled over, hazy with drowsiness, putting on a soft, wheedling voice: “I’m a little thirsty.”

Li Zechuan brought over a cup of warm water, sat on the edge of the bed, slipped a hand beneath her back, and gathered her into his arms. She drank in small sips from the cup he held.

The sunlight was warm. His features were refined — precise as the reverse stroke of a brush — yet when he looked at her, his expression was soft with tenderness.

Wen Xia suddenly threw herself at him, plastering herself entirely against his side. Li Zechuan let out a startled “Oh!” — “Watch the cup!”

Wen Xia tilted her head back and looked at him, her smile curving. “I want to kiss you — but I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

Li Zechuan reached up and touched her ear, smiling too. “Then go brush them quickly. You have to be all washed up before I’ll let you kiss me.”

Wen Xia considered this. “I’m too lazy to walk. You have to carry me!”

Li Zechuan turned and pinned her down, breathing warmly into the curve of her shoulder — heated, a little ticklish. He deliberately dropped his voice low. “What if we kiss first…”

After breakfast, they went out together to run errands. Wen Xia was in charge of choosing things; Li Zechuan was in charge of carrying bags and paying. When they passed through the toy section and came across some amusing little gadget, Li Zechuan would pick one up without a second thought and spend the evening at home taking it apart to figure out how it worked.

The two of them sprawled on the floor playing the crocodile dentist game, trying to find which tooth would snap the jaws shut. Whoever lost was responsible for the housework. Wen Xia lost the most often, and she refused to honor her debts — she would simply fling her arms around Li Zechuan’s neck, plant a kiss on him, and consider all household chores nullified.

Ever since Li Zechuan’s knee healed enough for him to stand for extended periods, he had not once let Wen Xia set foot in the kitchen. His exact words were: cooking smoke damages the skin, and a young lady ought to be looked after properly.

Wen Xia pressed her luck further, tilting her head back to look at him, asking: “Are you willing to look after me for the rest of our lives?”

Li Zechuan kissed her forehead and smiled. “I’ll look after you in the next life too!”

Scallions, ginger, and garlic sizzled in fragrant oil. A fresh crucian carp was laid into the pan, then bathed in a thick, glossy sauce. The range hood hummed its quiet, steady sound.

After all this time of recuperating, Li Zechuan had finally put on a bit of weight — but his waistline was still beautiful, lean and trim, with clean, fluid muscle.

Wen Xia wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. He turned his head to look at her. “Stand back a little. You’ll get splattered by the hot oil.”

Wen’er called to ask about Li Zechuan’s recovery, and deliberately drew his words out in a long, theatrical tone: “Oh, little mermaid of the sea — does every step you take feel like dancing on the edge of a blade?”

Li Zechuan was so infuriated he slammed the phone down on the spot. Wen Xia lay on the sofa laughing until she couldn’t stop.

The warmest kind of life — ordinary, yet moving in its own way.

Every time they returned from a walk, Wen Xia would dash ahead of Li Zechuan through the front door, then plant herself in the doorway and spread her arms wide: “A hug first — otherwise you’re not getting in!”

Li Zechuan, with one hand carrying the fruit they’d bought along the way, reached out with the other and hooked her around the waist, then slung her over his shoulder with absolute disregard for her protests. Wen Xia found herself upside down, the world spinning, her stomach pressing uncomfortably against his shoulder. She curled her hand into a fist and pounded furiously at his back. “You barbarian! Put me down!”

Li Zechuan tossed the bag of fruit casually aside, hoisted her on his shoulder, and set off toward the bedroom, laughing as he said: “My mountain stronghold happens to be short one chief consort. I’ve been observing this young lady, and I find your features most pleasing to my eye — come back with me and be wed!”

Wen Xia gave a haughty sniff. “You’ve been lording over this mountain for so many years — heaven knows how many fair-featured young ladies you’ve carried off to be your consort. I’d wager you’ve got several sons by now!”

Li Zechuan gave a soft laugh and said: “This mountain was claimed for you, and only you may set foot here. This wedding garment was made for you, and only you may wear it. The title of ‘Madame’ was prepared for you, and can only be bestowed upon your name. You are the one and only person I have ever had in my heart.”

The last words fell low and unhurried, carrying within them an immeasurable depth of feeling. Wen Xia’s face turned red all at once — from the tips of her ears down to her neck — as though she might catch fire.

That night, Wen Xia woke with a start in the middle of sleep. She had been dreaming — blood, and gunshots, and someone falling, never to rise again.

Tears surged from her without warning, silent and unrelenting. She bit down on the corner of her blanket and smothered every sound that tried to escape. Li Zechuan, half-asleep, instinctively opened his arms and drew her close. His fingertips grazed her cheek and found the dampness there.

“Was it a nightmare?” Li Zechuan felt for the bedside lamp and switched it on, then pulled Wen Xia into his arms and held her tight.

He patted her back, his voice and touch both very gentle. “Don’t be afraid. I’m right here.”

Wen Xia pressed her ear to Li Zechuan’s chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat — so fierce and alive. Tears fell onto his sleeping clothes, blooming into small, dark patches.

Li Zechuan understood. He kissed Wen Xia’s forehead and the crown of her head, his fingers sliding past the corners of her eyes, wiping away every trace of moisture.

He said: “Look — I’m here. I’m perfectly alright. Don’t be afraid anymore. It’s all behind us now.”

Wen Xia held him tightly, her voice broken and halting between sobs. “Next time — if there’s ever danger again — you have to take me with you. Let me face it alongside you. Don’t leave me behind alone. Please.”

Li Zechuan felt, somewhere distant, the sound of his own heart being torn open. The ache of it was more vivid than any bullet wound had ever been — sharp and bittersweet, trembling with something fragile.

Someone is aching for you. Someone loves you. Someone has given you every last depth of feeling they have in this lifetime.

He thought: Li Zechuan — what have you ever done to deserve a girl this wonderful? What fortune have you done to deserve this kind of luck?

Wen Xia cried until exhaustion claimed her, and she drifted gradually to sleep. Li Zechuan held her the whole time, patting her back — soothing her, cherishing her — sleepless through the night.

The starlight was dense and rich, falling in through the window like flecks of gold dust, casting a faint and shimmering glow.

What is love?

Love can slay dragons. Love can give a child warmth.

And my love — Li Zechuan gathered the loose strands of Wen Xia’s hair and tucked them behind her ear, pressing a kiss to the side of her face. My love is you.

Only you.

(3)

Wen Xia received the call from the unknown number one afternoon — three years had passed since Nie Xiaolin’s arrest.

A voice came through the receiver, tinged with a smile — low, and a little husky. He said: “It’s been a long time.”

Just those words, and Wen Xia recognized who it was. Song Qiyuan.

“Don’t be in a rush to hang up,” Song Qiyuan said, still smiling. “Inmates are allowed to make one call to family each month. I have no family — and no friends either. I’ve been in here all this time and never once made a call. I’ve been so desperate to talk to someone, which is why I found you. I don’t mean any harm. Truly.”

Wen Xia pressed her lips together and said nothing — but she didn’t hang up.

Song Qiyuan drew in a slow, deep breath, then let it out just as slowly. It sounded like a sigh. After a long pause, he finally spoke. “When I was seven, my mother and I saw my father off together. Cancer — by the time they found it, it was already too late. When I was nine, I saw my mother off alone. Right before the end, she held my hand and said she wanted an apple. There was no money in the house, so I could only look in the rubbish bins. It was winter, and snow was falling — bitterly cold. I finally found a half-green apple after searching for a long time. But when I brought it home, my mother was already gone. She had written a line on the wall: I’m sorry. Now you’re all on your own. I’ve never eaten apples since. But I like to keep one with me — as though I still have a mother.”

Song Qiyuan’s voice was quiet — husky, barely above a murmur. It didn’t feel like conversation. It felt like confession. He seemed to have anticipated that Wen Xia would not respond, and so he continued on his own. He said: From the moment I started trafficking pelts with Nie Xiaolin, I stopped visiting my parents’ graves. They were gentle, decent people when they were alive. I think they would hate me now.

The call was only ten minutes long. Song Qiyuan deliberately drew out each sentence, pausing after every line. In the silences, Wen Xia could hear both of them breathing. She thought of Song Qiyuan’s eyes — those peach-blossom eyes, with the teardrop mole at the corner, like a butterfly through fire: seductive, brilliant. She wondered what they looked like now.

Song Qiyuan seemed to be gesturing at something. He said: People who do bad things aren’t born carrying evil in their genes. They simply never encountered someone willing to teach them — to teach them how to be good.

A tone chimed through the receiver. Time was up. Song Qiyuan gave a faint, quiet laugh. “You really won’t say a single word to me after all this. You — how can anyone be as stubborn as you? Goodbye, little one.”

The call cut off abruptly. Nothing remained in the receiver but the dial tone. Wen Xia never asked how he had gotten her number. Song Qiyuan never told her how many years his sentence was, or when he might be released.

That word goodbye drifted alone in the air, and became a farewell that would never turn into a reunion.

Sunrise. At the place where sky met sea, it was as though flames were burning along the seam. A handful of sailors gathered to chat, murmuring amongst themselves about the photographer who had boarded their ship to film a whale conservation documentary.

He was very handsome, and not without a degree of fame — dedicated to the natural world and its wild creatures, having held multiple themed exhibitions that had caused quite a stir.

Word had it he once lived for a long time on the plateau, devoted to the Tibetan antelope. His leg injury was what had forced him to leave, returning to his camera and the work he’d done before.

His photography had a cold, spare quality to it — committed to capturing nature in its most unfiltered truth — yet every subject was tied to the idea of protection: protecting animals, protecting the blue planet, protecting the home we all share.

In the middle of their conversation, one of the sailors looked up and saw someone walking toward them against the light. He was very tall, wearing dark glasses, his features obscured by the brightness. The sea wind lifted the hem of his shirt, revealing a section of lean waist and long legs — and on one of those legs, a joint fashioned from metal.

Someone called out to him. “Li — we heard you’ve suddenly decided to pull out of the project. Is there some special work you have to attend to?”

The man removed his sunglasses, revealing features as precise and sharp as a painter’s reverse stroke. He smiled, his voice warm and pleasant, full of gentle feeling as he said: “My wife is expecting. I need to go home and look after her. The company will send a new photographer to take over my work. Wishing you all the very best!”

At the moment the sun rose fully above the horizon, the man brought his index-finger knuckle to his lips out of old habit and blew a sharp, piercing whistle. Countless seabirds took flight behind him in a great sweeping rush of wings. The morning sun fell like a blade across the sky. The world was vast and open.