(1)
“Combat Jacket” shot a glance, and two burly men lunged forward, wrenching Li Zechuan’s arms behind his back and pressing down on his neck and spine, forcing him to his knees once more.
This time, both knees hit the ground.
Li Zechuan’s close-cropped black hair was speckled with blood — droplets gathering at the tips before falling one by one.
The smell of blood drew vultures, circling at a great height, and somewhere in the distance came the faint howling of wild wolves, the landscape utterly desolate.
“Combat Jacket” retrieved the green apple that had fallen into the muddy puddle, his thumb slowly wiping away the filth. He adjusted the mask over his face, crouched in front of Li Zechuan, meeting his gaze at eye level, and said in a low, measured tone, “Do you admit defeat, Officer Li?”
Li Zechuan’s gaze lifted from below, bright and composed. He said, “I do.”
“Combat Jacket” gave a grunt, then delivered a sharp slap across Li Zechuan’s face, splitting the corner of his mouth, and said, “That’s hardly the attitude of someone admitting defeat, Officer Li.”
Li Zechuan spat out a mouthful of bloodied saliva and said, “What do you want?”
“Combat Jacket” removed his windproof goggles, revealing a pair of peach-blossom eyes — beautiful to the point of being unsettling — and said in a soft, tender voice, as though filled with affection, “Good with a gun, accurate with an arrow — and you think that makes you something special? Li Zechuan, get this straight: you’re nothing but a defeated soldier under my command. If it weren’t for that person insisting on sparing your life, you would have gone down alongside that stubborn old station chief at my hands a year ago. Understand? Pathetic wretch!”
At the words “that person,” Li Zechuan’s eyes shifted.
He recalled the battle in which the old station chief had sacrificed his life — he had used a shard of shattered lens glass to slash a poacher’s face. That man had also possessed a pair of dazzlingly beautiful peach-blossom eyes and spoke in a light, airy tone. What was that person’s name again…?
“Song Qiyuan?” Li Zechuan narrowed his eyes. “You’re Song Qiyuan! That person sent you to kill me?”
“That person told me to tell you — this is our territory. The other day, we had someone lead you deeper into the reserve. That was only a warning. Next time we meet, he won’t show mercy.” Song Qiyuan raised his hand and pressed it against the split corner of Li Zechuan’s mouth, forcing his fingertips into the flesh and grinding down hard.
Not a single muscle in Li Zechuan’s brow moved. He listened as Song Qiyuan’s muffled voice came through the mask: “Li Zechuan, you were born steeped in sin — scum, garbage, the kind that can never be washed clean. Even if you put on a human skin, you’re still nothing decent. As long as that person exists, you and I are no different. Rather than hurting each other, why not join forces? Don’t be at odds with money — think it over.”
Song Qiyuan rose to his feet, and the men behind him immediately moved in, driving a fist into Li Zechuan’s chest.
Muddy water sprayed up from the hem of his clothes, obscuring the sharpness in his expression and eyes.
More fists came raining down. Li Zechuan had no way to dodge — he could only shield his vital areas. His gaze cut steadily through the hail of blows and fixed itself on Song Qiyuan’s back. He watched as Song Qiyuan tossed the half-green apple idly in his hand and walked toward Wen Xia.
Song Qiyuan stopped a single step away from Wen Xia and waved off the man who had been restraining her. Wen Xia clutched her clothing tighter around herself and stumbled half a step backward as though drained of strength, yet she did not fall. Her face was deathly pale, but her eyes were dark and luminous — the alternating light and shadow between them drawing out a kind of brilliant, vivid charm.
Song Qiyuan clicked his tongue, pulled down his mask, exhaled a breath, brought two fingers together and tilted Wen Xia’s chin upward, studying her expression carefully. He said, “Aren’t you afraid? Or perhaps you simply don’t believe I’ll strip off your clothes and toss you to my brothers?”
It was the first time Wen Xia had seen Song Qiyuan’s face clearly. She thought to herself — that was a face she would never forget for the rest of her life.
Peach-blossom eyes. Heavy brows. A teardrop mole at the corner of each eye — extraordinarily seductive, like a butterfly passing through. A round ring stud through one nostril. A naturally refined and delicate appearance, yet because his gaze burned too intensely, he gave off a wild, untamed edge.
If Li Zechuan was a leopard — patient for a thousand days, biding his time before striking — then Song Qiyuan was more like an eagle: carefree in the spread of his wings, unrestrained and willful.
Song Qiyuan’s gloves carried a thick smell of blood — Li Zechuan’s blood, frozen solid in his grip.
Wen Xia lowered her eyes and said hoarsely, “It’s not that I’m not afraid — it’s that I see no need to be. Besides stripping women of their clothes, what else can you do? If you have the guts, let Li Zechuan go and fight him openly and fairly — let’s see who the real winner is in the end!”
Song Qiyuan let out a short laugh, turned toward Li Zechuan, who was still being beaten, and said, “This girl has some fire in her. I want to take her back and play around for a couple of days — you don’t mind, do you?”
The instant Song Qiyuan turned his head, the light in Wen Xia’s eyes dimmed. She seized Song Qiyuan’s hand and bit down viciously on his wrist. Her teeth broke the skin and drove into the flesh — she used every ounce of strength in her body, as though she meant to tear off a chunk.
Song Qiyuan had not been prepared. He let out a low growl of pain, and with a shake of his arm, sent Wen Xia — who had been hanging from his wrist — flying.
Wen Xia paid no attention to her disheveled state. She took advantage of the motion to lunge forward, crashing through the men surrounding Li Zechuan, and spread her arms wide, covering him with her body.
Her lips brushed past the corner of his mouth. When she looked at him, her eyes held a quiet, steady gaze.
In the chaos, she reached out and found his hand, fingers interlacing with his, gripping tight.
God entrusts the world’s peace to you. Entrust yourself to me, and let me protect you.
You see — I didn’t lie to you. I truly did it.
The change happened too fast. Song Qiyuan’s men were caught completely off guard. Li Zechuan swiftly pulled Wen Xia beneath him and rolled with her out of the encirclement, drawing the revolver strapped to his calf. The bullets were few — he could only aim for ankles — and the men closest to him paid the price immediately.
At the same moment, wave after wave of wolf howls crashed against their eardrums, rising and falling, filling the sky in every direction.
The howling was no longer distant and low — it was right in their ears, one cry after another, ahead and behind, left and right, inescapable.
One of Song Qiyuan’s men spun around abruptly and came face to face with a pair of eyes that blazed red-gold, a snarl of sharp fangs launched straight at his face — ripping away flesh and skin in one tearing bite!
Wolves!
In broad daylight — they had stumbled upon a wolf pack!
Blood-curdling screams pierced the sky. Several of the men had their courage shattered, and they howled out: “Qi-ge, let’s retreat! There are vehicle shadows up ahead — must be this guy’s backup coming back! People are one thing, but wolves are terrifying!”
Song Qiyuan grabbed a gun from one of his men, shot away a wolf that had lunged at him, and was the first to jump into the driver’s seat. The others scrambled after him, half-rolling, half-climbing in.
One man still wasn’t ready to give up — he raised his gun barrel and took aim at the back of Wen Xia’s skull. Song Qiyuan struck him across the face with the back of his hand, knocking him aside, then flicked open a lighter and hurled it toward the Jeep that Li Zechuan had arrived in.
Song Qiyuan leaned out of the half-lowered window, rapped his knuckles against the glass, and called out with a grin, “A little welcome gift for you both — no need to thank me!”
The Jeep’s hood was open. The lighter fell directly inside. The moment the flame leapt up, Song Qiyuan fired a precise shot, blowing out the fuel line.
“The lamb! The lamb is still in the car!” Wen Xia tried to break free from under Li Zechuan and charge toward it.
“Don’t go! There’s no time!”
Li Zechuan roared, slamming Wen Xia down onto the ground with tremendous force.
His voice had barely faded when there came a thunderous boom — a small black mushroom cloud billowed up above the Jeep, and the vehicle was engulfed in a massive fireball amid the explosion, a wave of scorching heat sweeping over them.
A newborn Tibetan antelope calf. Brown-yellow fur. Ears and limbs still soft and downy. No horns yet on its small head. It had never seen humans before, and did not know to be afraid — it had looked out at the world with a pair of wide, liquid eyes, innocent and pure.
Its mother had given everything to bring it into the world, using her own body as its shield, hoping it would survive in peace.
The color of the flames burned itself into Wen Xia’s eyes, searing them until they ached. The wind carried the smell of blood and gunpowder. She felt a dull, suffocating pain in her chest — so heavy she could barely breathe.
Such gentle lives, living on the most barren of lands, enduring every trial and torment that nature could throw at them, asking for nothing more than a peaceful existence — why did they still have to suffer this?
Why…
“Ah—”
Wen Xia broke into ragged, uncontrollable sobs in Li Zechuan’s arms, her whole body trembling.
Something tore through her soul and was reborn in the ashes.
Li Zechuan held her and spread his fingers wide, covering her eyes with his hand.
Since the moment they had met, this was the first time he had held her with such force — as though he meant to reach through the barrier of flesh and blood, and pour into her the most scorching of his strength.
Wolves are nocturnal creatures, ill-suited to moving in daylight. They appeared swiftly and vanished swiftly, taking even the body of their fallen companion with them. Among them, one was especially massive — a notch cut from the tip of one ear, a ring of pale blue-white bristles around its neck, striking and magnificent. It stood at the high ground, head raised in a long, resonant howl — deep and clear, splitting the clouds, rolling across the wilderness.
Li Zechuan turned his head. Man and wolf locked eyes. The wild wolf shook the pale blue-white fur at its neck, then turned and disappeared into the vast expanse of yellow sand.
(2)
The Hummer came thundering back on the dying echo of the wolves’ howls. Ke Lie reached out and hauled Li Zechuan to his feet, swept his gaze around the scene, and said in furious exasperation, “Let me go after them — I’ll make sure not a single one gets away!”
Song Qiyuan’s kick had been no small blow — it had cracked Li Zechuan’s collarbone. He sprayed on some antiseptic, fashioned a simple external brace from the bandages in the first aid kit, and said, “They came fully prepared — more weapons and more men than us. There may even be an ambush waiting. Chasing after them would only walk us into a trap. You two — someone give me a piece of clothing.”
Nuobu pulled off his own outer jacket and handed it over. Li Zechuan took the jacket and draped it over Wen Xia’s shoulders.
The two of them had just rolled through the muddy shallows and were both covered in filth. Wen Xia glanced at him, then buried her face in the jacket without crying, without speaking — dazed as though in shock.
“That herdsman bolted halfway!” Ke Lie said through gritted teeth. “He made an excuse to get out of the car before we even reached Ankang County. I had Nuobu follow him, and he was lost.”
Nuobu said meekly, “I’m sorry, Sang Ji-ge.”
“Drawing the tiger away from the mountain — it was all a scheme from the night we caught ‘Cotton Overcoat.'” Li Zechuan leaned against the Hummer’s door and let out a long exhale. “I suspect the Jeep’s clutch was also sabotaged by that herdsman, but the evidence is gone now. This fight — we lost badly. The vehicle’s gone. The calf is gone. We almost lost people too. When today’s mission gets written up as a report, Station Chief Ma is going to tear me apart.”
The Jeep had burned down to a bare frame — impossible to tell whether human hands had been involved.
Ke Lie slammed his fist against the car window, his eyes blazing red. “Those animals!”
“Indeed — all animals.” Li Zechuan retrieved the push dagger that had fallen into the mud, hung it between his fingers, and gripped it tightly.
The blade caught the dim, amber light of dusk. He said slowly, “People who carry hell in their hearts deserve to return to hell. Not a single one of those men can be let go. If someone must pay the price for this, then let the banner be raised upon my corpse — a lasting warning to all those who bring ruin to living things.”
Li Zechuan’s words burned into Wen Xia’s ears like sparks. She raised her head, her eyes moving with effort, and settled into a long, deep gaze fixed on him.
Single-edged eyelids, sharp as a blade’s edge. A faint notch at the outer corner of one brow — like a broken line — lending his face a fiercely striking kind of handsomeness. He never preached and never lectured — he simply went out and acted on every word he said, one by one.
If this place needs a banner, then let it be raised upon my corpse. Let my life be the warning.
“Li Zechuan.”
Wen Xia called his name. Li Zechuan turned, and their gazes met.
From the moment Song Qiyuan had appeared, Li Zechuan had not looked at Wen Xia’s face once — he had kept his eyes lowered the entire time, as though avoiding her.
Wen Xia’s gaze was quiet. In that instant she seemed to have grown years older — utterly unlike the girl in his memory who had chased after an aloof and brilliant senior student wherever he went.
She said, “Do you have a cigarette left? Give me one.”
Li Zechuan dug out the cigarette pack from his pocket — it had been soaked through by the muddy water. He pulled out one that was relatively dry, bit it between his own lips to light it, then knelt halfway down and held it out to her.
Wen Xia sat leaning against the Hummer’s wheel, drew in a deep drag with the help of his hand — and the nicotine hit her lungs, burning and raw.
“Why won’t you look at me?” Wen Xia cupped his face in her hands, and through the veil of smoke she looked into his eyes. Gently she said, “Is it because you couldn’t protect me when it mattered?”
Li Zechuan crushed the cigarette — ember and all — in his closed fist. He raised his eyes. His gaze was still. His single-edged lids were fine and slim, their arc curved like a swallow’s tail — an uncommonly beautiful thing.
“Only the weak need protecting,” Wen Xia continued. “And I — don’t need it. You and I are equals.”
Remember that: we are equals. From the moment I came here, I prepared myself for the very worst.
Nuobu had already dug a fire trench around the wreckage, cutting off the spread of the blaze. Li Zechuan stood in a daze for a long moment, as though turning something over in his mind. Then, without warning, he reached out, grabbed Wen Xia by the collar, and pressed her down to her knees at the edge of the trench. He turned, pulled the handgun from Ke Lie’s holster, and pressed it against Wen Xia’s skull.
Before her was the searing heat of the flames. Behind her was the black mouth of a gun barrel.
Nuobu’s face changed color. “Sang Ji-ge,” he called out urgently.
Li Zechuan ignored him. His index finger rested on the trigger, his voice low and heavy: “Are you afraid? Having a gun pressed to your head isn’t a pleasant feeling, is it? Tell me — before guns and fire, who isn’t the weak? Poachers won’t spare your life just because you’re brave. Heaven won’t give you better luck just because you have more courage than others. Life is something to be treasured — seeking death doesn’t make you a hero. All the time you spend talking big would be better spent learning how to keep yourself alive!”
“I told you — you cannot frighten me!” Wen Xia suddenly raised her hand and gripped the gun barrel pressing against the back of her skull. Li Zechuan immediately pulled back and stepped away.
Wen Xia stood up. Her eyes seemed to hold something white-hot — a burning edge that swept across his face. “Why did you step back? Afraid the gun would go off? If I were you, I’d put a bullet right through Wen Xia’s head, carry her body back, and blame it on the poachers — or call it an accident, a stray bullet. The situation out here is so unusual, no one would dig deeper into it. From then on, no one would follow you around everywhere. No one would pester you anymore. What a perfect plan!”
“Do you think I wouldn’t dare?” Li Zechuan raised his hand slowly, the gun barrel aimed directly between Wen Xia’s brows.
“Then shoot!”
The corner of Wen Xia’s mouth curved, but her expression was cold. She grabbed Li Zechuan by the collar and bit down savagely on his collarbone — the part wrapped in bandages.
Li Zechuan’s collarbone was slightly cracked, the skin swollen and red. The bite was excruciating. Yet he did not struggle — not even a flicker of his brow — and let Wen Xia tear and bite at him as though venting something.
Something cold and wet fell on his skin.
Tears? Was she crying?
Li Zechuan’s heart gave a sharp jolt — as though something had slammed hard against it — and a bone-deep ache radiated outward.
He dropped the gun. In the howling wind, he locked his hand around the back of Wen Xia’s head and pulled her into his arms, speaking each word with deliberate weight: “Bite all you want — go ahead. When you’ve had your fill, go home like a good girl. This place isn’t for you. If you truly care for me, then listen to me.”
“I’m not leaving.” Wen Xia lifted her head from his chest, her eyes rimmed with red — but the light in them blazed like torches. “You’ve always treated me like a child, as though every decision I make is just a whim, a moment of impulsiveness, a little tantrum. Then I’ll prove it to you in my own way — every single time I’ve said ‘I like you,’ none of it has been empty words.”
The two of them stood facing each other for a long time through the howling wind, as though they meant to look clean through the shells of each other’s bodies and lay bare the truth of what lay inside. After a long silence, Li Zechuan was the first to look away. He called to Ke Lie and Nuobu, told them to clean up the scene, and got in the car to head back. As he turned away, his eyes were a storm of churning dust and scattered motion.
His heartbeat had gone unsteady. His gaze had, too.
On the way back, Wen Xia and Li Zechuan sat in the rear seat. Heedless of the others’ presence, she stubbornly pressed herself into his arms — like a small creature desperate for warmth.
Li Zechuan let out a sigh, tugged open his jacket zipper, and wrapped Wen Xia snugly inside, then closed his eyes with her to rest.
Ke Lie drove. Nuobu sat in the passenger seat. Neither man so much as let his peripheral vision drift toward the back.
After some indeterminate stretch of time, Wen Xia suddenly said, “I understand now what that sentence means.”
Li Zechuan opened his eyes and looked down at her.
Wen Xia didn’t move, still lying with her eyes closed, her head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and said slowly, “‘I came to this place to escape; staying here — that’s not why.’ I understand now. I came here for you, but now, it’s not only for you that I’m staying. Song Qiyuan owes me a life. He’ll have to give it back.”
Li Zechuan said nothing. His gaze passed through the car window and out into the landscape beyond — the eternally unchanged, desolate scenery.
Desert sands like snow, a moon above Yanshan like a hook.
Wen Xia shifted slightly and said in a tone of mild complaint, “It’s so cold. Hold me tighter.”
Not a plea — a demand. The easy, unreserved tone of two people long settled into each other’s lives.
Nuobu finally couldn’t hold it in — he laughed out loud. Li Zechuan lifted his foot and kicked the back of the passenger seat. A moment later, he tightened his arms and pulled Wen Xia closer.
Ke Lie glanced at the numbers on the dashboard and said, “What about those wolves? I saw paw prints on the ground.”
“On a previous mission, I came across a wolf pup wedged in a rock crevice — no telling how long it had been stuck there, nearly lifeless.” Li Zechuan said. “I pried the rocks apart and pulled it out, gave it a little oxygen from an oxygen bag. The mother wolf was watching from a distance the whole time. She only led her pup away once I got it breathing again.”
Ke Lie clicked his tongue. “The mother wolf came back to repay the debt?”
“It wasn’t the mother wolf.” Li Zechuan peeled open a mint candy and tucked it under his tongue. “The wolf pup grew up and became the pack’s leader, and came back to repay what it owed. I recognized it by the notch on its ear.”
Even wolves know to repay a debt — and yet what have people done to this land…
Ke Lie gave a low “hmm” — neutral, impossible to read.
(3)
Though they had intended only to rest with closed eyes, Wen Xia ended up truly falling asleep.
When the car pulled into the protection station, Li Zechuan opened the door first and stepped out, then reached back and gave Wen Xia’s shoulder a push. “Wake up.”
Wen Xia blinked open her eyes in a drowsy haze. Seeing Li Zechuan standing there, she wasn’t sure if she was still dreaming. With all the guilelessness of a small child, she stretched out her hand, her voice soft and blurry: “My legs have gone numb. Carry me.”
It was still light out, and a handful of people were gathered in the yard. They immediately burst into excited shouts and wolf-whistles. Lian Kai took the lead in goading him along: “Carry her! What kind of man doesn’t carry her?”
Li Zechuan felt a laugh bubbling up despite his irritation. He shrugged off his jacket and hoisted Wen Xia straight up onto his shoulder, slinging her across like a sack.
Wen Xia felt the world spin violently — blood rushed to her head, her vision going dark at the edges — and she hollered indignantly, “Li Zechuan, were you raised on spinach or what?!”
That outburst brought another wave of laughter from the yard.
An old truck sat parked in the yard, and perched atop it was a figure wrapped in a worn leather robe — a full, unkempt beard on his face, skin weathered and dark, hair shot through with gray, as disheveled as his beard. He bit open the stopper of a wine bladder and took a long pull of spirits, then let loose a song into the wind—
A true man fights until his name rings out A true man works until his deeds stand out A true man must answer to his father and mother A true man must be his nation’s pillar and stone
The voice was rough and resonant, like wind splitting the open wilderness. The moment the bearded man opened his throat, every man in the yard — sitting, standing — joined in, their coarse voices merging into a river that surged through the ears, carrying the most primal force and heat—
A true man must answer to his father and mother A true man must be his nation’s pillar and stone
Wen Xia, draped over Li Zechuan’s back, asked quietly, “Who is that?”
Before Li Zechuan could answer, the man on the truck roof let out a belch from the spirits and said, “That young one — come here, let me take a look. Seems like your face has taken some knocks?”
Li Zechuan carried Wen Xia over and called up, “Just a graze from a wolf’s paw — nothing serious!”
The bearded man beckoned with a hand. “Come closer.”
Li Zechuan stepped in another pace, and the instant he looked up, a cold splash of spirits came pouring down — landing squarely on the wound at the corner of his mouth, burning fiercely — pain and exhilaration in equal measure.
Li Zechuan made no move to dodge it. He took the stream of spirits and wiped his face and hair with it, his close-cropped hair dampened and gleaming like black jade, and called out clearly, “My thanks, Third Master!”
The bearded man gave a grunt. He had a pair of eyes like bronze bells — wide open now — and fixed them steadily on Li Zechuan’s face. Slowly he said, “Wolves are good things — teeth like iron, spirit like fire, running in packs, closing in, never backing down until they draw blood. But can a man who stands tall on his own two feet be brought low by a few wolf whelps?! If the teeth are hard — break those teeth! If the spirit is fierce — take up your gun stock and smash their spine, smash until they cough blood, smash until they fear, and see what kind of waves they’ll dare to make after that!”
Though Li Zechuan had a full-grown person slung across his shoulder, his back was still ramrod straight. He gave a short laugh: “Third Master, rest easy — every last one of those vermin that ravages the grasslands and slaughters the flocks won’t get away!”
The bearded man narrowed his eyes and broke into a grin, showing a set of fine white teeth. “Go on then — don’t keep the young lady waiting too long!”
That remark set off another round of laughter across the yard, punctuated by a particularly loud jeer: “Be gentle with her!”
Li Zechuan swung his arm up and the push dagger — blade bright as snow — went straight for that man’s face, hammering half an inch into the ground with a solid thud.
The man took it without the slightest offense and roared with laughter instead.
The yard came alive again — Lian Kai had broken down his gun and was wiping and caring for it with an oiled cloth; Zhaxi was lifting an enormous old tire above his head to train his arm strength, his long-sleeved leather robe knotted at his waist, bare-chested in the north wind’s bitter bite; Yuanbao was yapping and scrounging against everyone’s trouser legs for scraps…
Pure, concentrated spirit — boisterous and scorching — gathered here into one heady draft that struck at the chest and lungs.
Amid the crowd’s uproarious laughter, Li Zechuan slung Wen Xia inside and deposited her at the dormitory entrance. She had been jostled so badly her lower abdomen ached, and the moment her feet hit the ground her legs nearly gave way — she jabbed a finger at his nose and called him a savage.
Li Zechuan unclipped a shark knife from his belt and held it out to her. “Keep this on your person. For your life.”
The shark knife’s blade was razor-sharp, paired with a leather sheath — a handsome thing. Engraved into the handle were a few letters: Magnus.
Wen Xia caught it out of the air and gave the knife a few swings — and genuinely looked like she knew what she was doing.
Li Zechuan leaned with his back against the iron-sheet wall of the painted steel building, glanced at her, and suddenly laughed — a low sound. “Had training?”
“I trained before I came.” Wen Xia reversed her grip on the knife, her eyes bright and alive. “When I found out you were in Kekexili, I did physical conditioning training on my own as well — Muay Thai, karate, and Gracie Jiu-Jitsu.”
“Karate?” Li Zechuan laughed — there was something a little mocking in it. His single-edged eyelids arched up into a fine, precise line as he looked at Wen Xia coolly. “This is a business of life and death, not the same as drilling fancy forms in a martial arts hall. If you want to survive out here, go find Lian Kai and Ke Lie. Those two are the real thing — let them teach you.”
Wen Xia very much wanted to snap back with “so you’ve given up on chasing me off,” but the mood between them just then was too right for such a remark, and the words wouldn’t come. She simply nodded and said, “Understood.”
A stretch of silence fell between them. Li Zechuan made no move to leave, just dug out a half-smoked cigarette from his pocket, lit it with his lighter, and took a drag.
Wen Xia watched his eyes through the drifting haze of smoke, turned something over in her mind for a while, and found a topic that wouldn’t touch on either of their raw spots. “That Third Master — who is he? You all seem to respect him deeply.”
Li Zechuan seemed to have known she would ask this all along. He tilted his head back and blew out a smoke ring. “Have you heard of the Bull Strike Force? A self-funded, armed unit organized to combat the poaching of Tibetan antelopes, formed before the Kekexili Nature Reserve was officially established. For a long stretch of time, that unit was the guardian of this land.”
Self-funded, armed, fighting under extreme hardship — with a few dozen men and a handful of guns, they carved a bloody road forward, becoming known across the world.
They were a group of truly formidable men — bones harder than patterned steel, with a love for spirits, for guns, and for great cuts of bone-in beef and mutton. Beneath their rough exteriors lay dark, heavy gazes; they bellowed words that rang like steel strikes — fight to the death against poaching!
“Third Master and his two sons were once members of the Bull Strike Force. His sons fell one after another in battle. His wife died of illness. Only he was left.” Li Zechuan’s expression lay behind a pale blue veil of smoke — cold and sharp, like a blade tempered in fire.
He paused, then continued: “After the Bull Strike Force was disbanded, Third Master chose to stay on with the administration as a temporary worker. Suonan Baohuzhan sits in a no-man’s-land — scarce freshwater, scarce food, scarce manpower — scarce everything. Third Master drives that old truck out to supply the station with provisions. He’s been doing it for over a decade. No official status, low pay, eating and sleeping on the road — none of that matters to him. Third Master says that’s not what he cares about. For whatever years he has left, he has only one wish: that Kekexili will never again hear the sound of gunfire, and that those who gave their lives may finally rest in peace. That was the old station chief’s wish, too.”
Wen Xia suddenly felt her eyes grow hot — for all those people who asked nothing in return and gave everything with a whole and sincere heart.
The sky grew gradually darker. The wind picked up.
Wen Xia pulled her jacket tight and stood alongside Li Zechuan, and heard him let out a quiet, faint sigh.
Li Zechuan said, “If it were possible, I would wish for a world with no heroes — where everyone lived peacefully at home and died peacefully of old age. But reality is never so kind. Where greed and desire lead some to take reckless risks, others must step forward and choose to fight. I carry on what Third Master and the old station chief built — I am not the first, and I will not be the last.”
Wen Xia reached out and found Li Zechuan’s hand, gripping it firmly, and said, “I’ve got hold of you. No one gets to take you from my side — not even death.”
Li Zechuan let out a short laugh. In profile, the moonlight gave his face a kind of soft handsomeness. This time, he did not pull free of her. He said lightly, “You’re just stubborn — you like wearing me down. One day you’ll regret it.”
Wen Xia said nothing more, and began softly humming a melody of gentle, flowing beauty.
In a world muffled by wind, high above, an eagle swept past, wings spread wide and free.
Li Zechuan heard Wen Xia’s voice — she was singing softly beside his ear—
Perhaps when I say farewell I shall not return Do you understand, do you truly know Perhaps when I fall I shall not rise again Will you still wait for me, on and on forever If this is so, do not grieve On the flag of the Republic flies the glory our blood has painted
Li Zechuan suddenly felt his eyes burn hot, and there was pain in his chest — like a knife’s edge. He hadn’t felt this in a very long time. Not since his mother…
He drew in a deep breath of Kekexili’s crisp, cold air, and stood beside Wen Xia, listening as she continued to sing—
Perhaps my eyes will never open again Do you understand the feelings I keep in silence Perhaps I shall sleep and never wake Do you believe I have become the mountains If this is so, do not grieve In the soil of the Republic lies the love we have given
…
That evening, Wen Xia’s eyes remained bright all along — not a trace of the fragility and helplessness of someone who had just scraped past the gates of death. She held Li Zechuan around the waist, head resting on his shoulder, and the sound of their two heartbeats merged together in perfect, wordless harmony.
She said, “I used to hear people complain that today’s young people are no good — chasing profit, abandoning principle, long past knowing what belief even is. But seeing you, seeing all of you, I know those people were wrong. The world is vast, and all kinds of people live in it. Some drift through life in mediocrity. Others burn with an unextinguished sincerity. Li Zechuan — your choice is the right one. Keep going. I’ll be with you.”
Li Zechuan’s throat moved. His eyes seemed to hold something like starlight — flickering, luminous. Wen Xia held him tighter and said, “You’re not a madman, and you’re not a monster. You’re a very good person — someone worthy of being loved.”
If one day your eyes can no longer open, I will understand your heart — your faith.
With me here, you will never be alone.
(4)
In the farthest corner of the protection station sat a small room used for bathing. It was fitted with a water heater, but the voltage was unstable, and fresh water was scarce, so there was no way to have hot water around the clock. Bathing meant moving quickly — and timing it right.
The sensation of hot water cascading over his body made him feel heavy with exhaustion. Li Zechuan simply turned the cold tap all the way open. Streams of icy water, carrying the raw ferocity of the wind, hammered against his skin — leaving him shuddering violently for a stretch — but it snapped him wide awake, almost exhilarated.
In the mist-blurred world of the shower, he thought of the moment Wen Xia had crashed through the barrier and thrown her arms around him — her soft lips brushing past the corner of his mouth, her eyes holding a quiet, steady gaze.
She hadn’t put it into words, but he understood. She had been protecting him.
God entrusts the world’s peace to you. Entrust yourself to me — I will protect you.
He had at first believed it nothing more than a momentary burst of spirited loyalty. Yet she was putting it into practice with everything she had.
Li Zechuan braced both hands against the wall, head hung low. The muscles along his back were taut — cross-hatched with scars, tracing out clean, lean lines. He had always been exceptionally well-built: broad shoulders, a narrow waist, long legs, lean muscle laid over the frame — upright and striking.
His mind went back to the darkest stretch of his life, when every gaze that landed on him carried suspicion.
The professor who had most admired him had suggested he undergo a psychiatric evaluation or psychological intervention. Classmates whispered behind his back — calling him a madman, someone with violent tendencies, a creature unable to control himself.
Those voices, those rumors, had cut into him like knives, flaying him piece by piece. He had no recourse but to become ever colder, ever more closed off.
Time had passed. When he had thought he could finally accept those judgments in peace, one person had stepped in front of him and said: You’re not a madman, and you’re not a monster. You’re a very good person — someone worthy of being loved.
The cold water hammered down like a downpour. Li Zechuan felt a soft exhale move through him — I underestimated you. Just how many more surprises and shocks do you intend to bring me…
Li Zechuan dressed and stepped out, his hair still damp. He found Lian Kai sitting on the small step at the doorway, a cigarette hanging from his lip, its ember glowing a deep crimson point.
Li Zechuan shook the half-wet hair from his face, stuffed his towel into his trouser pocket, and settled down beside Lian Kai. He fished out a cigarette, bit it between his lips, and said, “Ke Lie already briefed you, didn’t he?”
No lights around them. The lighter flared — like a star cupped in the hand.
Lian Kai studied him for a long moment, then said, “Ke Lie says you were off today — frightened a girl out of her wits, acting all worked up. He’s worried about your state of mind and asked me to have a word with you.”
Li Zechuan laughed. “Nothing that dramatic — that surname-Ke man likes to file false reports!”
Lian Kai also laughed. “Tell me — what’s actually going through your head?”
“I’m doing it for her own good.” Li Zechuan exhaled a smoke ring, and there was something soft woven into his voice. “You saw her too — she’s too impulsive, all feeling and no restraint. I’m genuinely afraid she’ll throw her life away for my sake, and that’s not worth it. I need her to arrive here safe and leave here safe, with absolutely no accidents in between.”
Lian Kai clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Da Chuan, the burden on your shoulders is already heavy enough — you can’t keep adding more weight.”
“This isn’t a burden.” Li Zechuan narrowed his eyes, the cigarette pinched between his fingers, its ember glowing a deep red point. “It’s a responsibility. She came here for me — that makes her my responsibility. I can’t let her come to harm right under my nose. Once is enough for today.”
Lian Kai’s gaze turned teasing. “First time I’ve ever seen you put this much thought into another person. That Wen girl has a certain something about her.”
A drawn-out sigh — at once suggestive and shameless.
Li Zechuan gave him a look of helpless resignation and wisely steered away from the subject. “The herdsman who pointed the way disappeared somewhere in Ankang County. There’s most likely a temporary waystation for the poaching ring inside that town. I plan to go have a look, meet up with an informant I planted there before — maybe turn up some leads.”
“Fair enough.” Lian Kai thought for a moment. “Those two Khampa men we caught earlier — the ones who shot the wild yak — Zhaxi and I have been taking turns interrogating them. They’re holding firm to the original account and won’t say anything more. Nothing else prohibited was found in the vehicle. We can only send them to the Ge’ermu Public Security branch tomorrow, notify the family, and proceed with detention and a fine.”
“Wild yak — a vulnerable species, first-class protected animal — just like that, one fewer.” Li Zechuan felt a bitter taste in his chest and said quietly, “Today it’s a yak, a Tibetan antelope, a lynx, a snow leopard — and who will it be tomorrow? Someday it’ll come around to humans as well. I stayed once at an old hunter’s home. He said his family had hunted for generations — rabbits, wild donkeys, all of it — but they never went near a birthing ground, never raised a hand against a pregnant female. There’s a Tibetan saying: Leave a thread of flame, and those who come after will have something to eat. Drain the pond to catch the fish and you harm not only yourself — you harm every generation that follows.”
Lian Kai pressed a hand down firmly on Li Zechuan’s shoulder and held it there. “Compared to what things were like before the reserve was established, things are already so much better. Even the herdsmen have come to understand the importance of protecting animals and the environment — at the first sign of anything, they report it to the station straightaway, giving poachers no opening. Don’t lose heart. The old station chief is gone, but there are still you and me — and after you and me, there will be more who step forward and choose to protect. One day, this land will never hear the sound of gunfire again.”
The night sky over Tibetan country blazed with stars, washed clean and clear — mirroring the shadows of those who had given their lives.
Li Zechuan leaned back on both hands, propped against the step behind him, his eyes deep in color, the faint break at the outer corner of his brow lending the whole of his face a razor-keen edge.
Wen Xia’s sleep that night was far from peaceful. She piled her jacket and cotton coat on top of the quilt and burrowed underneath — and still felt cold. Her head throbbed, the back of her skull pulsing steadily.
Dujuan, the woman sharing the room with her, was the station’s support staff — she had come far from home to settle here, and her husband worked as an auto mechanic in Ge’ermu. Dujuan got up and poured Wen Xia a cup of hot water, then gave her a hot water bottle to hold against herself. Wen Xia was so dizzy and drained she couldn’t even muster the energy to say thank you.
When full daylight came, she was jolted awake by knocking at the door. Nuobu’s voice came from outside, urgent and anxious: “Xiao Xia-jie, are you there?”
When she sat up, her head spun so hard she nearly knocked it on the edge of the table. Wen Xia forced herself to pull together, dressed, and opened the door. Nuobu’s face was full of distress: “Xiao Xia-jie, come quickly.”
In the reception room sat an elderly woman in Tibetan dress, a child of one or two years old cradled in her arms. Beside her stood a younger woman, also in Tibetan dress — a slight swell of abdomen visible beneath the apron she wore in front, still carrying a pregnancy.
On the way there, Nuobu had hurriedly filled Wen Xia in. Of the two men caught killing wild yaks, one was named Ciren. Ciren’s mother had brought her daughter-in-law, Cuomu, to the protection station to plead for his release, saying that with no man in the household, widows and orphans had no way to get by.
Wen Xia pressed her throbbing temples and asked Nuobu, “Where is Li Zechuan?”
Nuobu’s expression turned helpless. “Station Chief Ma has gone out for a meeting. Sang Ji-ge and Lian Kai left at first light to escort those two Khampa men to the Ge’ermu Forestry Police branch. Ke Lie and Zhaxi have gone to collect several newly assigned volunteers — all out on the road. There’s no one at the station. I really can’t deal with women, so I could only come find you.”
Neither of the two women spoke Chinese — they could only fix their eyes, heavy with worry, on Wen Xia’s face. Wen Xia’s scalp prickled. She shifted her gaze to the child in the old woman’s arms.
The child was just over a year old, bundled in a cashmere padded jacket, round as a little ball, eyes wide and glistening, cheeks flushed with the vivid red patches that come from living at high altitude.
Wen Xia reached out and touched the child’s forehead — sure enough, burning with fever.
Wen Xia tugged at Nuobu’s sleeve and said, “Tell them the child is running a fever — they need to get her to a hospital right away. If it turns into pneumonia, that’s serious trouble.”
Nuobu exchanged a few sentences in Tibetan with the old woman, then turned back to Wen Xia. “She says there’s no man at home, no one who can drive, and they don’t know the way. Save the child, she says, and you have to release her son first.”
Wen Xia was furious enough to slam the table, but she gritted her teeth and held it back. She said to Nuobu, “What’s the nearest hospital, and how far is it? How long would it take to drive?”
“There’s nothing for miles around here. The nearest large hospital is in Quma Township — just follow National Highway 109 all the way and you’d reach it in two or three hours.” At that point Nuobu suddenly caught on, and said in alarm, “Xiao Xia-jie — you’re not thinking of taking them to the hospital yourself, are you? That won’t do, that won’t do at all — it’s too dangerous!”
“What’s dangerous about it? National Highway 109 has plenty of traffic. Are you afraid I’ll run into wolves?” Wen Xia zipped up her shell jacket. “I’ll take the satellite phone and stay in contact with the station the whole time.”
Nuobu said, “Let me go — I know the way.”
Wen Xia knocked him on the head with her knuckles. “Li Zechuan, Lian Kai, Ke Lie, Zhaxi — all sent out. You’re the only man left at the station. If you leave too, what happens to those girls here? Don’t worry — it’s a two or three hour drive at most. Want to see my driver’s license?”
Only one vehicle remained in the garage — a moderately old Dongfeng off-road truck. Both the accelerator and brake were in good condition. Nuobu was still trying to dissuade her, but Wen Xia had already driven it out and parked it at the reception room entrance.
Before helping the elderly woman into the car, Wen Xia called Nuobu over and said, “Tell them: the entire purpose of this protection station is to punish poaching. Her son did something wrong, and being penalized for it is exactly as it should be. But even if the men in their family have done wrong, if they — as relatives — run into trouble, the protection station will not stand by and do nothing. Don’t say another word about releasing the son in exchange for saving the child. The child — we will save. The man who committed the crime — the law will deal with him.”
Nuobu translated Wen Xia’s words into Tibetan for the two women. The daughter-in-law, Cuomu, only nodded over and over, meek and deferential. The old woman, however, took a long and measured look at Wen Xia — her face a topography of deep-carved lines, her pure black eyes holding a searching, appraising light.
Wen Xia held her gaze steadily without flinching, then pulled open the rear passenger door.
Before they set off, Nuobu not only filled the Dongfeng’s tank to the brim, but placed a sixty-liter fuel drum in the back as well — terrified that Wen Xia might run dry and get stranded on the road.
Wen Xia climbed into the driver’s seat, lowered the window, and ruffled Nuobu’s hair. “Say ‘safe travels’ for me!”
Nuobu obediently said, “Safe travels, Xiao Xia-jie — come back soon!”
Wen Xia smiled and said “Good boy,” then, despite her swimming head, pressed her foot down on the accelerator. The truck wound through several bends and turned onto National Highway 109.