(1)
Water resources at Suonan Baohuzhan were scarce, and the group of grown men didn’t stand on ceremony — they yielded the bathing opportunity to Wen Xia and the other woman.
Wen Xia had a wound on her back, so she bathed slowly. By the time she emerged, the sky had already gone dark. She walked toward a lit area and saw Fang Wenqing standing there, holding her camera, heavy in her hands.
Wen Xia’s instinct was to avoid any contact with Fang Wenqing. She walked past without a sideways glance, but Fang Wenqing called out to her: “Little miss, care to chat?”
The way Fang Wenqing said “little miss” carried a faint undertone of contempt. She was three years older than Wen Xia — a woman who had rolled around in controversy for years, who had seen every variety of person the world had to offer. Three parts shrewdness, one part allure, all of it concentrated in her gaze.
Wen Xia stopped walking. Fang Wenqing looked at her back and said with a smile: “The last time I saw Li Zechuan was two years ago, in a bar in Xining. He was smoking in a dim corner, and his posture, expression, and eyes were all strikingly beautiful. I happened to have my camera, so I snapped a photo of him without his knowledge. He was particularly sensitive to the sound of a shutter — he turned toward it and said to me, ‘The angle is wrong. The face will come out too dark.'”
Wen Xia still didn’t turn around. She stood with her back to Fang Wenqing, as if lost in thought.
Fang Wenqing continued: “After we parted ways in Xining, I spent a long time asking around with that photo before I learned he worked at Suonan Baohuzhan. I won’t hide it — I came here for him. There’s something very artistically sensual about him. Men like that are rare. I want him.”
Hearing this, Wen Xia let out a soft laugh. She waved her hand with an air of casual indifference: “Well, good luck — he’s quite difficult to pursue.”
Fang Wenqing narrowed her eyes and raised her voice: “You know, compared to his face, what I like even more is the tattoo on his thigh — The darkness is no darkness with thee — the coloring and the lines are both beautiful.”
Wen Xia’s footsteps faltered. She turned around. Fang Wenqing saw the smile in her eyes — warm and bright.
Wen Xia said: “That line comes from the Bible. It means ‘With you, darkness is no longer darkness.’ I once accompanied him through some difficult times. I suspect that line must be connected to me — so thank you for telling me, for letting me know he still has this tender side to him.”
Fang Wenqing had swung her blade, but it had missed Wen Xia’s soft spot entirely. She gave a cold laugh, her expression turning sour.
Just then, headlights flared to life in the courtyard, and an engine rumbled and hummed. Wen Xia ran over and found several people gathered around the front of the Humvee. Li Zechuan’s voice came through the crowd, carrying an edge of anger: “How could you just let him walk off like that!”
Nuobu’s eyes were slightly red as he explained: “A cyclist came to the station asking for lodging. He insisted on occupying an entire room by himself. I argued with him a bit and he turned and left, shouting about filing complaints and whatnot. I was too angry to stop him — I figured he’d come back, since there’s nothing but uninhabited wilderness out there, nowhere else to go. But it’s been over two hours now and there’s still no sign of him…”
The station only had six guest rooms, four beds each. Demanding a room to himself amounted to monopolizing four beds — unreasonable by any standard, so it was no wonder Nuobu had been upset.
Li Zechuan gave Nuobu a rough tousle of the head and said: “Have you checked with Budongquan and Wudao Liang stations? Any word of that cyclist?”
Nuobu sniffled, his eyes growing redder: “I checked — both said they haven’t seen him. Brother Sang Ji, what if he’s run into danger? I…”
“Don’t jump to conclusions!” Li Zechuan gave Nuobu a kick to the shin. “I’ll follow National Highway 109 in the direction of Lhasa and see if I can find him. He only has a bicycle — in two hours, he can’t have gotten far. And from now on, you are never to do something so brainless again. Understood?”
Nuobu choked back tears and nodded, his face a picture of aggrievement.
Li Zechuan pulled open the driver’s door. Wen Xia immediately jumped out: “I’m coming with you.”
His gaze slid past Wen Xia and landed behind her, where he saw Fang Wenqing raise her camera toward them both and mime taking a photo. Li Zechuan’s eyes narrowed. He tossed two words at Wen Xia: “Get in.”
The Humvee traveled along National Highway 109 in the direction of Lhasa. Li Zechuan stopped several truck drivers to ask if they’d seen a cyclist in a black windbreaker. None of them had.
Dark clouds pressed heavily down from above. Across the open wilderness, the wind howled without pause, and the air was thick with the smell of rain.
A storm was coming.
Li Zechuan chewed his lower lip, his gaze reflected in the rearview mirror — extraordinarily sharp.
Where on earth had that damned fool gone?
Wen Xia wrapped her hand around his, which rested on the steering wheel, and said: “Even the gods cannot save all living beings. You cannot rescue everyone. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
Li Zechuan suddenly hit the brakes. The vehicle shuddered violently, and both passengers lurched with it.
Lightning threaded through the cloud layer in purple streaks, like the tentacles of some creature. The wind swept gravel into the air with a piercing shriek.
Wen Xia smiled faintly and said: “The moment I first saw you on the wasteland, I found myself wondering — why would you come to such a harsh place? Is it for redemption, or to run away? Later, I understood that whichever it is, it proves you believe yourself to be guilty. Some guilt can be judged by law, but some is carved into the heart. When I was small, I often accompanied my elders to the temple to burn incense. I heard a practicing layman say — withdrawing from the world for spiritual cultivation is not so difficult. What is difficult is seeing the suffering of the world clearly, and still walking the path of pilgrimage. Dying under the weight of guilt is simple enough — a single bullet’s work. Living under the weight of guilt — that is true courage. Li Zechuan, have you decided what kind of person you want to be?”
The moment her words fell, the rain came down in torrents. The windshield was covered in twisted trails of water.
Li Zechuan said nothing. He stared stubbornly out the window. The light of the rain filtered into his eyes, pressing a faintly damp shadow beneath his lashes.
Wen Xia looked in the same direction as him and said: “I have no way to judge whether you are truly guilty. I have no way to tell you how to find forgiveness. What I can promise is this: no matter when you turn around, you will see me standing behind you. On this road walked with a heavy burden, I will walk it with you. When everything in Qinghai is over, let’s go to the South Pacific — sail out with a ship. The whales there, like the Tibetan antelopes here, are waiting to be rescued and protected. They say that a person who has seen the ocean will hunger more deeply for life, because…”
Li Zechuan gripped the back of her head and kissed her, cutting off the rest of her words.
It was a fierce kiss. Wen Xia could barely breathe. She pushed at his shoulders and he seized her by the wrists in return.
Breath and tongue together — tasting the flavor of another person at the same time.
Pungent, scorching, like burning tobacco.
The storm and wind tore the wilderness into a ragged, tangled mass. Li Zechuan had parked the vehicle on higher ground to prevent the exhaust pipe from flooding. He extinguished all the lights, claiming her breath in the darkness.
Li Zechuan lowered his head. White mist bloomed across his lashes. His lips pressed close to Wen Xia’s ear, his voice a hoarse rasp that bordered on sensual, enticing as a spell: “Two years ago, when I left you, I had a tattoo put on my body — a line from the Bible — The darkness is no darkness with thee — With you, darkness is no longer darkness. Do you want to see it? Or… touch it?”
That line had indeed been written for her.
Wen Xia was suddenly flooded with a sense of grievance. She bit her lip and said softly: “Fang Wenqing — that journalist — why would she know you have a tattoo?”
Tattooed in a place like that — there was no way anyone would see it by accident.
Li Zechuan paused, then shook his head with a laugh: “What are you thinking! I only shared one drink with her at a bar in Xining. At the time she didn’t even know my name. She must have seen the photo on my phone.”
Wen Xia wrinkled her nose, sulking: “And who exactly were you planning to send that photo to?”
Li Zechuan kissed her lightly on the lips and murmured: “You — but I didn’t have the courage…”
The air was laced with the scent of the storm, the smell of tobacco, and the faint mint fragrance that clung to him. Wen Xia’s face flushed a deep red. Then the satellite phone suddenly rang — jarring and abrupt — and they both startled.
Li Zechuan reached out and grabbed the phone. He answered with a “Hello,” his voice still carrying a husky quality that would have made anyone blush.
Nuobu’s voice carried through over the storm, bursting with excitement: “Brother Sang Ji, the cyclist has been found! That fool tried to pitch a tent by the roadside. The head of a road maintenance crew spotted him and saved his life. Otherwise, in this kind of weather, he wouldn’t even have known how he’d died.”
Wen Xia’s fingertip traced lightly over Li Zechuan’s throat, light as a feather. Li Zechuan held the phone in one hand while his other gripped Wen Xia’s wrist, his eyes issuing a clear warning.
Wen Xia smiled, revealing two small, pointed canines. She stuck the tip of her tongue out and licked them, her expression perfectly innocent.
Nuobu was still chattering away, but Li Zechuan had already run out of patience. He switched the phone off and tossed it onto the back seat.
Li Zechuan locked the car doors and turned the heat up. He took Wen Xia’s wrist and pressed her palm against the tattoo. He bit the shell of her ear and whispered: “See — it’s right here.”
Pure black lines, the start and finish of each stroke treated with an artistic touch — like a coiled serpent, clinging to the powerful muscles of his leg, emanating something feral and untamed.
The darkness is no darkness with thee.
With you, darkness is no longer darkness.
Rain everywhere, the wilderness empty, lightning igniting a blinding white flash — and in that instant Li Zechuan saw Wen Xia’s eyes clearly, and saw himself living inside them.
Some people are too precious. You can only meet them once in a lifetime. Some feelings of the heart are the same.
Li Zechuan was suddenly overcome with boundless gratitude — Wen Xia had not given up on him. She had held tightly to his hand all along, loving him, standing side by side with him.
A deep, drowning kiss descended. Li Zechuan looked at Wen Xia, his eyes intent and still. Word by word, slowly, he said: “If we can have a child together — remember — his name will be Li Nianxi.”
I found you again here, and fell in love with you here. This name holds you and me both, and all the stories we never finished telling.
Wen Xia closed her eyes, the rims of them faintly wet. She nodded and said yes. She said: I’ll remember — our child will be called Li Nianxi.
Li Zechuan lowered himself in the sound of wind and rain and pressed a kiss to Wen Xia’s forehead.
The night was still long. They still had so much time.
(2)
When she woke, the sky was already fully bright. Washed by rain through the whole night, the wilderness spread vast and open, with eagles soaring high above.
Wen Xia jumped down from the vehicle. The moment her feet hit the ground, her lower back ached with a dull soreness. She stumbled a few steps and nearly fell.
Li Zechuan was sitting on the hood, smoking. His windbreaker hung open, the hem swaying faintly in the breeze, revealing a strip of lean, taut waist. He heard her and looked over at Wen Xia, a gentle smile at the corner of his lips: “Morning.”
A herd of large white-lipped deer ran past in the distance, kicking up billows of dust. Li Zechuan took the cigarette from his mouth and pressed the joint of his index finger between his lips, letting out a sharp, piercing whistle.
The eagle heard the sound, swooped down, and landed on Li Zechuan’s arm, folding its wings and talons, quietly submitting.
Wen Xia sighed with feeling: “How beautiful.”
Vibrant life, untamed nature — both were things of profound beauty. And yet there were always people who wanted to destroy them.
Li Zechuan raised a hand and pointed toward a distant horizon: “In that direction — 380 kilometers from Ge’ermu, there’s a place called Fenghuo Mountain Pass. The rock there is reddish-brown, as though it’s been scorched by fire countless times. There’s also a stone forest and a sea of monuments, and the Fenghuo Mountain Tunnel, hailed as the highest tunnel in the world. It’s beautiful — I’ll take you there someday.”
“The Three Rivers Source, Xijin Ulan Lake, the unmanned station at Xiaonan River—” Wen Xia tipped her head back to look at him and rattled off a string of place names in one breath. “You have to take me to all of them! And take me to the Potala Palace on a pilgrimage, and buy me beautiful Tibetan jewelry!”
Li Zechuan smiled and teased her: “What do you need jewelry for — saving up a dowry?”
Wen Xia nodded: “Exactly. Once I’ve saved up enough of a dowry, the person I love will come and marry me. We’ll have a child together — boy or girl, they’ll be called Li Nianxi.”
The warmth in Li Zechuan’s eyes deepened. He pulled Wen Xia in front of him and lowered his head until their foreheads touched. Wen Xia heard his low, resonant voice: “Wait just a little longer. When this mission is finished, I will marry you — and treat you well for the rest of my life.”
Their breaths tangled together. Wen Xia caught the scent of tobacco and mint. Her eyes and the corners of her mouth were both smiling. She said softly: “Why wait until the mission is over? Can’t we do it now?”
As she spoke, she bent down, plucked two clean blades of grass, wound them around her fingers, and after several folds and bends, shaped them into a ring.
She took Li Zechuan’s left hand. The grass ring hovered before his ring finger. She looked into his eyes, and her gaze was full of deep love and devotion.
Wen Xia said: “I once read a short poem — I don’t know if it’s right or wrong, and regardless of whether it is, I only want to be with you, to wait together for the sun to rise. Without water, you are my water; without food, I am your food. We believe in the same God from beginning to end, and love the same fate — So, Li Zechuan — are you willing to accept Wen Xia as your lawful wife?”
Wen Xia’s gaze was gentle, and so was her voice. She looked at him quietly — it was not so much a question as a declaration: “Will you?”
Li Zechuan blinked, and his vision suddenly blurred. Everything on the open wilderness was veiled in shimmering, scattered light — golden, radiant, like a miracle.
He was clearly smiling, and yet his eyes were wet. A sigh spilled from his throat: “You…”
You — a girl who looks so slight and slender, and yet you’ve shaken me so profoundly.
You — who led me out from the demons in my heart, who let me see light again, who told me that dying is easy and living takes courage.
All the wounds that the years have given me — in this moment, you have redeemed them.
From this day forward, all my joys and my rages, my life and my fate, will be inscribed with your name —
They are yours.
Li Zechuan extended his left hand slightly. The grass-woven ring passed over the elegantly shaped knuckles and secured itself at the base of his finger.
He stood before Wen Xia, and in the ceaseless, unvarying sound of the wind, he took the other ring and slipped it onto Wen Xia’s ring finger. Without a priest, he spoke the vows himself:
“Love is patient and kind; love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. [Cited from 1 Corinthians] Love never ends. Here, by sacred faith, I vow that I am willing to take Wen Xia as my lawful wife. Whether in prosperity or hardship, in wealth or in poverty, in health or in illness — I will love her, cherish her, be faithful to her, until the end of time.”
The wind rose, and the wilderness fell quiet. A single tear — a very large one — fell from Li Zechuan’s eye and landed on the back of Wen Xia’s hand.
He knelt on one knee, and kissed her fingers — kissed that grass-woven ring.
A warm dampness traveled from her fingertips. The sun fell across the wilderness in a blaze of gold.
Two hands wearing matching rings clasped together, fingers intertwined.
The wind roared. The eagle circled in the distance — as if bearing witness.
“We voluntarily become husband and wife. From this day forward, we will together shoulder the responsibilities and obligations that marriage entrusts to us: to show filial respect to our parents, to nurture and guide our children, to honor and cherish one another, to trust and encourage one another, to forgive and make concessions for one another, to support one another through hardship, and to love each other for a lifetime.”
Wen Xia rose onto her toes and kissed him.
In that instant, the wind that filled all directions took on the concrete shape of tenderness.
The vehicle drove back into the station. It was still early, and the courtyard was empty. Yuanbao bounded over, rubbed himself against Li Zechuan, then swung his head toward the guardroom and erupted in relentless barking.
Nuobu came walking over carrying tools — he had apparently just finished sweeping out the large enclosure. Li Zechuan stopped him: “Is there a stranger in the guardroom?”
Otherwise, Yuanbao would not be barking like that.
Nuobu shot Wen Xia a glance, his expression complicated. He lowered his voice to one only the two of them could hear: “He’s looking for you. Came last night. I tried to arrange a room for him but he refused — just sat there in the guardroom, waiting, stone-still, radiating menace. Asked him his name and he wouldn’t say a word. His eyes were spitting fire — looked like he was here to settle a score.”
Li Zechuan narrowed his eyes. The guardroom window curtain hadn’t been hung properly and drooped down, blocking the view — he could only make out the blurred outline of half a figure. He turned and redirected Wen Xia: “There’s a lamb in the big enclosure that doesn’t seem right. Go check on it.”
Wen Xia had also seen the figure reflected in the window. She tilted her head slightly, as if thinking, then suddenly smiled. She pointed at the silhouette and said to Li Zechuan: “His name is Wen’er. He’s my older brother. I suspect he’s here to settle accounts with you. You’re probably going to get a beating.”
Li Zechuan also smiled. He touched his chest, where the grass-woven ring was tucked away, and said: “Out of respect for you, I promise — I won’t fight back!”
Nuobu was Tibetan and his Mandarin wasn’t particularly good. Before he had fully processed what was said, Li Zechuan and Wen Xia had already walked past him and pushed open the guardroom door.
The light inside the guardroom was dim. Stepping in abruptly, everything was a blur. Then a rushing sound of a palm cutting through air reached his ear — Li Zechuan instinctively raised his arm to block, but he had misjudged. The slap had not been aimed at him.
A sharp crack — and the palm landed squarely on top of Wen Xia’s head, knocking stars into her vision.
Wen’er wore a slim-fit jacket with a light gray knit sweater underneath, paired with ankle boots, cutting a tall and elegant figure. He had rushed here through wind and dust, clearly going without rest for several days — his face was haggard with exhaustion, but his eyes were spitting fire.
Wen Xia took the blow and her eyes immediately reddened. She called out “Brother” in a voice on the verge of tears.
Wen’er glared at her, his brows arched sharply, and snapped in a cold tone: “Don’t call me brother! I don’t have a sister as impressive as you! Look how capable you’ve become — grown wings strong enough to fly off without a word — do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for you?”
Knowing she was in the wrong, Wen Xia mumbled and didn’t dare respond.
Several of the station brothers had assumed a rival was making a scene and crowded along the windowsill to watch. Li Zechuan swept them with a look, and a row of heads disappeared in unison.
The more Wen’er spoke the angrier he got, and he looked as if he wanted to strike again. Li Zechuan stepped forward, positioning himself in front of Wen Xia: “Let’s talk this through. Even if she’s your own sister, you cannot raise your hand against her — not with so many people watching.”
Seeing Li Zechuan, Wen’er’s fury only intensified. The two men were close in height. He grabbed Li Zechuan by the collar with both hands and roared: “Wasn’t ruining her once enough? Now you want to ruin her for the rest of her life?”
From the way the conversation was going, Wen Xia immediately knew Wen’er was about to drag up old business from two years ago. She hurried to call out “Brother” — but both men spoke at almost exactly the same moment: “Wen Xia, go outside.”
Wen Xia was just as stubborn as either of them: “This concerns me. Why should I leave?”
Wen’er was seething — the color drained from his face.
But Li Zechuan softened his voice: “Go outside for now. Let me talk with your brother alone.”
Wen’er kicked out at him: “Who’s your brother? Don’t go flattering yourself!”
Li Zechuan didn’t dodge or move aside — he simply absorbed the kick and then shot Wen Xia a look, signaling that he would handle Wen’er.
Wen Xia backed out with one lingering glance after another. Even as she closed the door, she couldn’t help whispering a small warning: “Brother — if you can settle this with words, please don’t resort to fists. Li Zechuan has been training hard these past two years. You might, possibly, maybe… not be able to beat him…”
Wen’er: “…”
(3)
With only the two of them left in the guardroom, Li Zechuan freed his collar from Wen’er’s grip and poured a cup of hot water, handing it over: “Let’s talk.”
Wen’er shot him a glare and knocked the cup aside: “I have nothing to say to you. Wen Xia must come back with me. If you want to come here to find redemption, to cleanse your soul — that’s your business. You have no right to take my sister’s youth along as payment!”
“If you had come three days earlier and stood before me saying this, I would have supported you without condition.” Li Zechuan picked up the overturned cup, rinsed it, and set it back by the thermos. He looked at Wen’er with calm, steady eyes. “I would have supported you in taking Wen Xia away. But now — that’s no longer possible. If I live, she is mine. If I die, I will have her name carved into my epitaph. I want her for the rest of my life.”
“What right do you have to claim Wen Xia for the rest of your life!” Wen’er’s eyes blazed with anger. “You nearly got her killed! The fourth floor — she fell from the fourth floor trying to save your mother. Or rather, she was pushed. Do you remember?”
That had happened two years ago. And it was precisely that event which had driven Li Zechuan into complete and utter despair — with himself, with life itself.
That day had been his mother’s birthday. Wen Xia had bought a beautiful cake and accompanied him to Guoren Hospital. She had smiled warmly throughout, as if she found nothing frightening about that place — or perhaps as long as she was with him, her mood simply couldn’t be bad. Even Li Zechuan had found himself smiling along with her, unable to stop himself from pulling her into his arms and holding her there for a long, long time.
His mother’s condition had been unusually good that day. She hadn’t flown into a rage at random. She had even taken Wen Xia’s hand and told her she was lovely. The three of them blew out the candles and cut the cake, sharing a warm and harmonious moment. Then his mother suddenly said she needed to use the bathroom. She found the one in the activity room insufficiently clean and wanted to use the larger one at the end of the corridor.
His mother had been gentle and smiling throughout — like an ordinary, caring mother. Li Zechuan let his guard down for a moment of tenderness and agreed to her request. Wen Xia accompanied his mother inside while Li Zechuan waited outside. Five minutes later, he heard Wen Xia’s voice, sharp with alarm: “Auntie, please don’t move.”
The windows in the hospital were all fitted with protective grilles — except for the one in the fourth-floor corridor bathroom, which had broken. The window was a casement style, quite wide — large enough for two people to sit side by side. His mother was sitting on the window ledge, both legs dangling outside, teetering on the edge. She turned to look at him from the side, her expression soft with a smile: “If not for you, I would not be the way I am today. My life was ruined at your hands. It is all your fault — you must remember that.”
Words like a curse, circling endlessly in his ears. It was as though she had struck the most vulnerable part of him. Li Zechuan froze where he stood. Panicked, he looked away — he could not bring himself to look at his mother’s face.
Medical staff came running at the sound. Police below spread out an emergency air mattress. All the noise blurred together into a chaotic roar.
One of the nurses was shaking with anger: “She is a patient. How could you just bring her out like that!”
Li Zechuan could no longer form words in his own defense. His head was splitting, his entire body trembling.
Wen Xia’s voice was unsteady: “Auntie suddenly pushed me over. She moved so fast — I wasn’t prepared…”
He had wanted to say: this isn’t your fault. What came out instead was: “Why weren’t you watching her?”
The color drained instantly from Wen Xia’s face. Li Zechuan felt a perverse flash of satisfaction — like someone drawing a blade against themselves.
Fine. Let us all suffer together.
His vision was fractured with broken shards of light and shadow. It was as if all his strength had left him. He leaned his back against the wall, his expression blank, grinding every ounce of pain between his teeth and swallowing it down — raw and bleeding.
Li Zechuan didn’t know when Wen Xia had climbed up onto the window ledge. He only heard his mother call Wen Xia’s name and tell her to come closer — if Wen Xia came, she would climb down.
Then a brief, terrible silence, and then a terrified scream erupted beside his ear. He turned in shock. His mother had already been pulled to safety by the nurses and police. But Wen Xia was gone.
She had fallen — landed on the emergency air mattress below.
The ambulance siren wailed and then faded away. Everything was chaos. Chaos everywhere.
No one thought to look for Li Zechuan. He stood rigid where he was, his whole body shaking.
His mother’s cold laugh drifted from somewhere in the crowd — word by deliberate word, repeating: “Don’t be a fool — how could anyone ever love you! Every sorrow of my life began with you. Without you, I would not be the way I am now. I curse you — to be as miserable and wretched as I am! I curse you — to never, ever be loved!”
He shut his eyes, pressed his hands over his ears. Those words came from somewhere impossibly far away, like wind, passing through his mind without cease.
“Without you, I would not be the way I am today.”
“Don’t be a fool — how could anyone ever love you.”
“I curse you — to never, ever be loved!”
…
His head felt like it was splitting apart.
He had no strength to cry. Not even the strength to fall apart. He could only endure in silence — endure all of it.
The building wasn’t tall. Wen Xia was not in any mortal danger — a mild concussion, the doctors said. She needed rest. Li Zechuan hadn’t dared enter her room. He stayed in the corridor throughout.
The ward was a private room. Through the small glass pane in the door, he could see Wen Xia’s face. She was asleep — as peaceful as a child.
Both her complexion and the bedsheets were snow-white, and it wrung his heart. He felt helpless in a way he couldn’t name.
Li Zechuan raised a hand and pressed it against the glass. Because of the angle, it appeared as if Wen Xia’s face was nestled against his palm — as if he was holding her, listening to her breathe.
Then a pair of men’s leather shoes entered his line of sight. Li Zechuan looked up. A tall young man stood before him.
Sword-sharp brows, star-bright eyes, a striking appearance.
Li Zechuan vaguely recalled — Wen Xia had once mentioned she had an older brother named Wen’er. Before Li Zechuan could say anything, Wen’er had already thrown a punch. Li Zechuan staggered backward. Wen’er looked down at him from above and said coldly: “Starting today, you are not to go near my sister again. I will not allow her to love you any longer. Between you and her — it ends here.”
With that, Wen’er turned and went into the ward, pulling down the curtain over the small window and cutting Li Zechuan off entirely from the outside.
No greeting, no need for explanation. Though forceful in manner, it was the most effective form of protection.
His mother was right. He was a demon who destroyed every beautiful thing around him.
Li Zechuan rose to his feet, brushed the dust from his coat. His phone suddenly rang — a number from the nurses’ station at Guoren Hospital flickering on the screen.
A premonition of something terrible seized him. His fingers trembled as he pressed accept.
The nurse’s voice was edged with tears, rushed and frantic and incoherent — and through the chaos, he caught only a few key words: Li’s lady, sharpened toothbrush handle, slashed wrist, resuscitation unsuccessful…
It was as if a white dove had beaten its wings and flown overhead, its whistle ring echoing through a deep blue sky. The old locust tree had shed its last leaf. All things past dissolved in that desolate final note and came crashing to an end.
Love, family — he had watched them arrive; now he watched them depart. At last his hands were empty. Nothing left to hold him.
There was hardly anyone in the hospital’s small garden. Li Zechuan sat on the stone steps of a planted bed and smoked an entire pack of cigarettes. Tears fell. He wiped them away quickly, leaving long streaks across the corners of his eyes — like the soft, trailing tail of a mermaid.
Was he in despair? Not quite. He had long since made his peace with this feeling. It was simply his normal state.
Li Zechuan tilted his head back and looked toward one of the ward windows — Wen Xia was in there. She was being protected. As long as he could stay far enough away from her, she would have a good life.
His mother had been right. The people who loved him would all be destroyed by him.
The evening sun burned red, and on the wind came the sound of a dove’s whistle — his last impression of that city.
Without a single family member or friend present, his mother’s funeral was unusually quiet. From beginning to end, Li Zechuan was alone. He had changed into a black coat, a small white flower pinned to his chest.
Halfway through the ceremony, his phone rang. Wen Xia’s name lit up the screen. Li Zechuan stared at that name for a few seconds, then switched the phone off directly.
After the funeral, Li Zechuan returned to his university to process his withdrawal. The person in charge of the academic affairs office pleaded with him earnestly — he only had a few months left until graduation, don’t be impulsive. Li Zechuan refused to say a single word in response, cold as a stone statue. The official could only sigh.
As he was leaving the academic affairs office, he heard people whispering behind him —
“Did you see that? That’s the one — supposedly some up-and-coming photographer. Please. He’s just a madman. It’s all over the internet — his mother had mental problems, was about to jump from a building, didn’t die herself but managed to kill another girl — and then slashed her own wrists after, bled everywhere. Bringing disaster on others.”
“I saw that post too. Apparently his father wasn’t right either — violent tendencies, used to torment him all the time. He’s pitiable, in a way.”
“Pitiable people have their pitiable reasons, but they have their reprehensible reasons too — don’t be too quick to sympathize!”
Li Zechuan stood still for several seconds. The whispering continued. He threw the coat that had been draped over his shoulder aside and slammed his fist into that person’s nose.
The corridor erupted into chaos in an instant — screaming, jeering. Blood from the broken nose fell onto the smooth tiled floor, tracing long, winding lines.
In that moment, Li Zechuan’s mind went entirely blank. He could barely remember what happened afterward. When he came back to himself, he was already inside a police station.
Provoking a disturbance — five days’ detention. And there was no need to handle the withdrawal paperwork any longer — his student registration was revoked on the spot.
Five days later, he saw Wen Xia waiting outside the detention facility.
It was midday. Wen Xia was standing where the sunlight fell most fiercely. Between them stretched a long, empty road. There was still a bandage on her arm — a scrape from the fall.
Every time Wen Xia took a step forward, he retreated a step. An unbridgeable distance remained between them at all times.
A taxi came. He reached out and flagged it down, not daring to look at Wen Xia. He lowered his head and fled.
That was probably the most wretched moment of his life — so wretched that he could not bring himself to look a girl in the eyes. He was afraid that if he looked, he would see himself reflected in her gaze — see a man whose every bone of pride had been shattered.
After that, he packed his few belongings and set out on a journey with no destination and no return date. A complete and total act of self-exile.
While waiting at the departure gate, he scrolled through his contacts over and over in the airport terminal. All of them were relationships of moderate closeness — none worth a farewell. When he slid to Wen Xia’s number, his thumb paused. A delicate, dense ache spread through the bottom of his heart — as if something had fallen from a great height and shattered.
In the seat beside him sat a mixed-heritage boy, practicing his reading, stumbling through sentences of the Bible in English. One of them drifted into Li Zechuan’s ears and struck at something deep inside him —
The darkness is no darkness with thee.
With you, darkness is no longer darkness.
Li Zechuan looked up quickly, his eyes hot and glistening — as if something was on the verge of breaking through.
He opened Wen Xia’s contact and sent a single message: “Don’t look for me. Take care of yourself.”
When the delivery notification sounded, he pulled the SIM card from his phone and threw it in the trash.
He had believed no one would ever find him — as though he had never existed at all.
Until two years later, on the boundless open wasteland of the uninhabited wilderness — he saw that girl again. She was just as beautiful as he remembered. Her eyes in particular — they were like the ocean. The moment she looked up, it was as if a great whale had passed through, parting an ancient stillness.
She said: I came looking for someone. The person I love — his name is Li Zechuan.
The heart that had long fallen silent gave a single, sudden beat.
Whether back then or now, she had always been his redemption. That had never changed.
The darkness is no darkness with thee.
With you, darkness is no longer darkness.
Li Zechuan met Wen’er’s gaze directly, without evasion, and said with calm composure: “Of course I remember — I have never allowed myself to forget. I tried to stay away from Wen Xia, and I failed. I cannot bring myself not to love her. Two years ago that was true, and two years later it is still true. I can bow my head and apologize. I can kneel and admit my wrongs. But the one thing I will not do — ever again — is leave her. She deserves to be protected by me for the rest of my life.”
“Kneel and admit your wrongs? How noble that sounds!” Wen’er sneered through clenched teeth. “Then go ahead and kneel. Let me see just how sincere you really are.”
The guardroom window hadn’t been shut properly. The words slipped out through the gap. Wen Xia was standing outside, and she could hear every word clearly. She wanted to shove the door open and rush inside. Li Zechuan turned and silenced her with a look.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Li Zechuan genuinely knelt — down before Wen’er. His physical form lowered, but his eyes did not change in the slightest. They burned with fierce conviction — unwavering as a battle standard, alight with the radiance of stars.
Wen Xia watched with wide eyes as Li Zechuan bent his knee. She heard his voice — carrying an exceptional gravity.
He said: “In this life, there are always things that matter more than survival itself. For me, faith and Wen Xia both come before my life. I will protect them well.”
By kneeling, Li Zechuan had essentially turned the tables on Wen’er. Wen’er paced back and forth in the guardroom like a caged animal. Li Zechuan could even gauge the conflict and torment inside him from the erratic intervals of his steps.
Then Wen’er seemed to recall something. He circled abruptly back to stand before Li Zechuan and drove a kick into his shoulder. The force of it was considerable — as Li Zechuan fell sideways to the ground, he simultaneously seized Wen’er’s ankle and threw a punch into the back of his knee. Wen’er felt his knee buckle — he staggered and went down — and in that instant Li Zechuan spun, pressed himself against Wen’er’s back, and closed his hand around Wen’er’s throat.
Li Zechuan’s fingers found Wen’er’s pulse precisely. He gauged the pressure and clamped down with sudden force. Wen’er felt a rush of blood to his head, hovering near the edge of breathlessness.
Li Zechuan said in a low voice: “You’ve seen now — I can beat you. I have the ability to protect her. The reason I kept making myself appear weak in front of you was because I wanted you to see my sincerity. I love Wen Xia — truly. Please entrust her to me. I want her for the rest of my life. And if there truly is a next life — I’ll want her for that one too.”
(4)
The pulse cannot be compressed for too long without causing genuine loss of consciousness. Li Zechuan eased his grip. Wen’er broke free quickly, got to his feet, and turned to look out the window.
Wen Xia was crouched beneath the window ledge, and caught her brother’s eye without warning. She startled.
Wen’er pointed at the guardroom door — gesturing for her to come inside.
Standing side by side before Wen’er, Wen Xia felt a faint illusion of being caught in a secret early romance by a parent.
Wen’er gave her a sharp look: “This is your choice to make. Come back with me — or abandon your family and stay here with him?”
It was not an equal-footed choice. Wen Xia took Wen’er’s hand firmly and said: “Brother — come with me.”
Behind the station, there was a sheep pen made up of insulated prefab housing and nearly five hundred acres of open grassland. Rescued herbivorous wild animals were kept here. Yuanbao stood guard at the entrance to the large enclosure, soldier-like, the thick fur bristling along his neck — majestic and formidable.
The small creatures inside were used to human company. The moment they saw Wen Xia and Wen’er, they trotted over — one pair of round eyes after another, bright and glistening, liquid and warm.
The young Tibetan antelope calves hadn’t yet grown their horns. Their wool was pale yellow, and their small pointed ears twitched and flicked in the breeze. Wen Xia bent down low and one of the little ones immediately stretched out its neck, nuzzling her cheek with its wet little nose — endearing and sweet.
Wen’er felt a warmth against the back of his hand. He looked down — a small wild donkey. The foal had a dorsal stripe and a short mane, its long ears turning alertly. It peered at Wen’er with clear, lake-still eyes.
Wen’er raised a hand and patted it on the head. The little creature didn’t shy away — it blew a huff of air from its nostrils and swished its tail.
“Adorable, aren’t they?” Wen Xia stood upright and looked at Wen’er.
Wen’er’s expression shifted, and he nodded somewhat awkwardly, letting out a sound of agreement.
“In the late 1980s, the population density of Tibetan antelopes in Qinghai was between 0.2 and 0.3 animals per square kilometer. Old herders said that it was common to see herds of over a thousand antelopes running past — a grand and beautiful sight. Then the international luxury market saw the rise of a shawl called Shahtoosh, made primarily from Tibetan antelope wool. Waves of poachers flooded into the Kekexili region, exploiting the females’ habit of gathering in groups during breeding season to carry out sweeping attacks. They most preferred to kill pregnant females, whose wool was at its finest and softest at that time — the lambs didn’t even have the chance to be born before they died in the sound of gunfire. In less than a decade, nearly three hundred thousand Tibetan antelopes were slaughtered, and their numbers plunged to fewer than fifty thousand. These animals had survived the harshest natural conditions — blizzards, extreme cold, thin air, scarce food — yet they nearly faced extinction at the hands of human desire.” [Data referenced from internet sources]
A small Tibetan antelope calf, seemingly hungry, had taken hold of Wen’er’s jacket hem in its mouth and was suckling at it gently, its small nose softly quivering, its pure black eyes exquisitely beautiful.
Wen Xia spoke softly, continuing: “When you look into its eyes — can you imagine the mountains of Tibetan antelope carcasses piled up? Human children need protection. So do Tibetan antelope calves.”
It was as if a burning liquor had scorched its way down his throat. Wen’er choked where he stood, unable to speak.
The wind rose. Dust and sand swirled through the large enclosure. Wen Xia’s hair lifted faintly in the breeze, framing the stubborn expression on her face — vividly, vibrantly alive.
From the moment they had stepped into this place, Li Zechuan had not said a word. He gladly faded into the background, his gaze fixed and unmoving on Wen Xia’s face.
His girl was growing, growing stronger — stepping in his footsteps to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder.
The wind was the wilderness’s only scenery. In the sound of it, Wen Xia explained quietly: “Brother, I came here for love. But I stay — that’s not why. They are animals. They cannot speak. But they still feel. They still hurt and grieve. The work of protecting wildlife is long and heavy. Every additional person who stands up adds one more chance at rescue — and this world gains one more sliver of hope.”
It was as though a thousand soldiers had swept through on horseback, leaving a rumbling echo across the heart.
Some people fight for personal gain, scheming against one another. Others, for a pure and unwavering belief, spend their lives pressing forward. Heroes are not found only on battlefields — they exist in this time of apparent peace as well.
They carry the heaviest of responsibilities, raise high the battle standard, and charge through fire.
Wen’er looked up. The sky was deeply blue. The eagle was beautiful.
Li Zechuan narrowed his eyes and blew a sharp whistle, clear and piercing.
The eagle heard the sound, dove, and landed on Li Zechuan’s arm, folding its wings and talons, quietly surrendering.
Wen’er found himself hazily recalling something — when he was very small, his father had forced him to memorize all manner of classical poetry. One line among them was extraordinarily beautiful —
I would draw the bow taut as the full moon, aim to the northwest — and shoot the Wolf Star from the sky.
Sometimes a land changes a person. And sometimes it fulfills them.
Wen’er left without even eating lunch — there was still a mountain of work waiting back at the company. He had driven here himself, in a jet-black Jeep Wrangler, its surface mottled with dust.
No matter how much he resisted, when it came to the moment of parting, he found he still couldn’t bear it.
Wen Xia clutched Wen’er’s sleeve, her voice catching as she reminded him to be careful on the road. Wen’er flicked his finger against her forehead — that helpless, exasperated frustration of not being able to reach her: “You’re normally sharp enough, but you completely fall apart at the critical moment. A slap came swinging right at your face and you still didn’t think to dodge? Hopeless.”
Wen Xia, eyes reddening, threw her arms around Wen’er and said quietly: “Tell Mom and Dad I’m sorry. When this mountain patrol mission is finished, I’ll definitely go back and throw myself at their mercy.”
Wen’er said nothing. He turned and opened the trunk of the car. Inside was a full collection of outdoor first aid kits and various self-heating military-style field rations.
“I heard supplies are running short here. I came in a hurry, so this is all I had time to prepare. If there’s anything else you need, contact me any time.” Wen’er raised an eyelid and slanted a cool glance at Li Zechuan. “Don’t bother thanking me. I didn’t prepare these for you — I did it for my sister. She’s been cherished and spoiled for over twenty years in our family, and now she has to live rough, exposed to wind and weather, because of you. You had better remember every bit of what you owe her.”
Li Zechuan straightened up and gave Wen’er a textbook-perfect military salute: “Even though I know you don’t want to hear it, I still have to say — thank you.”
As Wen’er’s car pulled out of the station, Ke Lie happened to be arriving. The two vehicles passed each other on the road, going in opposite directions. Wen’er had his window half-down. He had turned on the stereo, and music drifted out — an English classic with a beautiful melody —
When I was young I’d listen to the radio Waiting for my favorite songs When they played I’d sing along …
The window was tinted, and through the half-open gap, Ke Lie could only make out a profile — from jaw to forehead, the lines were perfect. Even without seeing the full face, Ke Lie sensed instinctively that it must be a remarkably handsome man.
The two vehicles crossed briefly, then went their separate ways — passing too quickly to even exchange a word of greeting.
Not until Ke Lie returned to the station did everyone learn that he had accomplished something significant. He had not only assisted the Quma Township traffic and public security authorities in apprehending two members of Nie Xiaolin’s syndicate, but had also followed the leads to uncover an illegal processing den for antelope hides hidden within the township.
To avoid drawing attention, the operator had recruited only children under the age of thirteen — some lured away, some simply picked up off the streets.
Seven or eight children were confined in a workshop of under eighty square meters, eating, working, sleeping, resting — all in the same space. No beds. A few sets of bedding lay scattered on the ground, so filthy their original color could no longer be determined. Working hours exceeded fifteen hours a day, and they were beaten on top of that. Several of the children suffered from severe malnutrition — skin and bones, some of them had even forgotten how to speak.
When the operator tried to flee, he grabbed one of the children as a hostage and barricaded himself in an attic, negotiating conditions with the police. Ke Lie took a sniper rifle from the special response officers on scene. He looked through the scope. Lethal focus. The crosshairs settled over the man’s pupil — bright and pure black intertwined, half heaven, half hell.
The bullet parted the air with a shriek. A single, clean shot. The man was dead. The child was rescued.
Ke Lie’s marksmanship left everyone present speechless — clean, decisive, carrying an overwhelming and violent beauty.
Lian Kai clapped Ke Lie on the shoulder and praised him warmly: “A third-class merit citation — that’s guaranteed. That’s what it means to come from our Suonan Baohuzhan. Beautifully done.”
Lian Kai had considerable strength in his hands. Ke Lie’s brow creased slightly. Li Zechuan noticed his expression and asked: “Injured?”
Ke Lie rolled his shoulder. “Nothing. A mosquito bite — won’t affect the patrol.”
Those who spent their days on the front lines against poaching were hardened men of iron and bone — death held no fear for them, let alone a graze or a bump. Li Zechuan asked nothing more, and knocked his fist lightly against Ke Lie’s.
The news spread through the station and everyone rejoiced — both for Ke Lie’s achievement and for the dismantling of the illegal den. Old Third, who normally handled supply deliveries to Suonan Baohuzhan, was so delighted to hear that Ke Lie had saved lives and earned a citation that he paid out of his own pocket for a large leg of lamb, intending to throw a celebration banquet in Ke Lie’s honor.
At high altitude, daylight runs long and night comes late — sunset didn’t begin until half past eight, and true darkness didn’t fall until well past nine. Station Commander Ma had gone out for a meeting. Li Zechuan took full charge. He had Nuobu drive three vehicles out from the depot, arranged them in a circle to block the wind, set up a bonfire in the middle, and propped the lamb leg over it. The smell of roasting meat drifted rich and savory into the air.
The station wasn’t large. With Fang Wenqing, Cheng Fei, and the newly arrived volunteers added in, they barely filled twelve people. Food and drink make friendship easy. Even Lian Kai, unusually, showed Cheng Fei a degree of warmth. The dozen or so people spread out cushioned pads and sat on the ground, crammed together in front of the bonfire, faces flushed red in the firelight, all of them smiling.
The highland barley liquor was full-bodied and clean, crisp and cold on entry, served not in glasses but in green military-issue canteens. Wen Xia had never tried this kind of liquor. Li Zechuan sat beside her, passed over his own canteen, and invited her to have a taste. Wen Xia brought the canteen to her lips and took a careful sip — and was immediately seized by a fit of coughing. Several of the broad-shouldered men burst into laughter. Wen Xia coughed until her cheeks went pink, her eyes wide with helplessness. Li Zechuan reached out with easy confidence and pulled her in close by the shoulder, his eyes full of indulgent warmth.
A small incident occurred when everyone was finding their seats. Of the twelve people, only three were women — Fang Wenqing, Wen Xia, and one female volunteer. Wen Xia sat down beside the female volunteer, leaving the spot on her right open. Everyone with eyes could see it was being saved for Li Zechuan. Lian Kai took the lead in egging them on, shaking a can of beer until it frothed, and popping it open with a loud bang, liquid spraying everywhere.
Fang Wenqing, stepping into the noise and laughter of the crowd, took a seat beside Wen Xia. She lit a cigarette with a lighter, then tilted the lit end toward Wen Xia with a smile: “Try it — foreign brand, not bad.”
“Plenty of better things to teach her.” Li Zechuan, seated across from Fang Wenqing, spoke coolly. He patted the spot beside him and said to Wen Xia: “Come over here. Sit next to me.”