- This work involves real place names and regions. All character origins and locations serve only the needs of the main storyline. The author holds no bias toward any region or ethnic group depicted in the text. Character viewpoints and dialogue do not represent the author’s views. Selective quotation out of context is strictly prohibited.
- Although this work contains plotlines involving crossings of uninhabited zones and rescue operations, the author in no way encourages anyone — even experienced hardcore hikers — to illegally cross uninhabited zones.
- Some plotlines are adapted from real events, but all place names, personal names, and events serve only the needs of this text and bear no relation whatsoever to the individuals involved in those real events. Please do not attempt to match them to real persons.
Chapter 1: Master Ba (1)
Along both sides of the Qinghai-Tibet Highway between Golmud in Qinghai Province and Yuzhu Peak, desolate gobi and gray-yellow grasslands alternated in turns, and from time to time one could catch sight of military convoys hauling supplies into Tibet. The clouds hung heavy and low, the road ahead vast and boundless, with towering, unbroken snow-capped mountains flanking the ochre wilderness on either side. Enormous glacial tongues plunged downward from perpetually snow-white summits, spreading out in the distance into the shape of ginkgo leaves — appearing close, yet in truth far away.
Several off-road vehicles advanced at a steady pace along the undulating highway. Among them, a red Jeep Wrangler stood out conspicuously, its black team pennant whipping in the wind until its shape was nearly indistinguishable. Along the way, a blue road sign stood tall, bearing the same place name rendered top to bottom in Tibetan, Chinese, and English — Kunlun Mountain Pass.
The convoy pressed onward. Elevation climbed steadily, and the highway stretched ahead as if it reached all the way into the sky. The off-road vehicles drove straight along the road, overtaking one another back and forth, as though locked in a silent contest.
Suddenly, a white Toyota Land Cruiser Prado surged forward from the rear in a fast overtake. As it passed the red Wrangler, it laid on the horn several times. Whether out of excessive excitement or something else entirely, the driver rolled down the window despite the fierce highland winds, jabbed a little finger downward in a dismissive gesture, and blew a long, sharp whistle. A burst of raucous laughter erupted from inside the vehicle.
“Damn it, ever since we entered Qinghai, those two vehicles have been trailing behind us the whole time.”
“A hardcore off-roader like the Wrangler should never come in red.”
“Where’d this pretty boy come from?”
“Hahahaha!!!”
The mocking laughter was deafeningly loud, audible even from several vehicles away. The red Wrangler suddenly accelerated and overtook them, blocking the road ahead, and even cut off the lead vehicle of the Prado convoy several times in succession.
“Son of a—!!” The Prado driver slammed the steering wheel. Just as he moved to give chase, the Wrangler hit the brakes abruptly, and he stomped down hard on his own pedal in response. The Wrangler had come to a slanted stop directly in front of his hood. The window rolled down halfway, and from inside stretched a hand — a slender middle finger raised high in unambiguous insult, its wine-red nail polish unmistakably vivid.
“You damn woman, I’ll—” The Prado driver’s profanity hadn’t quite finished erupting when the walkie-talkie crackled to life. The driver of the vehicle behind had evidently just made out the totem on the pennant at the Wrangler’s rear, and warned: “Let it go, Sheng! That might be Master Ba.”
Han Dasheng started slightly. His anger had not yet fully subsided, but he had no choice but to swallow it — out on the road, you didn’t need to go looking for trouble, but you also didn’t need to go inviting it.
The two off-road vehicles continued on as normal. The Prado convoy still tore ahead at speed, but there was not a trace of provocation left in them.
By the time they reached the South Slope base camp, the sky had cleared. The deep blue sky and pure white clouds of the high-altitude region were as beautiful as an oil painting. The southern slope climbing route of Yuzhu Peak lay clearly visible before everyone’s eyes. The summit gleamed a dazzling white — no camera filter needed, a single casual shot was already a magnificent photograph.
Ba Yunye had long grown accustomed to altitudes exceeding 5,000 meters. After climbing out of the vehicle, she rubbed her hands together and tugged her fleece jacket zipper a little higher, then leaned against the car door and tossed out a handful of small crackers. A group of pikas — small creatures also known as mouse-hares — came trotting over from all directions to snatch them up.
The driver who had come with Ba Yunye went by the nickname Hippo, his real name being Ma He. He was thirty-six or thirty-seven years old, not particularly tall, with a tawny complexion and a pair of large, fierce eyes that gave him a sharp, capable look.
The moment he got out of the vehicle, he busied himself filming short videos. By rights, his account handle — “Turkey-Flavored Rice Cracker” — which had somehow survived every one of the internet’s cleanup campaigns, should have carved out a modest corner of the influencer world for itself. Unfortunately, whether it was his sense of aesthetics or his phone that was the problem, he had a talent for making any beautiful landscape look bleak and grim, as though he were photographing a crime scene. Ba Yunye had once scrolled through his account in its entirety before solemnly asking him: Have you, by any chance, studied forensic photography?
The handful of mountaineering enthusiasts who had ridden along dispersed in various directions, discussing the ascent of Yuzhu Peak. With a solid base of specialized knowledge and several prior snow mountain climbs behind them, they had chosen not to join the commercial climbing team operating here.
Han Dasheng, who had earlier given Ba Yunye some cause for offense, hesitated before approaching her. He held out a disposable cup, steam rising from within, and put on a smile he clearly had to force. “Uh… Master Ba? Heh, sorry about earlier — altitude sickness, low blood sugar. There’s hot cocoa here. Would you like some?”
Ba Yunye drew her gaze away from the climbers and glanced sidelong at him. She knew perfectly well that everything he said was nonsense, yet she pulled down the camouflage multi-functional neck gaiter that covered half her face and slowly turned to face him, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.
A flicker of admiration passed through Han Dasheng’s eyes. As a member of a western off-road convoy team, he had heard something of the Eagle Club’s “Master Ba” by reputation — but this was the first time he had seen her in person.
Striking. Commanding.
Her features were more defined than those of most women, suggesting bloodlines that were not purely Han Chinese. She was tall and stood very straight, and her gaze, cool and indifferent, carried a streak of untamed defiance. Stare long enough, and one could perceive something almost combative lurking beneath that beauty — she was nothing like the refined, demure kind of beautiful woman, and could only be admired from a distance.
“I’m not cold. Thank you.”
Seeing her reach out toward him, Han Dasheng instinctively took a step back — but in the end, she only gave him a firm pat on the shoulder as a gesture of reconciliation.
Even so, from just those two claps, Han Dasheng could already feel the strength in her hands.
Better not to provoke her, and certainly not to pursue her — the circle’s verdict on Master Ba was entirely accurate.
April through October was the best season for climbing Yuzhu Peak, and with the Qingming Festival holiday now in full swing, nearly twenty mountaineering enthusiasts and commercial climbing support guides were planning to set up camp at the South Slope base tonight. Among them were several foreigners who had clustered together, chattering away in languages no one else could understand. One of them, a red-bearded man, was enormous and powerfully built, radiating a presence that made it clear he was not to be trifled with — as though a second glance might earn you a flattened face.
Ma He still had his phone out, indiscriminately filming. When the foreigners noticed, they were visibly displeased, and the red-bearded one pointed at him and made a warning gesture. Ma He hastily retreated.
“Don’t stir up trouble,” Ba Yunye reminded him.
“What are foreigners doing coming out here to join in the fun? Their English isn’t even as standard as mine.” Ma He observed for a long while, then broke into a grin and kept squeezing toward the mountaineers, seemingly intent on striking up a conversation or drumming up some business.
Ba Yunye blocked him with one arm and shook her head.
Ma He was reluctant. “But Zhang Chenguang—”
“Don’t tip them off.”
Han Dasheng was in the midst of reminding his clients of various things, tearing open a large bag of Snickers bars and cocoa powder to distribute among them, saying things like wishing them a successful summit and other words of good fortune.
Mountaineers needed to acclimatize at the South Slope base camp for at least a day before hiring a guide or setting out with a climbing support guide toward Camp One, then acclimatizing for another full day and night before beginning the actual ascent. So once they had seen their clients safely deposited, Ba Yunye and Ma He turned around and headed back along the same road toward Golmud.
Ma He couldn’t help but ask Ba Yunye, “Aren’t you worried Zhang Chenguang might slip away?”
She kept her eyes on the road and replied offhandedly, “He’s not a fugitive. Where’s he going to run?”
Ma He didn’t see it that way. “China’s a big country. The fact that he turned up specifically at Yuzhu Peak seems like more than a coincidence.”
Ba Yunye didn’t take the bait.
When they returned to the mountain at the agreed time to collect their clients, they had only just passed Xi Da Tan when the weather turned strange. Before long, Ba Yunye heard from a passing driver that a violent blizzard had broken out on the mountain, and she felt a jolt of alarm shoot through her scalp. Everyone knew that a blizzard on Yuzhu Peak was no trivial matter for climbers. Even retreating below the snowline was no guarantee of safety, and if they couldn’t retreat in time, the whole group could be wiped out.
The clients she had brought absolutely could not come to harm — otherwise it would destroy the Eagle Club’s reputation, a reputation Long Ge had built up over many years without ever letting a single client shed blood.
When she arrived at the South Slope camp and spotted a few familiar figures, Ba Yunye’s heart settled — the clients she had brought this time were all people who valued their own lives. They told her they had sensed something was wrong halfway up and turned back immediately. Han Dasheng’s group was not so fortunate. Word was that in the chaotic retreat, one person had gone missing: Zhang Chenguang, of all people.
Ba Yunye’s mood instantly darkened, though nothing showed on her face. Long Ge had gone to considerable effort to track down Zhang Chenguang’s whereabouts — he had been among the group of climbers Han Dasheng was escorting, which was precisely why she had followed their convoy all the way here.
One of the climbing support guides Zhang Chenguang’s group had hired, a middle-aged man named Pu Lan, told the police and military officers who later arrived for the search and rescue that they had become separated in the wind and snow, and only upon retreating to Camp One and taking a headcount did they realize Zhang Chenguang was gone. Pu Lan said he had heard that this was not Zhang Chenguang’s first time on Yuzhu Peak, and so he had not been especially worried about him — he simply hadn’t anticipated that in the midst of the blizzard, Zhang Chenguang would be the only one to get into trouble.
Han Dasheng, in that moment, felt the urge to prostrate himself in prayer for Zhang Chenguang — not so much out of concern for his safety as out of fear of how badly this kind of incident would affect their convoy’s future business.
Tibet, Xinjiang, Qinghai, and other such regions were vast, their natural and cultural scenery unlike anything in the eastern provinces, drawing enormous numbers of tourists every year. This had given rise to convoys like theirs, which catered specifically to semi-independent travelers. They could serve as drivers along a route of your own choosing, or double as both driver and guide, sparing you the misery of the standard tour group experience — sleeping on the bus, photographing landmarks, then boarding again.
Han Dasheng ran this kind of business; so did the Eagle Club. With their foundation in off-road trail-blazing, they understood this land far better than any travel agency’s tour guides.
But being in business meant dreading even the smallest brush with disaster. You didn’t have to be the one who led the client to the summit for their accident to splash back on you.
“May good fortune find you, brother,” Ma He said by way of comfort before they left.
Han Dasheng let out a long sigh, seeming to sense that Zhang Chenguang’s odds were not good.
Word spread that in addition to the military police and the local garrison, the Blue Sky Rescue Team and the Big Dipper Rescue Team had also dispatched volunteers to Yuzhu Peak to assist in the search. Several days later, the Blue Sky Rescue Team discovered the body of a foreigner. Based on the post-mortem examination and the items found on the person, the date of death aligned roughly with the day of the blizzard. Strangely, however, the police had received no missing persons report involving any foreigner.
By the time Ba Yunye and the others left Golmud, the weather had turned fair once more. The early morning sunlight slowly gilded the perpetually snow-capped mountaintops into a deep gold — like the gilded spire of a Buddhist stupa, opulent yet somehow utterly sacred.
Had this lead on Zhang Chenguang simply gone cold, then?
Early May in Lhasa was not exactly cold, but the mornings and evenings still carried a notable chill. Today, Long Ge — owner of the Eagle Club — was hosting at the Deji Guesthouse in Lhasa both the rescue team and the organizer of this expedition into Qiang Tang to find the missing person. The tea set on the table was arranged with meticulous precision, the cups lined up by size and color in neat rows.
Long Ge was an atypical Khampa man, his real name transliterated as Renlong Duoji. Unlike the tall, imposing, and deep-eyed Khampa men most people had in mind, he was now a pale, heavyset man, and people frequently said he was a well-fed version of Takizawa Hideaki. He had been running the Eagle Club for more than a decade, and before that, he had been a well-known “hardcore hiker” in the circles. He had driven routes for many years and was Ba Yunye’s mentor, employer, and elder brother — to her, his kindness was as deep as a mountain, and one could even say they were comrades bound by life and death.
In recent years, he had stepped back from the front lines. What had he been doing? Running guesthouses. In the major tourist cities of the southwest — places like Lijiang, Dali, Chengdu, and Lhasa — he had a stake in each.
The Deji Guesthouse was three stories tall and, like many buildings in Lhasa, was built in a rectangular layout enclosing a square inner courtyard. Every level of the guesthouse had its railings hung with team pennants from various off-road clubs — arranged from largest to smallest, organized by primary color, and some bearing the signatures of all their members — radiating an effortless air of pride. Making it into Tibet meant you had earned the right to swagger a little.
The guests had not yet arrived. Long Ge unhurriedly boiled water, his left hand working one bead at a time along a string of prayer beads. When his fingers reached a carved pendant of dragon-subduing sandalwood, he rubbed it several times with particular reverence, all while murmuring something under his breath.
The sound of footsteps at the doorway — Long Ge raised his eyes. They had arrived.
Ma He entered first, gesturing welcomingly. Behind him came a stream of people filing in one after another: powerfully built, most of them in their twenties and thirties, wearing orange-and-black fleece jackets bearing embroidered patches on the left chest — a design combining a globe’s meridian lines with the Big Dipper. Among them was one man of unremarkable height but with a ruddy complexion, wearing a T-shirt and a black athletic jacket. He moved with a lightness to his step, the kind that suggested regular physical training.
Long Ge recognized him at a glance: Ye Xun, a philanthropist entrepreneur who appeared in the media with considerable frequency.
Ye Xun was an upstart who had built his fortune on boutique travel packages. Unlike most upstarts, in recent years his charitable work had been making quite a splash. He had even established the “Ye Foundation,” dedicated to helping disadvantaged groups, and he had earned a reasonably good reputation in the industry, even being featured in a profile interview. But there were also dissenting voices online, calling it performance charity — charitable on the surface, while beneath it all he was running a scheme involving young men and women.
Long Ge had quietly been puzzled about this for some time. Pursuing young women, understandable. But pursuing young men — what on earth was that about?
A dozen or so people settled in, and the originally spacious inner courtyard became somewhat crowded. Long Ge swept his gaze around the room, then he and Ma He began carrying the tea, one cup at a time, to each person in turn.
Ye Xun and his assistant Xiao Zi had flown in from Chengdu and treated altitude sickness with the same wariness others reserved for wolves and tigers. Ye Xun peered down into his cup, where a few threads of crimson floated in the amber liquid. “Ha—” he laughed, took a sip, and looked as though he’d just knocked back premium Maotai. “Saffron! Does this stuff actually prevent altitude sickness?”
Long Ge waved a dismissive hand. For someone with his “hardcore hiker” credentials, unless you were scaling a peak above 6,000 meters, the words “altitude sickness” simply had no meaning. He scanned the room once more, and still didn’t see the person he was hoping to find. Then, mid-conversation, a man arrived unhurriedly, walking straight toward the group. Long Ge raised his eyes again — and gave a slight lift of his brow. It was him.
This man wore a perpetually stern expression. His eyebrows were thick and dark, arching upward at their peaks, his gaze carrying a natural authority that required no anger to enforce. At the center of his chin was a shallow cleft, and a full growth of stubble cast a gray-blue shadow over his sharply defined jaw. He approached slowly. His upper body wore only a gray short-sleeved shirt that, though visibly loose, was pulled taut across his frame, revealing the rugged outline of dense muscle beneath. His physique could rival that of a European or American male model. The exposed bronze skin was lightly sheened with perspiration, and his entire bearing radiated a cold, severe masculine energy — the kind of strength and forcefulness that came with full maturity.
“Diao Zhuo.” He extended his hand and gave his own name, his voice steady and deep. His knuckles were broad and long, his palms roughened — hands shaped by long exposure to the elements.
“Diao… Zhuo…” Long Ge murmured the name to himself, then extended his own hand for a brief, easy shake, smiling with warm eyes. “Big Dipper Special Rescue Team, First Unit… I’ve heard much about you. I’d love an introduction sometime — perhaps I’ll sign on as a volunteer myself.”
The Big Dipper Rescue Team had been established in 2011 as an independent, fully nonprofit civilian rescue organization, with branch units in twenty of China’s provinces and autonomous regions, as well as a number of specialized rescue squads.
“You’re too kind.”
Long Ge remained affable, serene as a laughing Buddha. “Very few people go for a morning run the moment they arrive in Lhasa. Or perhaps — Captain Diao, you’ve already long adapted to high-altitude environments?”
A few members of the team suppressed laughs, and various voices chimed in:
“We were just at Yuzhu Peak last month, looking for a missing climber.”
“Lhasa’s only a little over 3,000 meters in elevation. Honestly almost too comfortable.”
“Never mind morning runs — if Diao Zhuo flew a few laps around the city, none of us would bat an eye.”
Long Ge feigned curiosity. “Could it be that Captain Diao is a pilot by profession?”
One of the team members laughed. “Wrong. Guess again.”
“An acrobat? One of those aerial performers?”
The whole group lost its composure and broke into laughter.
Long Ge shook his head.
Diao Zhuo waved a resigned hand and said in a low, flat tone, “Don’t listen to them. I do geological surveying for work, spend years out in the field, so environments and elevation don’t particularly faze me. I’m used to it.”
That answer made Long Ge look at him with a new glimmer of interest.
A brief silence fell. Long Ge calmly worked his prayer beads and changed the subject. “Back when Qiang Tang wasn’t so strictly regulated, I went in many times, though I never reached the core zone. The scenery there is extraordinary, but the unknown dangers are plentiful. I wonder whether any of you have had similar experience — or perhaps organized a previous expedition into that interior?”
Ye Xun picked up the thread, delivering his words with the cadence of a public address, eyes even glinting with what appeared to be genuine tears. “Long Ge, Captain Diao and the team are true elites! This journey into Qiang Tang — exploration is one part of it, but what matters most is finding Zou Kaigui. This man has been through so much — ten years searching for his daughter! When I heard his story, I was deeply moved, and I’ve been supporting him these past few years. What I never expected was how relentless he would be — relentless enough to go into Qiang Tang alone, despite the danger. Truly, I believe his solo trek into the uninhabited zone is nothing like those people who do it for fame. They chase fame for themselves. Zou Kaigui’s purpose is to make more people aware of his story so they can help him find the daughter who was taken from him ten years ago.”
Long Ge nodded. “It’s all in service of doing good. So when our club heard that you were entering the uninhabited zone to find someone, we volunteered to send someone as a guide straightaway… I don’t have your kind of noble purpose. I have outdoor experience and knowledge of the routes, and I’ve mostly just been thinking about how to leverage that for business.”
“Ah…” — perhaps carried away by his own impassioned speech, Ye Xun pressed a hand to his head and groaned. “My head is getting heavy, could it be altitude sickness? No good, no good — you all keep talking, I’m going to step out to the car and drink some Rhodiola!” With that, he hurried toward the door.
Ma He nearly laughed aloud, but held it in. He glanced at the other rescue team members — they were surely running the same thoughts through their heads. For people newly arrived in Tibet, so-called altitude sickness was mostly a matter of scaring themselves.
Diao Zhuo had a direct nature and was clearly no good at this kind of small talk. “Where is the guide, ‘Master Ba’?”
“Arriving in a couple of days.”
Ye Xun’s assistant Xiao Zi couldn’t help interjecting, “Is this person reliable?”
Long Ge wore a confident expression. “Absolutely reliable. Let me put it this way — after I stepped back from the front lines, Master Ba became the ‘top pillar’ of our club. Have you seen ‘Wolf Warrior’? She’s a special forces veteran. How could she not be reliable?”
Diao Zhuo’s expression remained stern, but it was evident that this background history met with his satisfaction.
Long Ge read his face and smiled without saying a word. He had been willing to take a loss to land this engagement, and it was not purely for charitable reasons.
After the rescue team’s party had departed, he unhurriedly flipped open an old notebook. Inside it, two yellowed press clippings were pasted: “Minibus Carrying Multiple Geology Experts Plunges Off Road; Circumstances Behind the Accident Demand Urgent Investigation” and “Investigation Team and Survivors Recount the Cause of the Crash — Internal Conflict Found to Have Compromised the Driver.”
He paged through it for a while, then closed the notebook, seemingly sinking into thought.