August. Xizhou, Dali.

With one leg of the Yunnan-Tibet route behind her, Ba Yunye gave a few passengers a lift back to Dali to share fuel costs. After dropping them off in the city center, she drove without pause straight to Xizhou. Word had it that the courtyard Diao Zhuo had taken over was now fully renovated and would be opening for business any day.

It was a funny thing — ever since Diao Zhuo had resigned and settled temporarily in Dali, every time she drove clients into Tibet and passed the Sela Mountain viewing platform, she could see the full, unobstructed face of Namcha Barwa, the most beautiful snow-capped mountain in the world, without a single wisp of cloud or mist in the way. Ba Yunye, who almost never took tourist-style photographs, had on several occasions pressed her phone into a passenger’s hands and asked them to take a photo of her posing from a distance with Namcha Barwa — the most beautiful snow mountain — as her backdrop.

They say that those who are granted a clear view of Namcha Barwa’s true face are destined for happiness.

Long Ge still spent most of his time at De Ji Guesthouse. Ba Yunye remained the number one sister at Eagles Club — except that now, at long last, she had a business of her own: a guesthouse. As she drove, she tried to recall exactly when she had ever mentioned to Diao Zhuo that she dreamed of opening a guesthouse in Dali and becoming the proprietress. Perhaps, she thought, she had spoken without thinking — and he had listened with everything he had.

As a prominent ancient town nestled at the foot of Cang Mountain beside Erhai Lake, Xizhou was not as bustling as Dali Old Town or Shuanglang. It was a place of Bai ethnic communities, where the deep blue of the sky formed a vivid contrast against the intricately carved and painted eaves of the traditional Bai ancestral homes. The writer Lao She once wrote of it: “Xizhou is nothing short of a miracle. I cannot think of anywhere else so remote in the country that I have seen a town of such dignity… nestled between mountain and water — a true paradise on earth.”

After resigning, this was where Diao Zhuo had chosen to build his new chapter.

Ba Yunye had once asked him: Was he truly not the least bit sorry to give up such a stable career, step into a field he knew nothing about, and cast aside everything he had spent years learning?

“If I’m too far from you, I’m afraid you’ll run off.” The straightforward man said what he meant, plainly and without elaboration.

Ba Yunye parked the car at the entrance to the lane and walked along the narrow path until it opened up into a wider courtyard — and there was the guesthouse. The property had once served as the residence of a successful imperial scholar, built in the classic style of a four-sided compound with five open courtyards. The workers had already finished and packed up. Judging by the large pile of unopened deliveries and packaging materials stacked by the entrance, Proprietor Diao had clearly been handling the final decorative touches himself over the past few days. She pushed open the door and took in the space with a sweeping glance. Under Diao Zhuo’s directive to “restore the old as the old,” the courtyard had preserved its original appearance beautifully — from the plaque inscribed with the characters for “auspicious energy from the east” to the weathered tables and chairs lining the corridors, to the cluster of gnarled and casually sprawling pine trees, everything carried a faint breath of antiquity.

The wooden staircase leading to the second floor gave a soft creak beneath her feet with each step. Ba Yunye noticed an open toolbox sitting outside one of the room doors — he must be in there. She crept over quietly and peered in. There he was, shirtless, a pair of athletic shorts hanging loosely at his waist, back to the door, hammering several batik decorative paintings into the wall. He had clearly been at it for a good while — a thin sheen of sweat covered his solid back, his neck glistening as though doused with water, and rivulets of perspiration trailed down his spine.

When he bent down to pick up a nail, he caught the outline of someone standing in the doorway from the corner of his eye. He turned his head, and seeing it was her, a quiet smile curved at the corner of his lips.

“The proprietress has returned?” He set the hammer and nails aside, hopped off the chair, and casually pulled a towel from where it hung on the chair back.

Ba Yunye put on a ceremonious air, stroking the entirely nonexistent mustache above her lip, and pitched her voice into a mock-authoritative tone. “The proprietress is here to inspect whether any of you workers have been cutting corners. If any shortcomings are found… payment in kind!”

“The proprietress is welcome to look as she pleases. If nothing is found to be missing…” Diao Zhuo played along with a feigned show of deference, “…this humble worker will get rid of a few things.”

“Tsk tsk, the lengths young people go to these days just to secure a meal ticket — absolutely shameless.” Ba Yunye hooked a finger under his chin. “No need to get rid of anything — payment in kind will do.”

He gave a low scoff. “This proprietress is wicked.”

Ba Yunye immediately broke into a bright, impish grin and helped pass him the tools. The two of them skipped lunch entirely, working their way through every room until all the decorative paintings were hung. Only then did they pluck two bunches of greens and hastily cook two bowls of noodles to eat. Ba Yunye sat in the wooden chair beside the courtyard, slurping her noodles. “I really want some of your Xi’an-style stir-fried soaked flatbread… that stuff has real depth of flavor.”

“Tell me which restaurant you like best — I’ll poach their head cook at a high salary and have them make it for you every day.” He said it with complete ease, yet with an unmistakable air of authority.

“A high salary? That’s just going to make me feel even more pressure…” Ba Yunye pressed her hand to her forehead, then quickly opened her social media and posted: September 1st departure from Yunnan — Yunnan-Tibet–Xinjiang-Tibet–Xinjiang Grand Loop — traversing Southern and Northern Xinjiang. See Tibet in autumn and the most beautiful desert poplar forests. Inquiries and bookings welcome!

Diao Zhuo glanced over. Autumn was the peak season for her line of work — once she set out, she wouldn’t return until mid-November at the earliest. She had told him that once the guesthouse business settled, she wanted him to drive with her during the peak seasons and see the most beautiful scenery in China’s west together.

The guesthouse had barely been listed on a few travel platforms for two days before bookings began to come in. Ba Yunye sat behind the computer, and every time a new reservation notification popped up, she let out a cheer — the same unbridled joy she had felt back when she first joined Eagles Club and lit up at landing every single client. Sure enough, on the third day of being open, a guest arrived dragging a large wheeled suitcase to check in.

“Welcome!” Ba Yunye sprang to her feet, smiling as she went to greet them. She had barely taken a few steps when something about the young woman struck her as familiar. She looked more closely —

Meng Xiao’ai.

“Ba Ye, long time no see.”

“It’s you… welcome, welcome…” She rubbed the tip of her nose, cleared her throat, and called out at full volume toward the back: “Proprietor Diao! We have a guest!”

Diao Zhuo was in the courtyard tending to the potted plants. At her shout, he felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him, and he walked in with a bemused expression. He hadn’t even taken off his gardening gloves when she hurried over, gave him a firm push in the right direction, then solemnly patted him on the shoulder, said “I’ll leave this to you,” and walked back out.

Meng Xiao’ai turned and gave a gentle smile.

Diao Zhuo instinctively glanced back at Ba Yunye, but she had already gone outside to take over his potted plant work, as if she had deliberately left this entire situation for him to sort out. He gave a polite nod. A guest was a guest. He sat down at the computer and adopted a businesslike tone. “May I have your ID, please.”

Meng Xiao’ai didn’t comply. She stepped forward and perched on the high stool across the check-in counter. “I saw Ba Ye’s post saying she’d opened a guesthouse. I figured you’d be the one running it, sir.”

“Ba Ye is the owner. I’m just the help.” He said it with genuine humility, yet with every air of a man perfectly content in that role.

Meng Xiao’ai leaned forward on the counter, smiling warmly. “As it happens, after graduation I didn’t stay in my hometown — I found a job in Dali. I might be settling here permanently. We could end up seeing each other quite often.”

Diao Zhuo paused, feeling a slight headache coming on. He pulled up the reservation records and returned to his businesslike manner. “Do you have a reservation?… Which platform?”

“I never said I was here to check in.” Meng Xiao’ai blinked.

Diao Zhuo stood up. “Coffee or tea?”

Drink it, then see her off.

“Two coffees.” She held up two fingers.

Two?

“My boyfriend is parking the car — he’ll be in shortly. Since you once saved me, he wanted to bring a gift to celebrate the opening.” She smiled.

Diao Zhuo’s expression softened considerably — and became considerably more genuine — though his fundamentally direct nature remained unchanged. “…Su Zheming?”

“No!” Xiao’ai stomped her foot.

He did not press further. Meng Xiao’ai explained that she genuinely was coming to work in Dali because her boyfriend was here. They had met when she was catching a flight home from Kashgar airport — the man had fallen for her at first sight, and their story had been quite romantic.

Ba Yunye really was refreshingly unbothered about the whole thing — she stayed well out of the way until Meng Xiao’ai’s boyfriend carried something inside, and only then came over with him to join the group.

Everyone pitched in to unpack it together. It turned out to be a piece of calligraphy in the small seal script style, written by Meng Xiao’ai’s boyfriend’s father, who was a calligrapher — and it happened to be just the right size for the blank wall behind the check-in counter. Diao Zhuo hung it up with practiced efficiency, and the group gathered around to admire it.

“What beautiful calligraphy!” Ba Yunye was the first to give a thumbs-up. Meng Xiao’ai and her boyfriend were clearly pleased. They exchanged a few more courteous words, then took their leave.

Diao Zhuo watched them until they had disappeared from view, then raised an eyebrow at Ba Yunye. “That piece — what’s so good about it, exactly?”

“Can’t read a single character,” she said openly, pointing at it. “What does it actually say?”

“…’Descendants filling the hall.'”

“Nonsense!” She shot him a glare. “I can’t read seal script, but I’m not illiterate — there’s no way I’m that far off. What does it really say?”

“‘The highest virtue flows like water.'”

She studied it for a while with her hand on her chin, and decided this time he was probably telling the truth. “Uh… what does ‘the highest virtue flows like water’ actually mean?”

Diao Zhuo pinched her cheek affectionately. “It means you’re beautiful.”

“You’re terrible~” Ba Yunye tried to feign indignation and push him away, but found herself laughing instead.

“I have a work trip in early September — going to Beijing.” Diao Zhuo pulled his gardening gloves back on, moving potted plants as he talked.

“Something to do with the rescue team?” Ba Ye was no delicate flower when it came to physical work — she could hold her own against half a grown man. The two of them worked together.

“Just some things I need to take care of.” He deliberately brushed her nose with his hand, leaving a smear of soil across her face.

She didn’t ask for details. She ran inside to wash her face. While she was gone, Diao Zhuo moved all the remaining potted plants down and placed them at their designated spots according to the design plan.

The days that followed kept them both thoroughly occupied. Marketing was an art, personnel management even more so. Long Ge even came in person to help, calling in favors from many local contacts and introducing them to useful connections. The guesthouse business flourished day by day.

In September, Ba Yunye set off on her driving route, and Diao Zhuo departed on his work trip. Long Ge stepped in to look after the guesthouse in their absence.

One particular day, Ba Yunye was somewhere near the viewpoint at the Sky Road’s seventy-two switchbacks when she overheard the passengers in the back seat discussing something on the trending topics: a traffic accident that had occurred in that very area many years ago had just seen a dramatic reversal in its verdict. The dozen-plus experts who had perished in the crash were to be posthumously awarded the title of national martyrs.

“The news says people used to believe the accident happened because two people on board were having an extramarital affair, which caused conflict that distracted the driver. But now the investigation has concluded that it was actually a deliberate attack carried out by a criminal ring that specialized in trafficking classified national data — and the experts on board fought to their dying breath to keep the data from being seized.”

“The ones who were accused of having the affair were actually there trying to save someone and couldn’t escape in time. There was no affair — it was all a lie fabricated by that criminal ring to cover their tracks.”

“Several people who had been shielding them got caught too. Serves them absolutely right — despicable.”

“But what about the data itself?”

“Apparently it was found and recovered by surviving family members of the deceased experts and turned over to the state. An official research project team has already been established!”

“This is a wrong that has finally been righted! After so many years… how does that saying go — justice may be delayed, but it never fails to arrive.”

“Let’s hope that in the future, justice doesn’t even bother being late!”

Ba Yunye’s eyes grew damp at the corners.

At the bend in the road where the accident had taken place all those years ago, she pressed her horn three times. The passengers behind her had no idea why.

The Yunnan-Tibet leg of the route came to an end. Tomorrow they would begin the Xinjiang-Tibet leg. As usual, she arranged for her clients to stay at De Ji Guesthouse — and to her surprise, Diao Zhuo had arrived ahead of her and was standing at the door, waiting. She hit the brakes, rolled down the window, and half-leaned out with her sunglasses dangling casually from her mouth, projecting a completely unbothered air. “Well, well — a new doorman? Built like a bodyguard, aren’t we.”

He shook his head with quiet resignation. He waited for her to park and come in, then pressed a small blue velvet box into her hands.

“A marriage proposal??” Ba Yunye was stunned. “You… you… this is far too casual!”

A chorus of excited commentary erupted from everyone nearby.

“Open it first.”

Ba Yunye shooed all the spectators away and carefully opened the box. It was not a ring, not a necklace — nothing resembling jewelry at all. She had come out of the military, and it reminded her of a service medal, though far more exquisite.

Beneath a blue and white sash hung a metal insignia. At its center was a blue five-pointed star, which appeared to be made of tiny, finely set blue gemstones.

She flipped it over. On the back, three characters were engraved: Ba Xiye.

“A specially commissioned martyr’s medal.” Diao Zhuo pointed out the details for her. “These are aquamarines. At the time, He Zheng Ren stole portions of other experts’ research findings and discovered an aquamarine deposit in Pit No. 6 at Keketuohai. Working from the remaining data that was never stolen, the institute conducted further analysis and site surveys, and in addition to the beryllium-bearing ore deposits, determined that there is likely a small-to-medium-sized aquamarine deposit there as well. As a tribute of remembrance, the state had this batch of martyr’s medals made with aquamarines. The institute has also invited us to attend the inauguration ceremony for the Martyrs’ Memorial — it will stand in the center of the garden at the site of their former workplace. My trip to Beijing was to check on the construction progress of the memorial.”

“Is this medal worth a lot?” Ba Yunye turned it over in her hands, examining it from both sides. Inside, she was moved beyond words — but she kept her voice deliberately casual.

“It is priceless.” Diao Zhuo produced his father Diao Jun’s martyr’s medal. The two medals shimmered and gleamed in the sunlight, like a river of stars stretching for a thousand miles across the sky.

Ba Yunye was silent for a moment, then gave a slow, firm nod.

“As for the other thing you mentioned just now — the proposal — I’ve already reserved a…”

“Stop right there — I’m not getting married.” Ba Yunye raised a hand and cut him off. She carefully placed the medal back in the box, then dug up an old argument, repeating the verdict she had once laid out to Long Ge and He Ma: “Men, when they’re in love, they swear eternal devotion and go at it seven times a night — and then barely a few years into marriage, they’ve got no passion left and can’t even perform.”

Diao Zhuo held up a hand in front of her face, his gaze pinning her in place. “Married or not, you’re my woman.”

“Then you…”

He cut her off, jaw tightening, speaking through his back teeth: “And furthermore — if you ever predict my performance issues again, I’ll show you seven times in a single night just to prove you wrong.”

The threat landed with complete effectiveness. Ba Ye’s neck shrank into her shoulders, and she was struck into absolute silence.

The end.