September in the north already carried a chill, but Xiao’ai, who had just finished running five laps around the track, was flushed and gleaming with sweat. She gasped for breath as she said: “I’m exhausted! Time for a break!”

Zhang Tian’en and Su Zheming were still jogging. Between the two of them, five or six laps was barely a warm-up. As Zhang Tian’en passed by Xiao’ai, he caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye — her long legs, her pleasant features, her hair falling all the way to her waist — and couldn’t help the small flutter that went through him.

The trip to Tiger Leaping Gorge had been a surprise: he hadn’t expected Zheming to bring Xiao’ai along. Over those two or three days of hiking, he had been nothing more than a bystander to their romance — and yet he had found himself realizing that his feelings for Xiao’ai lingered, and that she, in turn, seemed to regard him somewhat differently than before.

Even so, Zhang Tian’en was still not entirely happy about Su Zheming and Meng Xiao’ai joining his desert trek. Yet at the same time, part of him genuinely wanted a chance to impress her.

Being handsome alone wasn’t enough. His own family was well-off, his build was strong, and his academic record was solid — by any reasonable measure, he should be a far more suitable match than Su Zheming, who came from modest circumstances. And on top of everything, he lived in the neighboring city, while Zheming was from somewhere as far away as Zhu Men. During one of their one-on-one conversations, Zheming had openly admitted that as an only child, his parents were hoping he would settle down in Guangdong at the very least.

After much deliberation, Zhang Tian’en agreed — partly for Xiao’ai’s sake — to let the two of them join him on the desert crossing. They threw themselves into preparation with great enthusiasm: running every day to build their stamina, and starting to watch Bear Grylls in Man vs. Wild.

Xiao’ai’s parents had a firm rule: if you want to travel, you travel with a tour group. When she went to Tiger Leaping Gorge, she had told her parents she was just wandering around the old towns of Lijiang and Shangri-La and joining a local day tour — and even that had taken considerable cajoling before they agreed. This time around, she planned to say nothing at all to her parents about the desert trek. But her parents still weren’t at ease, and insisted she at least tell them which city she would be in.

Zheming and Zhang Tian’en faced the exact same problem. Both had told their families outright that they intended to cross a desert, and both had been met with fierce opposition.

The three of them sat down together for a long while trying to figure out how to get the travel funds from home. They eventually came up with a plan: since Xiao’ai had always wanted to visit Xinjiang, they would tell their parents they were joining a self-driving tour through the Xinjiang route — which included a stretch along the desert highway crossing the Taklimakan, 500 kilometers, over in two days.

That version was palatable enough for their parents to grudgingly agree. So the three of them booked flights to Kashgar together, even giving their parents the contact information for the “self-driving tour” to further put their minds at ease.

“It really is the perfect plan,” Zheming said, hugging Xiao’ai happily. “Satisfies your dream of visiting Xinjiang and keeps the parents convinced at the same time.”

Their parents had no idea that the place they were actually going was nowhere near the Taklimakan.

The Sichuan food was good and everyone was eating with great appetite when seven or eight more people walked in through the door. A vaguely familiar male voice called out: “Hey there, this table—”

Ba Yunye glanced over instinctively. The man leading the group seemed familiar, though she couldn’t immediately place him — but he recognized her at once.

“Master Ba!” Han Dasheng pointed at her in delighted surprise. “What a coincidence running into you today!” He walked over, his gaze falling on the Bu Lin Bu Lin Foodie Squad — first a brief look of surprise, then a flash of displeasure, quickly suppressed. He broke into a cheerful smile and exchanged a few warm words with Ba Yunye and River Horse.

Ba Yunye didn’t feel there was any particular friendship between herself and Han Dasheng, and didn’t put on the appearance of being close. She even went ahead and prodded the one sore spot: “Has Zhang Chenguang been found yet?”

Han Dasheng had already pulled himself out of the shadow of his client’s disappearance. He shook his head. “Whether he ever gets found — that’s up to fate now. It’s not as though he’s as lucky as that Zou Kaigui, who at least made it back to his hometown to be buried. I had a feeling about that man from the very beginning — something wasn’t right. If only I’d known, I would never have taken him.”

Ba Yunye’s curiosity was piqued. She poured Han Dasheng some sweet tea, but he waved it off and instead helped himself to hot water from the thermos to mix up a packet of hot chocolate, then casually passed a few packets around to the table, claiming with a straight face that it helped with altitude sickness.

When it was Ba Yunye’s turn, she didn’t take one, looking at him with clear distaste: “How does a big grown man like you go around drinking this stuff every day?”

“Low blood sugar — I carry it with me.”

She gave a nod at that, and then asked: “So what was so strange about Zhang Chenguang?”

“Sometimes he’d slip away to make calls — whispering away in a foreign language. The strangest thing was, he had a thermos — low quality, prone to leaking — but he absolutely refused to throw it away. I told him: that thing holds 500 milliliters, not nearly enough for a summit attempt. I told him to pick up a 1.5-liter bottle along the way. He said he had one, in his luggage. Later, I found out through someone else — Zhang Chenguang had been to Yuzhu Peak many times before, but he had never once reached the summit. I couldn’t make any sense of it. I’ve guided plenty of complete beginners before, and plenty of them made the summit on their very first attempt.”

River Horse joked: “Maybe he’s rich enough to go just for the fun of it?”

Han Dasheng shook his head, bewildered. “Actually, on the way to Yuzhu Peak, I also heard him take a call from a Chinese number…”

River Horse cut in: “How could you tell it was a Chinese number?”

“Because he answered in Chinese, idiot.”

River Horse rolled his eyes.

“What did he say?” Ba Yunye asked.

“Something about not being able to leave yet — said he had an appointment, and something about how he hadn’t even wanted to come but had no choice, things like that. He said it in his hometown dialect, so I wasn’t entirely sure — maybe it was a family member asking him to come home.” Han Dasheng sighed. “If only I’d stopped and let him out then and there.”

“The base camp is in the middle of nowhere — were you planning to let him starve to death?” Ba Yunye said with a laugh, which also served as a way of telling him not to keep blaming himself.

“I asked the mountain guides they’d hired, and not a single one of them could tell me where exactly Zhang Chenguang had gotten separated from the group. It was a full-blown blizzard, and everyone on the climb was bundled up so thickly you couldn’t tell one person from another. As far as I’m concerned, they’re just passing the buck.” Han Dasheng vented for a moment, then glanced over at the Bu Lin Bu Lin Foodie Squad, seemed to think better of what he had been about to say, and ended with a laugh and some meaningless small talk before heading back to his own clients’ table.

Shi Mengzhi had also noticed Han Dasheng’s group. He caught the girls’ eyes and gave a small signal, and they all played up not knowing each other.

When it came time to set off again, Han Dasheng pulled Ba Yunye aside, looking as though he had something to say.

Ba Yunye followed him to a secluded spot, fully expecting more. “Did you think of something else about Zhang Chenguang?”

“Not him — those two women…” He gestured toward outside. “The ones doing the food vlogs. Total trouble.”

“What happened — paid the deposit and then dragged their feet on the final payment?” Ba Yunye wasn’t sure what Han Dasheng’s team’s policy was, but the Soaring Eagle Club always collected full payment before departure.

“Nothing to do with money. Those two found our convoy in Lhasa over the summer and said they wanted to go to Nagqu — so I took them.” Han Dasheng recounted the events with the look of someone still recovering from a trauma. “They wanted to go to Damxung County to see the skull wall at Damo Monastery.”

Ba Yunye blinked, taken aback, the corner of her eye giving an involuntary twitch. “Please tell me they didn’t set up a ring light in the middle of the night and film themselves eating Boston lobster in front of the skull wall.”

“I warned them — not to pull any stunts like that. They didn’t eat anything in front of it, I’ll give them that. But then — they went and pulled a complete group disappearance on me the very next day!” Han Dasheng slapped his thigh. “Just like Zhang Chenguang all over again! I was scared half to death. I genuinely considered switching careers after that.”

Ba Yunye caught on: “It was staged?”

He nodded heavily, jaw working with a sound of pure exasperation. “I filed a police report. Joined the search myself. And then those two surfaced on their own out of nowhere after two days, claiming they’d had severe altitude sickness and passed out somewhere. Are you kidding me? Later I found out — those two days ‘missing’ near the skull wall, they went viral overnight. Came back and did a follow-up livestream of themselves eating apples in a graveyard, and now they’ve got a huge fan following. Every day people are guessing—”

He pinched his voice up into a falsetto, held up an imaginary elegant hand, and swayed his head from side to side: “Where will our little ladies be sitting this week, eating something in some remote, hard-to-reach corner of the world, meow~?”

Ba Yunye burst out laughing despite herself, nodding with new understanding. So that’s what had happened.

“Keep a close eye on them,” Han Dasheng said gravely. “Those girls have no sense of restraint — they play it unconventional, and I’m telling you: don’t let a fake disappearance turn into a real one. And when it goes wrong, we’re the ones who take the blame.”

“I’ll make sure every one of them arrives in Urumqi safe and sound — not a single person missing,” Ba Yunye said earnestly.

“Good — I’m glad you understand.” Han Dasheng rose to leave.

Ba Yunye felt a genuine appreciation for Han Dasheng’s straightforwardness in this moment. She walked a few steps with him toward the door: “Thanks, big brother.”

Han Dasheng looked pleased and acknowledged it with a sound of satisfaction.

At least River Horse was sharing a room with Shi Mengzhi — if either of them made any moves, River Horse ought to notice. Ba Yunye thought back to her own offhand mention of Dead Men’s Gully over dinner and felt a sudden sharp pang of regret — she fired off a message to River Horse: Keep a close watch on Shi Mengzhi and the others. Don’t let them pull anything that causes us grief. We’ve got new clients arriving at Kashgar airport in a few days. When I’m not around, stay sharp.

River Horse acknowledged with a thumbs-up emoji and went back to scrolling his short video app.

The flight landed on schedule at Kashgar. Zhang Tian’en, Su Zheming, and Meng Xiao’ai walked out of the terminal together. Not far off, a conspicuous red Jeep Wrangler was waiting to pick them up.

For Ba Yunye, this leg of the trip was practically seamless. The four clients from Zhejiang had reached the end of their holiday and flown back to Hangzhou from Kashgar, and Long Ge had passed along three more clients going from Kashgar to Urumqi — so the vehicle wouldn’t be making an empty return trip.

Still, she hadn’t quite put down her burdens yet. The two food vloggers, A-Bu and Ai Shuai, were always scheming to find their next viral moment, their ambitions pointing toward ever more dramatic stunts. Ba Yunye was on full alert the whole way.

The outgoing Zheming, in a great mood after boarding, turned to the front: “Miss, so Master Ba isn’t here today?”

Ba Yunye smiled. “I’m the Master Ba you’ve been in contact with.”

“Oh my god! Master Ba, you’re way too cool!”

“Having two beauties riding along — I really am living my best life!”

“Are you from Xinjiang, Master Ba?”

“I don’t think so — you look like you might have some mixed heritage…”

Ba Yunye waited for them to finish, then said with a smile: “One hundred percent Chinese, just not from Xinjiang.”

Zheming and Xiao’ai chatted easily with Ba Yunye and got along well. Zhang Tian’en, on the other hand, rarely spoke. He was goal-oriented by nature: this trip wasn’t about Xinjiang, and Ba Yunye’s convoy was simply cover. He had little interest in making conversation.

It was the first day of the National Day holiday, and the roads had more vehicles than usual. Ba Yunye rested her left elbow on the window frame and steered with her right hand, drifting slowly with the flow of traffic. They hit a small bottleneck again just past the airport’s south exit.

“Master Ba.”

The familiar voice didn’t come from the back seat — it seemed to come from outside.

Ba Yunye looked left. On the opposite lane, the rear window of a passing car had come down, and the person sitting inside was none other than Diao Zhuo — a face she hadn’t seen in a long time.

She was momentarily stunned. Something inside her chest exploded like a firework — scattering brilliant light in all directions. What is this feeling? Ba Yunye wondered. It was nothing more than a reckless, uncommitted moment of passion between two people. Why this reaction? Perhaps it was the magic of running into a familiar face far from home — and not just any familiar face, but one she had shared a bed with. That was certainly cause for a certain kind of delight.

From the direction he was headed, Diao Zhuo was on his way into the airport.

“Hey! Diao Zhuo! Where are you off to!” She took off her sunglasses and called out.

He looked at her, his expression as serious as ever, though his eyes seemed to carry a trace of a smile: “Back to Xi’an.”

“How did you end up in Kashgar! You still owe me a meal! And now you’re just going to make a run for it!”

Diao Zhuo’s worksite in the Kizilsu Kirghiz Autonomous Prefecture was less than 50 kilometers from Kashgar — a distance that, in the vast expanses of Xinjiang, was practically the same as being in the same neighborhood. Neither of them had done their homework on the other: Ba Yunye didn’t know where Diao Zhuo was stationed, and Diao Zhuo had no idea Ba Yunye would be in Kashgar today. One was picking up clients, the other was departing — and they ran into each other at the very entrance and exit of the airport. If that wasn’t a thread of fate woven between them, it was something very close.

The road ahead cleared, and the car behind her gave two impatient honks. Ba Yunye held up her hand, thumb and little finger extended — the universal gesture for call me — and pressed it briefly to her ear.

Diao Zhuo gave a nod.

“Pretty bold, that woman.”

“I love that vehicle — it’s been modified. That’s a real machine.”

The colleague in the front seat made two passing remarks before the conversation drifted elsewhere. Diao Zhuo’s gaze followed her car until it was gone from sight, then slowly drew back.

Ba Yunye settled her three new clients in and then heard that the Bu Lin Bu Lin Foodie Squad had packed up a pile of supplies and was heading for the entrance of a mosque to film themselves eating — only stopped by River Horse’s sharp nose catching the smell of soy-braised pork knuckle before they got there.

She spent a patient stretch of time laying out for two young women who had no grasp of their own limits or the world around them why even the currently peaceful and well-administered Xinjiang could not withstand that kind of recklessness. She also reminded River Horse to watch Shi Mengzhi and the others without ceasing.

Just as she was finishing up, her phone rang — a middle-aged woman’s voice came on the line. A moment later she realized: it was Meng Xiao’ai’s mother. She’d called once before when Xiao’ai first arrived. Ba Yunye listened, a little confused — the woman was asking whether her daughter had arrived safely. Ba Yunye replied warmly and reassuringly, stealing a glance in the rearview mirror at Xiao’ai, who was whispering something to Zheming with her head bent close to his.

Parents’ darling, boyfriend’s treasure — things she had never experienced, and still couldn’t claim. By the time Ba Yunye had been Xiao’ai’s age, she had been grinding through military training. Special forces drills were not something most people could survive.

One thing and another conspired to make her forget entirely about the encounter with Diao Zhuo — and by the time she thought of him again, two or three days had already slipped by. There wasn’t really a point in calling specifically to pry it out of him — some questions only meant something if they were asked in the moment.

Like: did you ever think about me, damn it?