The sun was setting in the west.

“Oh, I can’t anymore — let’s rest, let’s rest!” Su Zhuo Ming dropped onto the ground, flung his pack to one side, grabbed his water bottle and gulped it down in great mouthfuls.

Zhang Chenguang watched the water level in the bottle steadily dropping, and his eyes filled with dread.

A hundred meters back, Xiao’ai was hauling her pack, swaying unsteadily as she tried to close the gap. She didn’t make it fifty meters before she sank to the ground just like Zhuo Ming — and even without drinking wildly from her bottle, the look on her face that said she wanted to turn back and go home was unmistakable to anyone.

Since the previous night, Xiao’ai had been feeling off — her whole body drained of energy.

Today marked five days since they had entered the desert. They had only covered half their planned distance, and the physical toll on Zhuo Ming and Xiao’ai had been immense — the two of them could barely manage two or three hundred meters before having to sit and rest.

To avoid the heat of the daytime, they had already adjusted their routine: setting out at dusk, resting for a few hours in the middle of the night, then getting up again when the first faint light appeared on the horizon, and making camp again around ten in the morning. Even so, their pace remained very slow.

Zhang Chenguang knew clearly that the first five days were nothing — the real challenges lay in the latter half of the route he had planned. But looking at their current situation, physical exhaustion was one problem; the bigger problem was that their water was being consumed at a frightening rate. Zhuo Ming and Xiao’ai, it seemed, had watched too many TV dramas — they clung stubbornly to the belief that there would certainly be an oasis somewhere in the desert, and that even if the water ran out, it wouldn’t matter. By the most optimistic estimate, it might take another five days before they walked out of the desert. But they had already drunk through two-thirds of their water.

When you first enter the desert and face an endless sea of sand, what you feel might be exhilaration. But after three or four days of trekking, when every moment you open or close your eyes brings the same expanse of yellow, the aesthetic numbness sets in — the undulating dunes no longer fill you with curiosity or delight. And when your supplies are exhausted, all that remains is fear and despair.

Even Bear Grylls from Man vs. Wild had ventured into the desert, and could find water by digging less than a meter down beneath stacked rocks. But looking around them, there wasn’t a rock to be seen — not even a blade of grass. The cactus plants Xiao’ai and Zhuo Ming had planned to plant along the way had long since been discarded somewhere — left to fend for themselves.

That is the nature of a desert: it strips you of every illusion and every luxury, and brings you face to face with life and death — but it gives you no time to contemplate life and death. The only thing you must do is survive.

When Xiao’ai finally caught up to them, Zhang Chenguang made a difficult decision. “Xiao’ai, Zhuo Ming — why don’t the two of you… head back.”

Both of them stared at him, and Xiao’ai nodded vigorously. “Yes, let’s! Let’s do that!”

Zhuo Ming stood with his mouth half open, gazing toward the endless dunes ahead. After days out here, despite constantly drinking water, his lips had dried and peeled, cracking and bleeding in places, and patches of dark sunburn freckles had appeared on both cheeks.

Xiao’ai looked at him hopefully, willing him to nod.

“How would we go back, though…” Zhuo Ming murmured.

“Find a sheltered spot and wait,” Zhang Chenguang said. “We’ve been in here five days — our parents must have realized by now that they can’t reach us. They’ll have filed a police report. The authorities will trace our flights and trains, ask the locals, find out we came here to trek, and then a rescue operation will be set in motion.”

Xiao’ai stared at Zhang Chenguang blankly, at a loss for what to say.

Zhang Chenguang continued: “As long as you stay where you are and don’t move, they’ll drive in to search… it might take a little time to find you, but if they extend the search route, they’ll come across you before long and bring you out.”

“Be rescued?” Zhuo Ming leapt to his feet. “That’s out of the question! It’s too humiliating! If that gets out, we’d never hear the end of it! People would only see us as idiots!”

Xiao’ai was a little disheartened. She pressed her lips together and said nothing, a heaviness in her chest, a throbbing pain in her head, and wave after wave of dizziness washing over her.

“Rescue might already be on its way — maybe an hour or two from now they could drive right to where we’re standing,” Zhang Chenguang said. He knew he could still hold on himself, but he could no longer afford to continue alongside these two: firstly, the two of them would only keep draining his water; secondly, if anything went wrong, he wouldn’t be able to answer for it.

“I promise you — starting right now, I’ll only drink half a bottle a day. Is that enough?” Zhuo Ming insisted on pressing forward, swearing an oath. “If I drink even one drop more than that, I’ll call myself worthless!”

“But —”

“No buts! I decided to come, I kept it from my parents, and I’m going to trek all the way out on my own two feet! This is the one wild, reckless thing I’ll ever do in my life — there won’t be another!” Zhuo Ming shouted until his voice was ragged.

His family was ordinary — his parents ran a small business, had made some money, but with limited vision, had never expanded, and things had gradually declined. The three of them were crammed into a narrow shopfront: the front half was the shop, the back half was where they lived, his parents’ bedroom and his own separated only by a large wardrobe — unbearably inconvenient.

On the outside, he appeared sunny and cheerful; inside, he was deeply insecure — especially after starting university, where some of his classmates lived in villas, others were academic stars. He was unremarkable in grades, had nothing much at home to compare with others, and only had his looks to speak for.

He had won the affections of Xiao’ai, who came from a comfortable family — and there were those who said he was nothing but a kept man, living off a pretty face.

He needed something he could be proud of, something to lean on as the foundation and sustenance of his self-confidence in the years ahead. I am not a kept man. I once trekked on foot through the Badain Jaran Desert — this was the glory within his reach.

“Zhuo… Zhuo Ming… I… ” Xiao’ai’s face had gone white, one hand pressed to her chest, and she looked to be in serious distress.

“You — what’s wrong?” Zhuo Ming stepped forward and caught hold of her.

Zhang Chenguang looked her over and said: “Xiao’ai might have heatstroke.”

Zhuo Ming asked, confused: “It’s already October — you can still get heatstroke?”

“The daytime is very hot,” Zhang Chenguang said, and swallowed the second half of his sentence — and she hasn’t been taking in enough fluids.

He rummaged in his pack for a packet of Huoxiang Zhengqi Water and some Rendan pills, and had Zhuo Ming help Xiao’ai take them.

Xiao’ai drank the Huoxiang Zhengqi Water and promptly vomited it back up.

Left with no choice, they had to find a spot to rest. Zhang Chenguang waged a constant inner battle. He knew that if they turned back now and abandoned the crossing, everyone would get out of this fine even without encountering a rescue team. But his own strength and supplies could still carry him through to the end — without the burden of these two dragging him back, he could move much faster.

A lizard appeared on the ridge of a sand dune, as though craning its neck to gaze at something.

With little hope, Zhang Chenguang followed the lizard’s line of sight — and went very still. In the distance, there appeared to be a camel caravan. He could even hear the sound of camel bells.

“What’s that!” Zhuo Ming had spotted it too, pointing in that direction.

Xiao’ai, who had been drowsing, struggled upright and looked. “Is that the rescue team coming?”

The three of them stared for a long time. The camel caravan flickered in and out of view, never quite coming into focus.

Su Zhuo Ming glanced at Xiao’ai, and seemed to fall into conflict himself. Zhang Chenguang understood the hesitation — Zhuo Ming wanted to press on, but was worried about Xiao’ai. He was weighing whether to call for help; if it really was a rescue team, calling out would mean all three of them being brought back.

Zhang Chenguang stood up, jogged a few steps forward, waved his dark red face cover, and shouted: “Over here!! We’re over here!!”

At that moment, his thought was — forget it. There will be other chances.

Zhuo Ming let out a long, heavy sigh, and helplessly stood up as well, waving his cap. “Hey — we’re over here! Hey —”

They called for a long time. The camel caravan showed absolutely no response.

Zhang Chenguang coughed a few times, frowned, and suddenly went quiet. Just as Zhuo Ming was about to shout again, he pressed his hand down, gesturing for silence. “It’s no use. That… might just be a mirage.”

“You mean — a mirage?!” Zhuo Ming rubbed his eyes. A scene he had only ever encountered in books and films was now presenting itself before him in a reality so vivid yet so insubstantial — like a bucket of ice water poured over his overheated mind.

Zhang Chenguang began to waver again, wondering whether they should push on after all.

The three of them sat in low spirits, none of them with any ideas. After a long while, Xiao’ai spoke: “It’s me who’s been holding you both back. If I’d known, I never would have come in with you. Why don’t you two go — I’ll wait here for the rescue.”

“That’s too dangerous — absolutely not,” Zhang Chenguang said firmly.

“Then we can only wait here for rescue,” Zhuo Ming said, the fight gone out of him entirely — though it was plain to see he was struggling with some feeling.

Xiao’ai pressed her lips together. A swell of guilt rose inside her; she felt more and more like a burden, holding both of them back from completing what they had set out to do.

“Have some water,” Zhang Chenguang said gently.

“No!” Xiao’ai had a stomach full of tangled emotions with nowhere to put them, and she took it out on him in a sulk.

“It’s fine — just a little,” Zhang Chenguang insisted.

Xiao’ai stuck out her lower lip, tilted her head back and took a few sips. “Tian’en, I’m sorry.”

Zhang Chenguang’s resolve softened at once. “Rest for a bit, then we’ll head back. If we run into the rescue team along the way, all the better — if not, we just keep walking.”

“That won’t be necessary — I feel much better now. I can keep going,” Xiao’ai said, her face still composed and stubborn.

The two boys looked at each other.

Xiao’ai stood up and glared at Zhuo Ming. “Well? Let’s go!”

“Maybe…” Zhang Chenguang stood up and reached into his pocket, pulling out a coin. “Let’s flip for it — if it lands on the written side, we keep going; if it lands on the picture side, we turn back. How does that sound?”

Zhuo Ming snapped his fingers. “Right — leave it to heaven!”

Out on the vast Gobi, a blue road sign stood out with striking clarity. Straight ahead led to Shuangcheng; turn left and it was Gurinai.

When Diao Zhuo and the others linked up with the local rescue teams, they learned that the public security department, guided by local residents, had already entered from the western edge of the desert at Gurinai and from the southern edge at the Badain Lake, searching along the way for the three university students — but so far there was still no news.

The temporary rescue command post had been set up inside the canteen of a road construction crew. Some volunteers had already arrived — most from Inner Mongolia, with some who had come in from other provinces — all of them hiking and exploration enthusiasts.

Long Ge stood stroking his chin in front of a map, studying the desert terrain and the crossing routes. His rounded bulk blocked out more than half the map. Some people, curious about who he was, heard his full name and were mildly astonished, exchanging quiet whispers —

“You’re telling me — that’s Renlong Duoji?!”

“He doesn’t look like that… are you sure it’s not just the same name?”

“He’s put on weight — can’t you tell?”

“He’s a business owner now — of course he’s filled out.”

“The way you’re all going on about him — just how capable is he, exactly?”

“How capable, I couldn’t say for certain — but among those in our country who have completed unsupported treks through Ao-Tai, Wolf Tower C+V, Nianbao Yuze, the Luoke Line, the outer circuit of Meili Snow Mountain, the circuit of Genie Snow Mountain, and others, and made it back alive — he is one of the very few.”

“Holy crap! I want a photo with him!”

When Long Ge was pulled into photos with a crowd of young people, he wore an expression of complete bewilderment — but it didn’t stop him from flashing an amiable grin and throwing up both hands in a “V” sign, the whole scene radiating warmth and festivity, full of the air of a national celebration.

Ba Yunye went straight to study the map on her own. When he came back, she quipped: “If you keep adding to your trekking legend, you might just end up as the number one extreme trekker in the country.”

Long Ge rubbed his eyes — the camera flashes had left him seeing spots. He had been young and full of fire back in those days, convinced he was the very soul of deep feeling and righteous loyalty, throwing himself recklessly at danger, passing through death’s door more than once. But the underworld had rejected him every time — and he supposed the King of Hell had judged that he still had unfinished business and unfulfilled wishes in the world of the living, and that it was not yet his time to die.

“Thirty years of glory reduced to dust; eight thousand miles of cloud and moon on the road.”

Both Ba Yunye and He Ma were stumped by this line of classical poetry, exchanging a glance with question marks written plainly in their eyes.

“Never mind the old days.” He ran a finger across the map, tracing the conventional crossing route. “At the pace they’d be walking, ten-plus days would be needed to complete it under smooth conditions.”

Ba Yunye punched numbers into her phone’s calculator: 20+20+16, and got 56.

Puzzled, she said: “The supermarket receipt from the Baotou store shows the three of them brought a combined total of 56 liters of water. Is that enough? Isn’t it a bit too little? Could it be that Xiao’ai didn’t have the strength to carry more?”

“Far too little,” Long Ge said with certainty, pointing to the first resupply point along the route — Ha’er Sha Lajialejī. “Unless they manage to reach this point.”

Diao Zhuo walked over unhurriedly. “The first batch of officers who entered from Gurinai are prioritizing the intermediate water points. They’ve posted people at Ha’er Sha Lajialejī and Zhun Sulitu to watch — but so far, none of them have seen any sign of the three students.”

“They went in five-plus days ago — by rights, they should have reached Ha’er Sha Lajialejī by now,” Long Ge said. “Perhaps they’re moving slower than we imagined — after all, two of the three have never crossed a desert before.”

“Or perhaps they’re not on that route at all,” Ba Yunye ventured, thinking of the Zou Kaigui case and making a bold guess.

Long Ge frowned. “They only brought 56 liters of water. Without resupply along the way, and relying on finding a lake or oasis, they’d only be wasting strength and time.”

He Ma said: “When we were driving Zhang Chenguang and the others to Urumqi, I heard he’d done quite a few treks — to some really dangerous places.”

“Where had he been?” Long Ge finally showed some interest in the young man’s trekking record.

He Ma thought for a long time. “…Qiandao Lake’s Muxi Valley, Mount Emei’s Golden Summit, Hong Kong’s Mak something-or-other…”

Ba Yunye filled in the gap: “The MacLehose Trail in Hong Kong. And from what I heard, he’d just done Tiger Leaping Gorge recently.”

Long Ge’s expression remained unreadable — clearly, Zhang Chenguang’s trekking experience looked to a seasoned veteran like child’s play. He waited a moment more, expecting He Ma and Ba Yunye to add something — but when nothing came, he was actually surprised. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

He pressed his hand to his forehead. “The boldness of young people today puts mine to shame.”

Officer Liu of the local public security bureau, who was coordinating the rescue effort on the ground, walked in with a grim expression. “Hello, everyone. Mobile phone signal tracking has failed — it’s believed that all three students’ phones have completely run out of battery. We have only the last location transmitted before the phones died, and they’ve almost certainly moved far from there since. The search teams that entered from the west and south have just met up at the agreed midpoint — but regrettably, neither group found any trace of the three students. It is now reasonable to conclude that the three individuals are not following the established trekking route used by other hikers, or that they have become lost and strayed off course from the water points.”

Ba Yunye gave a slight nod to herself — just as she had suspected.

“We have just received new word that weapons testing will be conducted deep in the desert tomorrow. We will be coordinating additional personnel to join the search. Time is critically short and lives are at stake — all rescue teams are to enter the desert immediately. Be sure to steer clear of the weapons testing zone, and do everything possible to bring those three young people back as quickly as you can.”

The vehicles of the Inner Mongolia detachment of the rescue teams had been pulling in one after another. Diao Zhuo raised a hand and waved to the people around him. “Get in!”