When the sandstorm struck, the tent—pegged firmly to the ground as it was—seemed as though it might be swept away at any moment. Along with the wind came the sand, hurled against the fabric like a delinquent relentlessly pelting you with handfuls of grit, targeting your head, your body. It was impossible to imagine what a face would look like after walking head-on into a sandstorm without a mask or some kind of covering.

The three of them lay in the tent, each lost in their own thoughts.

Xiao’ai was desperately uncomfortable. She wanted to vomit and her mind was foggy—it didn’t leave room for much thinking. She just wanted to find the freshwater lake as soon as possible and get out of this desert. At this point, she no longer cared about the crossing—all she wanted was to survive. Zhe Ming was thinking about how there were still thirty kilometers to go before they’d reach fresh water, and at their previous pace that would mean two full days of walking. Still, maybe out of consideration for Xiao’ai, Tian’en would give them some water. At that thought, a cold sweat suddenly broke across his back—what if Tian’en had feelings for Xiao’ai? Then he himself would become Tian’en’s greatest enemy. Would Tian’en still be willing to help him?

Zhang Tian’en clutched the single remaining bottle of water and was equally consumed by churning thoughts—hundreds of collisions in his mind, more violent than the sandstorm outside.

If he gave some water to both of them, could they hold out until they found the freshwater lake? If it were just himself, he might make it. Now divided by three—would his own chance of surviving and walking out also be cut to a third?

What if he gave water only to Xiao’ai? Would she simply accept it, or would she lose all respect for him? If she were willing to abandon Zhe Ming, then she wasn’t a good person to begin with; if she chose to live and die alongside Zhe Ming no matter what, then wasn’t he effectively committing murder?

This bottle of water was not about love or feeling—it was about living or dying.

The sandstorm raged for the better part of a day. When it finally settled, the landscape was a scene of devastation. Blown in from somewhere unknown were plastic bags, frayed lengths of rope, even used sanitary products… Yet despite the revulsion, these traces of human existence, turning up in an uninhabited wilderness, offered a strange, small comfort.

Xiao’ai’s condition was terrible—there would be no traveling tonight. After drinking a bottle of Huoxiang Zhengqi medicinal water, she vomited up even her bile, and her dehydration worsened further. Without water, no amount of heat-stroke medicine would do any good. Zhe Ming used medicated balm to give her a vigorous rub-down of her back and chest, working out three long streaks of deep purple bruising—a sign of how severe her heat stroke was.

“We’re not going on.” Zhe Ming set his jaw—he had made the decision to abandon the “heroic feat” of completing the crossing.

Zhang Tian’en said nothing, crouching nearby, his face blank.

“I mean it,” Zhe Ming said, thinking he wasn’t believed. “You still have water. If you want to keep going, go—don’t worry about us. We’ll stay here and wait for someone to come find us.”

Had those words been said two days ago, Zhang Tian’en would have agreed without hesitation. But now… he dropped himself down onto the ground and drove both hands into his grimy hair, restless and resentful. After a long while, he said: “How many days before they find you? Without water, how many days can you hold on?”

“As long as we stay put, they should find us fairly quickly,” Zhe Ming said. He was so thirsty that his tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth—even speaking was an effort.

Zhang Tian’en dug at the sand with his fingers. “Actually, in the first few days, I wanted you two to stay put and wait for rescue—because at the start, the route we were on had at least been traveled by other visitors before, and it wasn’t far from Guriyai. If they drove in, they could reach us in half a day. The prerequisite was that people on the outside confirmed we were missing and began a search immediately. I figured if you two waited in place, you wouldn’t go through your water as fast, and you could hold on for six or seven days without a problem. Someone would definitely come in to find you within a week. Waiting there then—it still would have been in time.”

Zhe Ming sensed something off. “And now?”

Zhang Tian’en was still digging at the sand—clearly struggling internally.

“Say something!”

“The route I planned is one no one has ever taken before!”

Zhe Ming was horrified. “What… what do you mean?!”

“The shortest distance between two points is a straight line,” Zhang Tian’en said, lifting his eyes to meet Zhe Ming’s. “From Guriyai to Mount Birutu—in a straight line. Nobody has ever gone this way before. Not even the people who drive through the desert in vehicles would go this way.”

The dread that seized Zhe Ming was immense. He pressed frantically: “Why has no one ever taken this most direct route?”

“No water replenishment points along the entire way. The second half requires climbing an endless succession of massive dunes—it’s an extreme physical drain, and you won’t encounter any other travelers.”

Zhe Ming was dumbstruck. “You’re saying—even if we stayed here and waited, not a single person would come and rescue us, because it would simply never occur to anyone that we’d go this way?!”

Zhang Tian’en nodded.

“God damn you!!” Zhe Ming erupted in fury and shoved him hard. Zhang Tian’en gave no ground—he returned a punch. “You two were the ones who insisted on coming! And you’ve been nothing but dead weight on me!”

“Stop fighting…” Xiao’ai murmured.

Neither of them had the energy for a real fight. They each swallowed their rage and resentment and sat across from each other in silence.

“If I’d known it would come to this, I never would have come…” Zhe Ming said quietly.

Xiao’ai began to cry, but not a single tear could fall—she could only sob dry, empty sobs. This was the first time in her life she had felt despair so absolute, as if someone had pushed her to the edge of a cliff and she could fall at any moment.

“There’s only one option now—abandon the original route and go find the freshwater lake first,” Zhang Tian’en said. “Staying here can only mean waiting to die. Going for the water, there’s at least a chance of walking out. Your call.”

“But Xiao’ai can’t walk—what then?” Zhe Ming was equally at a loss. And then he returned to the old subject: “Also… can you share some water with us? We’re dying of thirst.”

“This is what we’ll do—Xiao’ai drinks three sips first, and then the two of us each get one sip. After tomorrow morning, nobody asks again,” Zhang Tian’en conceded.

“Deal!!” Zhe Ming was overjoyed and quickly helped Xiao’ai sit up.

When his own turn came, he gulped down a massive mouthful—more than Xiao’ai’s three sips combined. Zhang Tian’en’s expression darkened immediately. He snatched back the bottle, shot Zhe Ming a furious glare, then carefully took his own single sip.

Xiao’ai struggled to her feet, swaying, and was supported on both sides as they set off.

“Zhe Ming—do you think we might… die here?”

A thought suddenly surfaced in Zhe Ming’s mind: You might die. But I absolutely refuse to die here.

The moment the thought appeared, he could hardly believe he had thought it.

He had expended so much effort, swallowed so much of his pride, to pursue Meng Xiao’ai—attending to her every need day after day as though serving royalty. Part of it was because she was truly beautiful, and truly worthy of being cherished. The other part was the sense of achievement it gave him.

“We won’t,” Zhe Ming answered, his heart uneasy.

“We won’t,” Zhang Tian’en also answered—with far more conviction than Zhe Ming. He might have resented Zhe Ming, but he had never once considered abandoning Xiao’ai. If in the end only two of them could walk out of the desert, he wanted it to be himself and her—even if she hated him for it, that would be fine.

They walked on, time blurring and indeterminate, when suddenly the pitch-black sky blazed with light—as if something had ripped through the night, illuminating half the sky in brilliant white.

“What is that!” Zhe Ming cried out in equal terror and joy. “Is someone coming to rescue us?!”

No one knew what to make of it. They stopped and looked up, but the light lasted only a short while before darkness swallowed everything again. The darkness that followed a burst of light was far more oppressive than darkness that had never been interrupted.

Hippo had just finished relieving himself when the sky suddenly lit up. He stood there for a moment, then snapped to and grabbed his phone to take a shot.

“You’re out here relieving yourself—what are you taking photos of?” Long Ge materialized behind Hippo out of nowhere, pressing his hand down.

“I don’t know what that was, but it was so bright. If I post it online, tons of people would watch it,” Hippo said without thinking, lifting his hand to try again.

Long Ge pressed his hand back down again with a grave expression. “That’s probably the weapons testing they mentioned before we came in. They don’t even let drones fly out here—only weapons testing would shoot something that boldly into the sky.”

“Taking one photo can’t hurt anything—I won’t even post it,” Hippo said with a cheeky grin.

“You couldn’t get a shot now even if you wanted to—ha.” The sky had gone dark again. Long Ge undid his belt, spread his legs, and urinated, letting out a resonant burst of flatulence for good measure.

“Gross,” Hippo said, covering his nose and walking away.

Long Ge’s smile faded. He turned and looked at Hippo’s retreating figure, a shadow of something flickering in his eyes.

In the open night sky, the rumble of what sounded like thunder rolled in from the distance, carrying an echo that seemed to go on and on—it must have been the singing sands.

By the time Hippo returned, the five self-heating rice boxes had already been heated through. Ba Yunye casually bit down on her plastic spoon and carelessly lifted a lid—to find nothing but a sea of red chili sauce inside. She’d picked up Long Ge’s by mistake. She was hit by a cloud of spice and coughed several times before swapping it for another. Long Ge, honestly—even out in the desert, he had to bring his own chili sauce. The man truly could not eat without it.

Their water supply was fairly plentiful, so being able to heat several meals like this was something of a luxury. If you were making the crossing on foot, you’d be carrying only dry provisions to save water, and trying to choke down dry food when you’re parched was like trying to swallow dirt.

“What worries me most is that they don’t have enough water.” Ba Yunye murmured to herself. “Without food, you can survive on just water for seven or eight days. Without water, someone physically weaker might last about two days.”

“I would die of thirst without water for a single day,” Hippo said, shoveling food into his mouth with the look of a starving man. “Because I’m a hippo.”

“That joke is so cold I nearly caught a chill,” Ba Yunye said with distaste.

“If your jokes are hot, wouldn’t that give Diao Zhuo a fever?”

At the mention of Diao Zhuo, Ba Yunye’s eyes lit up. “Not a fever—he’d fall under my spell.”

“Unbelievable,” Hippo said, completely at a loss with her.

Diao Zhuo and Old Wang finished their cigarettes and walked down along the dune ridge, flashlights in hand. From the distance came a thunderous rumbling sound, and a strange vibration cut through the air—his foot slipped and he nearly sat down hard. Once he caught himself, the dune trembled again beneath his feet; the ground felt like he was standing on butter, impossibly slippery.

An earthquake? But not quite…

He shone the flashlight down: the sand beneath his feet was somehow flowing steadily downward like water.

Diao Zhuo worked in geology—the realization came instantly. The dune had begun to “liquefy.” This phenomenon was rare, occurring only when there was an underground river running deep beneath the surface. Liquefaction builds up over many days: the surface sand looks compact, but it has become as soft as cream underneath. With the upper layer and the lower layer at different densities, all it takes is a small amount of pressure to set the liquefaction in motion, causing the upper sand to flow like water. The passing sandstorm and the weight of their three vehicles driving over it had been precisely the catalyst.

In any case, getting away was the only priority.

“Move! Now!” he commanded. Old Wang let out a shout and ran.

Diao Zhuo sprinted down the slope, sand and earth kicking up behind him as more and more sand poured downward like water. The three people at the bottom had not yet noticed anything wrong with the dune. Ba Yunye and Hippo were still bickering when the shout of “Run!” rang out and startled them to their feet. They threw down everything in their hands and bolted toward the vehicles.

Long Ge heaved his portly frame forward in a full-on sprint—and don’t let the girth fool you, he ran every bit as fast as the others. He dove into his vehicle, had it running within three seconds, sounded a sharp horn, clicked on the turn signal, and had his foot on the accelerator ready to go.

Ba Yunye ran fast too. She was almost at the door handle when she heard a cry from behind her—Hippo had slipped and fallen, and seemed to be dragged backward by something, sliding and sinking into the dune.

“Hippo!!” she bellowed, and lunged back, seizing his hand.