“Tian’en, don’t go!” Meng Xiao’ai said with alarm.

Zhang Chenguang paused mid-step, looking back with a puzzled expression. “We’re practically dying of thirst, and you don’t want to find water?”

In that moment, Zhe Ming and Meng Xiao’ai were both thinking the same thing: the water is with him. If he leaves and simply never comes back, aren’t we left with no choice but to sit here and wait to die?

“By the time you find water and come back, we’ll most likely have already died of thirst.” Zhe Ming said, drawing a deep breath. The dry, scalding air that flooded his chest scraped his throat like a blade dragged raw — every breath a cut. “How about this — split half your water and leave it with us?”

Meng Xiao’ai also wanted to drink. She couldn’t afford to hold back anymore and nodded frantically.

Zhang Chenguang stared steadily at both of them. Perhaps when he’d first set out, he’d genuinely had every intention of finding water and bringing it back for them. But now, all of a sudden, he no longer wanted to make that kind of sacrifice for either of them.

“Wait for me. One day.” His tone left no room for argument. Whoever held the water held all the power.

Zhe Ming and Meng Xiao’ai exchanged a glance, their eyes full of uncertainty and unease.

The cold that had settled in Zhang Chenguang’s chest formed a stark contrast with the heat pressing in from outside. The image of the camel’s bones floated before his eyes — head southwest, find water and come back, or if there’s none to be found, take whatever’s left in the bottle and walk out of the desert alone.

His mind was made up. He turned and didn’t look back as he set off on his “expedition.”

When survival becomes the question, all bonds of affection and all matters of pride and shame must stand aside.

Meng Xiao’ai pressed her hand over her mouth. She couldn’t even cry — there were no tears left. She trembled uncontrollably with fear. She didn’t want to die! She wanted to go home! She didn’t want to become a dried husk!!

Zhe Ming summoned every last bit of strength and lunged forward, seizing his arm. “If you want us to wait — leave the water behind!”

“Are you insane?!” Zhang Chenguang shook him off. “You two chose to drink all your own water! What gives you any right to mine?!”

Zhe Ming didn’t care about any of that anymore. The scorching blood flooding through him surged into his brain in an instant — he didn’t even know if this was his body’s last desperate surge before collapse. But in that moment his strength was extraordinary. He threw himself directly onto Zhang Chenguang’s backpack and clawed at it, trying to rip the water bottle free.

“Xiao’ai! If you don’t want to die, help me get that water! He’s not coming back — he will never come back!!” he bellowed, his eyes shot through with crimson, as if they might start bleeding at any moment.

Meng Xiao’ai was terrified half to death and couldn’t bring herself to step forward. She had a premonition that the worst was about to happen, but she was powerless to stop it — all she could do was cry out desperately for them to stop fighting.

Like a wild animal, Zhe Ming wrenched the zipper of the backpack open. Despite the punches that landed on his hands and face, despite the scratches Zhang Chenguang raked across his skin, the overpowering pull of thirst proved impossible to resist.

Thirst — how vast and deep the Chinese language truly is. Zhe Ming was parched to the point of smoke, and only now could he truly appreciate the towering wisdom of the ancient people who had forged the language. Nothing is as relentlessly tormenting as a physical need — and of all of them, thirst is the most unbearable: like fire consuming you from the inside out, a desiccation that makes you feel you’ve been cast into hell itself.

With a loud thud, Zhe Ming wrenched the water bottle free. The struggle between the two men became even more ferocious — both fighting as though pouring every last ounce of life they had into destroying the other.

The two men fought while weeping — though no tears could fall. Only hoarse, ragged screams escaped them, like a deer with a lion’s fangs sunk into its throat: desperate, unwilling, enraged.

If everything could begin again, Zhe Ming would not have drained all his water so early.

If everything could begin again, Zhang Chenguang would never have breathed a word of his plans to cross the desert to another living soul.

“Give it here!!”

“No——”

“Hand it over!”

“Get away! I’ll kill you!!”

Meng Xiao’ai watched in panic as Zhe Ming suddenly hurled the captured water bottle toward her. She caught it on instinct and clutched it tightly to her chest.

Both men froze, heaving for breath, glaring at each other.

A fierce gust of wind swept through, pelting everyone’s faces with sand, leaving a dense, stinging throb across their skin.

It was only in this moment that Zhang Chenguang truly understood: this had never been a journey of three people working together toward a common goal. It had been a honeymoon for a couple and a one-sided act of devotion by a solitary outsider. Those two were a unit, and he was nothing more than a stranger.

The triangle that had been teetering on the edge of collapse shattered into pieces in an instant.

Zhang Chenguang’s face went cold as he lunged toward Meng Xiao’ai. He would take back his only chance at survival — nothing and no one could stop him now.

Without any doubt, Zhe Ming threw himself in front of him. The two men came together again in a violent struggle. Zhang Chenguang’s physical strength and endurance both surpassed Zhe Ming’s, and within moments he had him pinned hard to the ground, one hand locked around his throat, eyes blazing with a terrifying, murderous intensity.

Zhe Ming was being choked. He couldn’t get a single word of surrender out. His legs thrashed wildly as his hands scrabbled weakly at Zhang Chenguang’s sleeve — like the dying victim in every crime drama, in their final moments before the end.

“Stop!! Tian’en!!” Meng Xiao’ai screamed.

“Stay back!!” Zhang Chenguang roared.

Meng Xiao’ai shook so violently her teeth rattled, her mind completely blank. At last, she twisted off the cap of the water bottle, pointed it at Zhang Chenguang, and cried, “Let go of him or I’ll pour it all out!!”

The grip on Zhe Ming’s throat immediately went slack.

As it turned out, no principle of morality, no rule of law, no code of human fellowship was worth as much as half a bottle of water.

Zhe Ming coughed violently — so hard it felt as though he might hack up his lungs along with his trachea — coughing until his brain went light from lack of oxygen and the world began to spin and tilt around him.

Zhang Chenguang was utterly spent, but he still crawled on all fours toward Meng Xiao’ai, frightening a scream out of her. Seeing this, Zhe Ming, with no thought for anything else, threw his arms around Zhang Chenguang’s legs. The two men dragged and kicked at each other, tearing and lurching step by step toward Meng Xiao’ai.

Zhang Chenguang fought to shake Zhe Ming loose and threw himself at Meng Xiao’ai. Zhe Ming gathered himself and locked his arms around Zhang Chenguang’s legs again. Zhang Chenguang lost his balance and crashed into Meng Xiao’ai, and with a loud thud, all three of them went down in a tangle of flailing limbs.

By the time everyone came back to their senses and looked, the half-bottle of water had been knocked over onto the ground. Every last drop had been offered up to the desert sand, which had been parched for years uncounted.

The five search-and-rescue teams that had entered the desert sent reports twice daily to the command post, giving their positions and route information. With each transmission, the parents of the three university students felt their hearts rise into their throats, barely able to breathe.

“Diao Zhuo from North Star Rescue says the three of them most likely entered the desert along a straight northwest-to-southeast trajectory. Estimated crossing duration: eight to nine days. Barring any other unforeseen circumstances, they should be near the Great Sand Mountain area today. The fifty-six liters of water they carried in is enough for eight days, and their food can sustain them for ten, so there is still a possibility they are continuing on foot.” Officer Liu, serving as acting commander for the operation, said. “Other rescue teams have received notification and are already searching in the southeast direction — word from them should come soon. However, the group has now been in the desert for seven days. Their water supply should be nearly exhausted. The next day or two is the critical window.”

“Please, I beg you, save my daughter!” Liu Chengru wept, pressing her palms together in desperate supplication. She had long since lost all composure; her mind was on the verge of breaking down entirely. “She’s never done any hiking before — that place is a desert! A desert! She can’t endure this! She can’t!”

Officer Liu and Old Meng worked together to calm the distraught Liu Chengru. Everyone else sat with hearts suspended in tense silence, waiting for new information.

Over the past several days, the story had continued to gain momentum online. Netizens were following the news closely, but dissenting voices had also emerged. Some felt that it was wrong to expend national rescue resources on such an ill-advised desert crossing. While others pointed out that two of the three had no experience and were bound to run into trouble, many netizens felt they should be left to deal with the consequences of their own choices — that letting them fend for themselves would serve as a warning to others.

Diao Zhuo and the rest of the team were deep in the desert with no mobile signal, completely unaware of the heated debates playing out in the world outside. No one in the team stopped to consider whether rescuing reckless desert-crossers was truly worth the effort. Three living, breathing people — if they could be pulled out in time, a long road of life still lay ahead of them in which to grow and learn. If they perished here, three families might carry an inconsolable grief for the rest of their lives.

That day, the team entered a stretch of rolling sand hills.

Old Wang took point. But even so, incidents where a vehicle plunged to the bottom of a slope and buried itself halfway into a sand bowl — a so-called “hen’s nest” — were frequent. The leading vehicle often spun its wheels when trying to pull the second out of the sand. This was probably the main reason that experienced desert drivers like Old Wang were reluctant to take this shortest route.

The three vehicles snaked along the contours of the dunes in a searching pattern. The two-meter poles mounted on each roof made it easy for them to see each other’s positions. This route saw very little traffic; there was correspondingly less litter discarded by travelers along the way. And anything that looked relatively new had to have been left by the three university students.

Ba Yunye held the GPS in one hand and an empty plastic water bottle in the other. “——The cap is still attached to the plastic ring, but the entire bottle is empty. It was probably knocked over by accident.”

Long Ge shook his head. “Sometimes a single bottle of water is the difference between life and death!”

He Ma asked curiously, “I can see you’re someone who values his life — so why did you throw it around so carelessly all those years ago? I’ve heard about it — some of the most dangerous hiking routes out there, the reference guides that came after were based on your accounts.”

“And like you said — that was all those years ago.” Long Ge pinched the flesh around his stomach. “Who doesn’t do a few reckless things when they’re young?”

“Do you look back now and feel lucky you survived as many close calls as you did?”

Long Ge grinned broadly, the double chin becoming even more pronounced — there was absolutely nothing in his appearance now to suggest the bold, formidable figure of his younger years. “He Ma, I’m going to say something that might sound a bit mystical, but bear with me — any one of us who made it to today: heaven must have put in an unimaginable amount of effort to drag us back from death’s door, again and again. So — don’t stray onto the wrong path, don’t court disaster. Because if you’re not careful, it’s like someone put you at the top of a slide — one moment and you’re gone, slipping straight down into hell.”

He Ma sensed there was something beneath those words, and his expression sobered. He cleared his throat and gave a slow nod.

Having said all that, Long Ge felt a quiet melancholy settle over him. He was telling others not to court disaster, not to walk the wrong road — but was his own road the right one? He wasn’t sure. He only knew that whenever certain memories came back to him, and he thought of the obsession he’d carried for so many years, there was still a dull, slow ache in his chest that had never quite healed.

Old Wang spoke up. “We’ve got two days of fuel left. If we can’t guarantee we’ll make it back within those two days, we’ll need to head out to Alxa Right Banner first, refuel, and then come back.”

Diao Zhuo stood beside a desert poplar that had died centuries ago yet still refused to fall, binoculars raised, scanning the distance. Broad shoulders, an upright, steady frame — he and the dead-yet-standing poplar seemed to mirror one another, sketching out a portrait of rugged, unyielding desert travelers.

This desolate sea of sand also had its own angles and forms, like rocky mountain peaks. The distant dunes appeared a pale shade of blue, meeting the sky in a gentle, unhurried line. The sky in the far distance was draped in a layer of grey cloud, hinting at the possibility of rain. However, the annual rainfall in the Badain Jaran was less than forty millimeters. If rain came, it would be a stroke of fortune.

Suddenly, the view in front of him blurred as a face loomed into the lens at close range. Diao Zhuo suppressed a quiet sigh, lowered the binoculars, and found exactly what he’d expected: Ba Yunye, deliberately blocking the lenses.

“What did those microscope eyes of yours spot?” She stood with her hands clasped behind her back, tilting her head as she asked.

Diao Zhuo looked at her. “A female demon.”

“Is she good-looking?”

“…Not ugly.”

Ba Yunye held up a thumb. “Sharp eyes.”

“You flatter this second disciple,” Diao Zhuo said with a slight bow.

Ba Yunye raised a fist and made a move as if to swat him.

Diao Zhuo dropped the teasing. “The sandstorm covered all the footprints, and the shape of the dunes has changed. There are some winding, snaking marks on the distant slopes — might be snakes or lizards.”

Ba Yunye turned and asked, “Old Wang, what kinds of animals live in the heart of the desert?”

“Snakes, lizards, wild camels, dung beetles — and near some of the desert lakes, in the grass, there are maggots as thick as a finger.” He said with absolute certainty. “A few years back, some people claimed to have seen a death worm, though we’ve never come across one ourselves.”

Long Ge also seemed to have heard of it. “…The Mongolian death worm?”

Old Wang nodded emphatically, slipping into his role as a driver-slash-tour-guide who enjoyed a good dramatic flourish. He spread his arms wide. “About this long, thick as a wrist, moves like a snake. Some say it’s a reddish-brown color, some say flesh-toned, with a gaping maw full of hundreds of teeth. Not only does it spit venom — it can discharge electricity. Strong enough to kill a camel.”

Long Ge smiled faintly, unmoved. A man with his history of wild adventures had surely heard plenty of strange and extraordinary legends.

“It sounds like a hybrid of a cobra and an electric eel — some kind of alien creature.” Ba Yunye was having none of it. “The desert death worm sounds exactly like something an adult made up to frighten children.”

Long Ge patted his pocket. “Whatever kind of creature it is, my specially formulated insect repellent is a death sentence for everything that crawls.”

Diao Zhuo, as usual, offered the more scientifically grounded perspective: “Even if such a creature did exist, it would need to live somewhere with an adequate water supply. The desert’s annual rainfall is nowhere near sufficient to sustain a creature of that size.”

“If we happen to run into one, we catch a couple and sell them to customers in Guangdong for a medicinal broth — we’d make a fortune.” He Ma began to daydream.

Long Ge smacked him on the back of the head. “Stop fantasizing and get in the damn car!”

Not long after the vehicles set off again, the sky turned completely overcast and, incredibly, it did begin to rain. However, rain in the desert was unlike autumn rain anywhere else — it was more like a fine mist, or perhaps the droplets evaporated so quickly in the dry air during their descent that they became nearly invisible by the time they approached the ground.

The rain continued for nearly an hour. The ground became only faintly damp. For reasons difficult to explain, small pits occasionally appeared on the surface of the dune, only to be filled almost immediately by fresh sand — quiet, and faintly eerie.