From the novel: I’ll Give You a Thousand Miles of Starlight

On the drive back, Long Ge’s brow was deeply furrowed, as though weighed down by some unspoken concern. Ba Yunye made a show of lightening the mood: “Ah, I looked at those few photographs and didn’t find anything unusual — they were just places the two of them had been before, probably just slipped in there by accident.”

“I thought we’d find something special this time.” Long Ge let out a dry laugh.

Ma He said, “Long Ge, you’re already a man of great wealth — are you still chasing gold mines like the rest of us?”

Long Ge cleared his throat with a slightly awkward air. “For all my talk of having traveled the world, Master Ba pulls out three photographs and asks me to name the locations — and apart from Yuzhu Peak, I couldn’t make head or tail of the other two. Embarrassing, isn’t it?”

“Didn’t you always say your friends are spread across the whole world?” Ba Yunye gave him a poke in his fleshy side and probed: “Did you ask around?”

“Didn’t I already ask my old comrades-in-arms for you? I asked from the far north all the way up to Qiqi Ha’er and down south to Sansha… and no one knew a thing.” Long Ge steered with one hand on the wheel while swatting away her prodding fingers with the other. “If I can’t recognize the place, how many others could? This time was just a coincidence — ha, fate.”

Ba Yunye was momentarily taken aback. After a pause, she turned to Ma He: “What about you — did you put any real effort into asking around?”

Ma He gave an awkward chuckle. “Me? Well… I had a falling-out with some of my former business partners, otherwise I’d definitely have asked around for you. Want me to try someone else?”

“Tsk. Hindsight is easy.” Long Ge said with a snort of contempt.

A weight lifted from Ba Yunye’s chest. Long Ge had a wide circle — if he’d been asking others on her behalf, word could have slipped out somewhere, but it seemed he hadn’t done so deliberately.

It didn’t matter. Without Rao Qinghui’s “cipher letters” left behind before his death, it made no difference how many people had seen her photographs.

“By the way, Diao Zhuo’s father…” Ba Yunye thought it over for a long moment and decided she shouldn’t keep it from the two of them.

Long Ge’s shoulders went rigid. So they’d finally had it out, he thought.

Ma He listened to Ba Yunye’s account and was deeply shocked. “So did his dad and your sister actually… have something going on between them?”

“He doesn’t know for certain either — or maybe he just doesn’t want to believe it.”

“Before his father and grandfather passed away, did they leave behind anything like your eldest sister did — photographs, letters, that sort of thing?” Ma He pressed.

“His father died on the spot, leaving behind only some field survey materials. His maternal grandfather, Professor Rao, was paralyzed and bedridden for several years after the car accident — he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, and of course couldn’t leave anything behind.” Ba Yunye kept her lips firmly sealed about Rao Qinghui’s dying words, offering only a decoy: “Still, Diao Zhuo has been poring through their field survey journals, hoping to find something. But honestly — you can’t expect a diary to record exactly when a car accident is going to happen…”

Long Ge said nothing. Ma He rubbed the tip of his nose, looking a little crestfallen as well.

“Thank you both.” Ba Yunye leaned forward and patted each of their shoulders in turn. “You made this whole trip just to keep me company for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing — look here—” Ma He pointed to his video account. The short clip he’d just uploaded had already broken ten thousand views in under five minutes — which was remarkable, given that his previous videos rarely cracked a thousand or two. Many viewers had commented asking where it was filmed, and the majority were women.

“Give up on your dreams of being an internet celebrity,” Ba Yunye said, resigned.

“I’m about to blow up — don’t come begging me for attention when I do.” Ma He was quite pleased with himself.

They returned to Alxa. The other volunteers who had taken part in the search and rescue were already leaving one by one. After the Beidou Rescue Inner Mongolia Branch counted the vehicles, they dispatched cars to take a few of them to Yinchuan Hedong Airport. The flight made a stopover in Xi’an, so Ba Yunye temporarily stayed in Xi’an with Diao Zhuo for a few days, while Long Ge and Ma He headed to Lhasa.

Xi’an, the majestic ancient imperial capital, bore the deep cultural heritage of the Guanzhong heartland at every turn — from the layout of its streets to the style of its buildings, everything carried the weight of history. This was the birthplace of China’s first feudal dynasty and the cradle of the flourishing Tang civilization that had once reached across the world. In its time of glory, the city had welcomed tribute envoys from ten thousand nations, and the most celebrated poets and men of letters of the ages had written here verses that later generations could never surpass. And yet this city had also been reduced to rubble and famine by warfare and the folly of its rulers, leaving behind unimaginable human tragedy. Chang’an had witnessed every war and upheaval, every love and hatred that history had to offer — and even now, no longer the capital of China, the very name “Chang’an” remained an enduring dream in the hearts of the Chinese people.

Inside the Shaanxi History Museum, Ba Yunye peered intently through glass display cases at one national treasure after another, her eyes holding a kind of wide-eyed wonder. From time to time she asked questions of baffling profundity — such as: why did those figurines of court ladies look exactly like one of her regular clients? And was that chamber pot meant to be used standing up or squatting down?

Diao Zhuo offered explanations here and there, but her questions left him equal parts exasperated and amused, and he found himself increasingly charmed by her peculiar, spirited ways.

October in Xi’an was not yet cold. Diao Zhuo was dressed simply in a sports set; his tall, powerfully built frame made for a pleasing sight. Ba Yunye wore a short black leather jacket — sharp and capable — her jeans and hiking boots accentuating her long legs and tall stature. Combined with her looks, which carried a hint of exotic allure, she drew plenty of second glances. As it happened, an international modeling competition was being held in Xi’an that week, and more than one person came up to ask whether the two of them were competing contestants.

“Modeling…” Ba Yunye rubbed her chin. “That pays well, doesn’t it?”

“No idea.” He seemed uninterested in the topic of money. “Thinking of a career change?”

“Do you think I’d make it?” She turned in a little circle on the spot.

“No.” The iron-boned straightforward man was unequivocal.

“Is it my height or my weight…”

“I don’t like models.”

What a logical reason. Ba Yunye gave a helpless shrug, and with a touch of self-admiration said, “Doesn’t like models, yet happens to like a female driver.”

He didn’t respond, just walked on with her. This woman’s taste in appreciation was blunt and unadorned — the priceless Tang tri-color glazed pottery and secret-color celadon were dismissed with a “can’t appreciate these,” while her eyes lit up at gold-made bowls, dishes, and utensils, wearing the look of someone who desperately wished she could eat from a golden rice bowl.

“Look at that golden bowl! So perfectly round!”

“Look at those golden earrings! They must be worth a fortune!”

“Look at all those lumps of gold — if only they were all mine!”

Now knowing her tastes quite well, Diao Zhuo cooperated completely and led her to a display of golden artifacts. Pointing with his chin at a row of antiques fashioned from pure gold, he teased her: “Pick whatever you like.”

She dashed over like a woman possessed, made a full circuit, and then suddenly hugged him around the waist from behind. “After going around once, I’ve realized — you’re the only thing here I can actually take with me.”

“Am I that cheap?”

“This is called great value for money.”

“Speaking of which, I prefer the name ‘Chang’an’ over ‘Xi’an’ — how do I put it? It carries a sense of national peace and lasting stability. Isn’t that what we Chinese have always wanted — calm, ordinary days?” After finishing their tour of the Shaanxi History Museum, Ba Yunye sat down on a bench near the exit and stretched lazily. “It’s been so long since I played tourist — let alone with a free tour guide. I feel like I just finished a decade’s worth of history lessons in one morning.”

“Have you been to Xi’an before?” Diao Zhuo helped her up.

“Of course.” Ba Yunye stuck out her thumb and pointed self-mockingly back at the museum. “But a cultured place like this… I’d never set foot inside. So where to next?”

“I seem to recall you saying you could eat eight pork-stuffed flatbreads in one sitting.” Diao Zhuo steered her toward the exit. “I want to see that for myself.”

“Eight?” Ba Yunye played dumb. “I thought it was two?”

“Eight.”

“Rare trip to Xi’an and you’re taking me to eat pork flatbreads.” Ba Yunye feigned distaste.

“Vegetable flatbread is fine too.” He broke into a rare wide smile.

“No.”

“Potato flatbread.”

“…Is there anything you people can’t stuff inside a flatbread?”

“No.”

“…”

The iron-boned straightforward man said, with perfect certainty: “I’d treat you to an imperial banquet if you want — but eight pork flatbreads in one sitting, you’re eating that in front of me.”

The thought made Ba Yunye’s scalp prickle. When she’d casually boasted about that, how could she have imagined she’d actually end up in Xi’an? She’d had clients from Shaanxi — one of them, a strapping man standing 185 centimeters and weighing 185 jin, had said four pork flatbreads was his absolute limit. Eight… just hearing it felt like too much.

She began to play the helpless maiden: “Does Xi’an have those cute little bite-sized mini pork flatbreads, for delicate little girls like me?”

“Yes.”

“Then can we…”

Diao Zhuo gave a cold laugh. “Rare trip to Xi’an — no reason to take you to the mini version.”

“But… pretty please?”

“Cut that out.”

Ba Yunye jabbed a finger at him, dropping the act entirely: “So now that doesn’t work on you?!”

Diao Zhuo threw an arm around her, the way you’d throw your arm around a good buddy, “Is Master Ba backing down now?”

“I refuse to believe you’d actually let me eat myself to death.” Ba Yunye returned the arm-around-the-shoulder. “Let’s go!”

The two of them walked arm in arm, thoroughly mismatched in stride, until Diao Zhuo finally reached his limit and pulled her hand away, and they walked side by side instead.

A little while later, Diao Zhuo received a message. He took a quick look — “Coordinates of Ga’ma Mountain — 40°42′N, 86°34′E.”

“My head spins just hearing those.” Ba Yunye pressed her fingers to her forehead.

“A landmark’s coordinates will vary slightly depending on where the person measuring is standing. Even for the same Maiden Lake, the seconds differ if I measure from the north, south, east, or west.” Diao Zhuo spoke as they walked. “My view is that we should discard the minutes and seconds and keep only the more stable degree figures. So — Ga’ma Mountain is 40 degrees north latitude, and Maiden Lake is 41 degrees north.”

“So what Y-N, N, and M stand for are the numbers in that string XX40417?”

“Exactly.”

Ba Yunye was still thoroughly baffled. “40417… I have absolutely no idea what those numbers mean. Or maybe we’ve been thinking about this from the wrong angle entirely.”

Diao Zhuo was quiet for a moment. “We need to figure out the year — otherwise just guessing from the remaining digits will get us nowhere useful.”

Ba Yunye wasn’t one to beat her head against a wall. She waved a hand with easy nonchalance: “If we truly can’t work it out, then so be it — as long as we both believe they weren’t reckless people, that’s enough!”

“My maternal grandfather was one of the people directly involved — he understood the circumstances better than anyone. If all he’d wanted before he died was to tell others ‘my son-in-law had no affair,’ he could simply have shaken his head or left behind a ‘NO.’ So why is it that the letters he left, when matched against the photographs Ba Lao left behind, correspond to a set of numbers? I believe this was something they felt they absolutely had to leave behind — and what it expresses is far more important than clearing someone’s name of an affair.”

“After my eldest sister died, I kept my mind fixed on the idea that she couldn’t have been the other woman — but I never considered that the car accident itself might have had some other explanation.” Ba Yunye gave a nod. “Maybe there was never any affair, never any fight — and the real cause of the accident is buried in those numbers.”

“Since we’ve already worked out the later numbers, we can’t give up on the year from the photograph taken at Yuzhu Peak. We have to find a way to track it down.”

Less than two bus stops from the museum was a Ziwu Road pork flatbread shop. It was peak meal time, and the place was buzzing — the thick Shaanxi-accented calls of the vendors rose and fell in overlapping waves. When they arrived at the door, Ba Yunye was heading right in, but Diao Zhuo paused in his tracks. He’d only been teasing her; he wasn’t actually that petty.

Ba Yunye caught sight of the restaurant on his phone navigation — it looked very grand and upscale even just from the photos. She shook her head. “No.”

“My fault?”

“You can get private-kitchen cuisine anywhere — why would you run all the way to Xi’an to squeeze that out of you? Street food is a city’s DNA. Those fancy restaurants are beautiful dresses — the thrill is in the moment you lift the hem, and after that, boring. A street stall you’ve been going to for years, on the other hand, never gets old.”

“Ba Yunye, you’re such a damn rogue.”

Crude words, sound reasoning. Ba Yunye had the freewheeling spirit of a wandering hero. “I’m genuinely craving your pork flatbreads here. Tonight, take me to get pao mo and water-pot mutton as well. Honestly — that thing you cooked back in Qiang Tang… I didn’t have the heart to say it at the time — what on earth was that?”

Diao Zhuo gave a cold snort. “Didn’t stop you from eating every last bite.”

“What choice did I have?” Ba Yunye shot him a withering look and dragged him into the shop.

Holding a bowl of saozi noodles and cradling a hot, crispy pork flatbread, Ba Yunye was deeply content. Because of her job, she often couldn’t eat on time, and cooking for herself alone felt like too much effort — so her stomach wasn’t in great shape, and her appetite wasn’t large.

“What are your plans from here?” Diao Zhuo asked.

“After November, deep Tibet tours hit the slow season, and we switch to other routes — the western Sichuan ring road, for instance. But with fewer clients, sometimes we can’t fill the cars and everyone drives separately.” Ba Yunye slurped her noodles without any pretension, clearly enjoying every bite. “I’ll work these last two or three months of the year, and then from late December through February, everyone goes home. As for me, I usually stay in Lijiang, help Long Ge keep an eye on his new guesthouse, and learn a bit about how to run one. Lijiang never has an off-season — ha.”

“Won’t you go back to Yunnan for the Spring Festival?”

“You mean the Pu’er side?” Ba Yunye gave a rueful smile, thought for a long while, then said: “After the old director passed away, the orphanage was relocated and rebuilt with government support, and with charitable donations from society — the conditions are far better than when we were there, and the children receive better care and treatment. The original site of our orphanage wasn’t bad — with some renovation it could easily become a guesthouse — but of course it isn’t personal property… Still, I can’t bear to see the old place sitting there abandoned. I hear the land is going to be acquired eventually — for a park or property development, one or the other. It’s out of my hands, but at least the big pre-Spring Festival clean-up has to get done.”

Diao Zhuo reached out, his thumb brushing the corner of Ba Yunye’s mouth, sweeping away a few crumbs of crispy flatbread.

“And you?” Ba Yunye asked. “You people work around the clock without going home, but your holidays are long.”

“Some of the guys are organizing a self-drive trip to Qinghai. I haven’t found anything in the field survey journals about climbing Yuzhu Peak. So I want to make one more trip up there…”

She immediately lifted her head, half-joking as though drumming up business: “Need a guide?”

“I’m their guide.” Diao Zhuo gave her nose a flick with one curled finger.

She looked up at him. “Be careful.”

“Don’t worry.”

“With you, what is there to worry about?” She smiled. After a moment, she set down her chopsticks. “After the western Sichuan run, I was thinking of…”

“I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t even know where I’m going, and you’ll come with me?” Ba Yunye arched an eyebrow. “What if I said I’m going to a women’s bathhouse?”

“I’d love nothing more — I’m very willing.”

Ba Yunye snorted. “Of course, who wouldn’t be willing for something that obviously benefits them?”

Customers were starting to file in and wait for tables. Diao Zhuo stood up. “So — after you finish the western Sichuan loop, which women’s bathhouse were you going to?”

Ba Yunye wiped her mouth, tossed the napkin behind her, and landed it precisely in the rubbish bin. “I have a client on a honeymoon — they’ve booked a private car along the Qinghai-Tibet Highway. We might even cross paths somewhere in Qinghai. After Lhasa, I’ll see if there are any independent travelers heading to Yamdrok Lake or Everest Base Camp — if so, I’ll take a few runs. If not, I’ll head back to Pu’er. What about you? When do you start work again?”

“Mid-November.”

“Through which month?”

“By past practice, things wrap up before the Spring Festival.”

“Perfect — come back to Pu’er with me for the big clean-up. All I’m missing is someone strong who can actually do the work.”

Diao Zhuo gave a silent nod of assent. Ba Yunye’s hand crept up onto his shoulder again — she found it quite effortful to keep her arm draped over him like that, yet she kept at it with obvious delight. “Old brother, looks like you and I are the same — we spend half of China always on the move.”

“Life is movement.” Diao Zhuo pointed ahead. “Around that corner is the Da Ci’en Temple. Still got the legs for it?”

Ba Yunye’s eyes darted sideways. “My legs have given out.”

“Didn’t you claim you could ride a bicycle around the streets of Chongqing?” Knowing perfectly well she was telling a barefaced lie, Diao Zhuo still cooperated, half-crouching down. “I’ll carry you on my back.”

She didn’t stand on ceremony — she flung herself onto his back. “Let me see what it feels like to be carried by you. Meng Xiao’ai shouldn’t be the only one who gets this perk.”

Diao Zhuo lifted her with ease. After a few steps he finally asked — “Master Ba, isn’t it a bit late to be jealous now?”

Ba Yunye didn’t take the bait. She steadied herself on his shoulders, and let out a mighty cry: “Giddyup!”