The Qinghai-Tibet Highway from Golmud to Xidatan was under traffic control. Even if you were an experienced driver, you couldn’t avoid stopping and starting the whole way — like rush hour in the capital, where you’d unexpectedly get stuck for a stretch without warning.

After a bout of jolting and bumping, Ba Yunye stirred awake from a light nap, stretched lazily, and asked in a hoarse, drowsy voice: “Where are we now?”

The hippopotamus driving beside him handed over a half-bottle of water. “Just passed the Queen Mother of the West Temple… I filled this at the Kunlun Sacred Spring. Here! Your Highness — boost your cultivation a little.”

“It’s ice cold, I’m not drinking it.” Ba Yunye’s stomach had always been sensitive — she couldn’t handle cold food or drink. She pushed it away and looked ahead: the road was packed solid with freight trucks. “Traffic’s jammed up front. Get out, let me drive. At your tortoise pace, they’ll have already summited before you even reach base camp.”

“Coming straight from Western Sichuan without a single day’s rest, rushing straight to Qinghai… I remember the couple who chartered the car — they’re not arriving in Delingha until a week from now. But not you — you just had to race ahead on a different schedule.” He mocked her. “It’s not like I have a beloved waiting for me on Yuzhu Peak.”

“Last time I was kicking myself for not following Zhang Chenguang up Yuzhu Peak. This time I happen to be heading to Delingha, so I’m passing through Golmud anyway — might as well go up with them.” The car came to a stop. Ba Yunye shoved him out of the driver’s seat, climbed in, spun the wheel, and drove straight off the road onto the Gobi plain, cutting around the traffic jam altogether.

He was so jostled his head spun. “If you and Diao Zhuo both already believe those two aren’t the reckless type, then why do you have to track down this Zhang person?”

“Words alone aren’t proof. I have to check things out properly…” Ba Yunye didn’t say much more, brushing him off with a vague reply.

From Golmud to Xidatan was only about 130 kilometers, yet it took three hours to drive. If they had obediently followed the line of cars ahead, they probably would have needed another hour of crawling to get there.

When Ba Yunye asked around after arriving, she found out that Diao Zhuo and his group had gone on a nearby trekking exercise that afternoon and hadn’t come back yet.

Yuzhu Peak was the highest point in the eastern section of the Kunlun Mountain Range. Though it was considered an entry-level snow mountain for climbing enthusiasts — with ninety percent of people successfully summiting — its elevation of over six thousand meters wasn’t something you could ascend in a day or two. From Golmud to the summit of Yuzhu Peak took at least six days, sometimes nine, most of which was spent acclimatizing to the altitude, training, and trekking exercises. The actual push from base to summit and back took only a single day.

Xidatan, at an elevation of 4,200 meters, was the first acclimatization stop before attempting Yuzhu Peak. The high-altitude mountaineering base at Xidatan also served as Qinghai’s mountain rescue base — during the last search for Zhang Chenguang, several rescue teams had convened here.

Ba Yunye had been here a few times before; she wasn’t particularly familiar with it. Lu Jianyi, who ran the mountaineering base, was Long Ge’s friend. Out of respect for Long Ge’s name, he not only sent them plenty of fruit but also took them into the storeroom to pick out equipment. Ba Yunye strolled around the storeroom at a leisurely pace. Lu Jianyi’s Alaskan Malamute, Huzi, circled around her several times — its thick, plush fur was wonderfully soft to the touch. She couldn’t help crouching down and playing with Huzi for quite a while.

“Has Huzi been trained?” Ba Yunye had spent time in the military, and could tell at a glance that Huzi was different from ordinary pet dogs.

“Search and rescue dog,” Lu Jianyi said proudly. “I was his handler before I retired. In all these years, I’m the only one in the unit who got to retire at the same time as the military dog they trained.”

Lu Jianyi helped her pick out a pair of detachable high-altitude mountaineering boots and a trekking pole. The hippopotamus grabbed two pairs of crampons and snow goggles.

Lu Jianyi had heard about Ba Yunye from Long Ge and knew her outdoor experience far exceeded that of the average tourist, so he didn’t say much — he simply took the two of them directly to check in at the three-story building on one side of the highway.

Ba Yunye stood by the window like an old-fashioned cadre, cradling her insulated mug, gazing out at the towering Kunlun peaks soaring into the clouds opposite. Looking out, she saw the mountaintops above the cloud line blanketed in pristine white snow — sometimes it was impossible to tell where the clouds ended and the mountains began.

Comrade Mao Zedong once wrote a verse in Nian Nu Jiao: Kunlun — “Bursting forth across the sky, the great Kunlun, surveyor of all the world’s splendors in spring. Three million jade dragons take flight, stirring the heavens to bone-chilling cold.” She could see the sky stretching high and vast, the Gobi wilderness deep and boundlessly empty, large freight trucks covered in green plastic sheeting passing back and forth along the Qinghai-Tibet Highway, with the occasional military convoy rolling by in perfect formation.

A slip of paper was pushed through the crack under the door — it looked like some kind of promotional flyer. Ba Yunye sipped her hot water and picked it up to have a look. It wasn’t an advertisement for a commercial climbing team or equipment. It was a lost-and-found notice.

“During my ascent of Yuzhu Peak, I lost an insulated water bottle. The bottle is valued at 300 yuan and holds significant sentimental meaning to me. I am willing to offer ten times that amount as a reward to anyone who finds the bottle and returns it. Contact information: 159XX……, WeChat same number, please state your purpose.”

Below the text was a printed photograph of an insulated water bottle — white as its base color, covered in bold patterns and a logo, with the cap and bottom ring in black.

Ba Yunye opened her door and leaned against the doorframe like a street rogue. The young man who’d been sliding flyers under doors hadn’t left yet. She called out to him: “Hey, handsome — is this a new ad for your thermos brand?”

“No, it’s a genuine lost-and-found.” The young man kept his head down, working diligently — going door by door, sliding one under each — still plenty left in his bag.

“When did you lose it? Just buy another one — it’s only 300 yuan.”

“I didn’t lose it.” The young man looked up. He seemed to have finished this floor and was about to head downstairs.

Ba Yunye grinned and teased him: “Still say it’s not an ad? There are plenty of thermos bottles for one or two hundred online — why would anyone buy yours for 300?”

“It really isn’t an ad. I come here every day to hand these out. It’s been several months now — if you don’t believe me, ask the people at the base.” The young man looked to be in his early twenties, with the characteristic highland flush on both cheeks, as if he’d carelessly applied too much rouge. “The person who hired me said: if it’s not found, keep going — hand them out until the day it’s found.”

“That can’t be real…” Ba Yunye didn’t buy it. “How much is he paying you? Is your company hiring?”

The young man wouldn’t say — he probably had more places to cover and was hurrying downstairs, where he collided headlong with a group of people coming up with luggage. Everyone went sprawling; the flyers from his crossbody bag scattered across the floor.

“What are you doing…” a male voice complained.

Ba Yunye poked her head out to look. Among those knocked to the ground, besides the flyer boy, was a woman with long hair, a piece of luggage toppled over at her side. The hippopotamus heard the commotion and came out to help, but the woman got up on her own and said she was fine. The flyer boy actually apologized and still managed to hand over two lost-and-found notices; the man beside her in sunglasses was already impatient and tossed them aside without a glance.

“Honey, are you alright? Did you hurt yourself? Are you okay?” The man helped the woman up, full of concern. As he spoke, an elderly man with white-streaked hair came shuffling up behind them — his altitude sickness looked worse than the woman’s. He was panting, trying to say something to them, but couldn’t get any words out.

The woman waved it off — she didn’t seem like the dramatic type. She found the only small single room at the end of the corridor; the three of them pushed their luggage inside together. Then the elderly man came back out and moved into the four-person room next door.

The hippopotamus saw Ba Yunye still holding the lost-and-found notice and teased her: “What, thinking about earning that 3,000 yuan?”

“Money is money, no matter how little.” That was what Ba Yunye said out loud, though she didn’t actually care. She folded the flyer twice — just the right size to prop under the wobbling corner of the table in the room.

As she was about to close the door, she caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye of the young couple who’d just arrived, standing in the doorway of the four-person room. From inside came the muffled voice of the elderly man: “The conditions here are so poor — the whole floor shares just one toilet…”

“There’s a public restroom downstairs…” a woman’s voice said. “Dad, look — you can see it right from this window. It’s not that far.”

The elderly man continued: “No matter what, I am a leader of some standing. After all, we’re only here for a night or two — if it can be arranged that no one else is put in here… it would be best to arrange that…”

Ba Yunye found this quietly amusing. If you’re not paying for all four beds, even an emperor would have to share a room with strangers.

On either side of the Qinghai-Tibet Railway, the Gobi stretched barren and desolate. In the distance, the snow mountains were clad in silver-white. The sky was growing dark, blanketed in a haze of grey mist. The foot of the glacier led to the north face of Yuzhu Peak. Compared to the south face base camp at over 5,000 meters, many climbers chose the lower-elevation north face base camp for acclimatization training.

That afternoon, Diao Zhuo had gone out with a mountain guide named Pu Lan to lead his friends on a glacier trekking exercise. They didn’t return to the base until several hours later.

His friends had previously climbed Haba Snow Mountain. For this Yuzhu Peak attempt, one of the mountain guides Diao Zhuo had arranged was Pu Lan — the same guide who had led Zhang Chenguang’s group before. During the exercise, Diao Zhuo had asked Pu Lan some questions about the day Zhang Chenguang went missing. Pu Lan was evasive and vague — he couldn’t recall at all at what point he’d noticed Zhang Chenguang was gone. When pressed further, he let slip one piece of information worth turning over: several foreigners had joined his climbing group on short notice. With more people in the group and sudden weather changes, they hadn’t been able to keep track of everyone.

“Those foreign guys seemed to get into an argument with Zhang Chenguang. I couldn’t understand what they were saying. After that, all I remember is that one of them — a red-bearded foreigner — said halfway up he wasn’t going on, and that he was turning back, and he didn’t want any of our people to go with him. Oh right — when you were looking for Zhang Chenguang, didn’t you find a foreigner? I think he was one of them. But turning back was their decision — it had nothing to do with us.” Pu Lan shrugged.

Diao Zhuo had heard earlier that the foreigner found by the Blue Sky Rescue Team had been determined by the coroner to have died of hypothermia — officially ruled as having become separated in the blizzard and frozen to death. Before coming to Qinghai, Diao Zhuo had specifically asked an acquaintance in the Blue Sky Rescue Team, who told him that once the identity was confirmed, foreign police arrived with the family to collect the body — the family hadn’t even known the person had come to China.

This account was remarkably consistent with what Song Fan’s family had said. Whether it was Zhang Chenguang’s disappearance, Song Fan’s death, or the discovery of the foreigner’s body — looking back now, all of it was deeply suspicious.

“People say you don’t need any mountaineering background to summit Yuzhu Peak — is that actually true?” Da Qiang asked Diao Zhuo, panting heavily but still brimming with enthusiasm.

Diao Zhuo regulated his breathing and walked forward at a steady pace. “The south face of Yuzhu Peak is shaped like a steamed bun — this route is relatively safe. The local microclimate on the mountain generally cycles every five to seven days; the probability of a sudden blizzard is low, but low doesn’t mean zero. If something unexpected happens, you must descend immediately. For most people, the biggest challenge of Yuzhu Peak isn’t the blizzard, the cold, or the climbing technique — it’s altitude sickness. The south face base camp sits at 5,100 meters. Because vegetation is so sparse, the actual oxygen content there is comparable to about 6,000 meters on Mount Everest. So you need to give yourself time to acclimatize before making the summit push.”

Pu Lan nodded. “On some routes, the biggest challenge is the low temperature — like the Ao-Tai Trail, which is known as China’s most dangerous trekking route. On others, it’s howling winds and blizzards — like Everest. That said, many people who have summited Everest first summited our Yuzhu Peak. Once you’ve made it up Yuzhu Peak, you’ll have no problem with Everest in the future.”

Dong Bai listened, pushed up his glasses, and laughed heartily. “For me, the biggest obstacle to climbing Everest isn’t the altitude or the weather — it’s…” he rubbed his fingers together and said loudly, “No money!”

“Stop talking — your magazine meets so many big investors. Just find yourself a generous patron and you’ll have everything.”

“Get out of here — what are you on about!”

The laughter of these rough-and-tumble northwestern men rang out boldly, startling a few plateau pikas that had peeked out of their burrows nearby, sending them scurrying back underground.

As they walked on and drew closer to the base, a few of them pulled out cigarettes. Dong Bai offered one to Diao Zhuo, muttering as he lit his own, “You haven’t had a single one this whole trip…”

Diao Zhuo didn’t take it. “I quit.”

Dong Bai blinked, cigarette dangling from his lips. “What happened?”

“Master Ba doesn’t allow it.” Though in truth, she had only asked him to smoke less.

Da Qiang gave him a shove. “Your wife has you that tightly managed!”

He still didn’t take it, just walked on ahead.

“It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter…” Da Qiang grinned and sidled up to him. “Have a cigarette to celebrate successfully quitting.”

Everyone around him was puffing away. Diao Zhuo didn’t resist further — he took the cigarette, lit it, and felt a day’s worth of exhaustion seem to ease a little with each draw.

The whole rowdy group made their way to get dinner near the base. The row of small buildings along the road offered modest accommodations, but food and lodging were adequate — though there was nowhere to shower. Just like in Tibet, there were plenty of Sichuan people doing business here, so the food leaned toward Sichuan cuisine. Diao Zhuo sat down; the distinctive red-oil aroma of Sichuan cooking mingled with the smell of tobacco and drifted into his nostrils.

Outside, the sky had gone completely dark. Passing freight trucks sent a low rumbling through the air; the wind had grown fierce and sharp. Every customer who came in after was wearing a thick hat and refused to take it off after sitting down. The high-altitude wind was hard — it blew into you and made your head ache.

“I’m starving to death — order something, let’s go!” Everyone called out as they settled around a round table by the window. They ordered several hearty dishes and called for a case of Qinghai Lake beer.

A young man was going table to table handing out lost-and-found notices. When he reached their table, Da Qiang, halfway through opening a bottle, said half-jokingly: “Looking for a thermos, huh? If we find it, we’ll bring it back for you — stop coming around our table.”

The notice that had been slid under the door earlier had probably been tossed by one of the guys. Diao Zhuo caught a glimpse of one lying on the floor under the table — it snagged his attention. He picked it up and looked at it, then pulled out his phone, as if comparing something.

“Hey! Diao Zhuo! Look who’s over there…” Da Qiang stared ahead with his mouth hanging open, yanking on his arm.