musicians of old

Chapter 804 NH154 Highway
The two stepped back onto the stone steps outside. It was ten o'clock in the morning, the sun was shining brightly, and the place was bustling with people.

"Fan Ning, what do we do now?" Ruoyi turned around and asked him.

"Continue heading north." Fan Ning's expression remained unchanged.

It's not just "Gongjue Tea House" that has tour guides and intermediaries offering services; even after leaving the last residential area and reaching the northernmost Leopoldi base camp, there should be plenty of people soliciting business on-site.

In comparison, there are a series of equally important things to do, such as food procurement, altitude acclimatization training, and quick mountaineering skills training.

"The fourth day, the fifth day, we still have two days to prepare. We can't neglect other things either." Fan Ning unscrewed the bottle of purified water, took a sip, and gestured for Ruoyi to hurry up and follow.

"It's already the fourth day," the girl murmured to herself.

Fanning led her into a slightly more "formal" branded convenience store, where they swept away a bunch of high-calorie foods in the window, such as nuts, Snickers, and energy drinks.

Standardized commercial food products don't pose a significant risk of being a dud.

But apart from that.
Once you're on the third brother's turf, you have to be extremely careful if you want to order something else; one wrong move and your whole plan will be ruined.

After researching travel guides for a long time, Fan Ning identified several self-operated food stores in the Tibetan community of Dharamshala that had a good reputation among mountaineering enthusiasts, and began his targeted raid.

For example, there are many vendors selling the high-calorie, high-oil, and easy-to-store Momo Tibetan steamed dumplings, but Fan Ning would never dare to eat them. The only reliable option is a chain store called "wow!momo".

"Wow?" After descending the winding stone steps to a mountain hollow on the west side, Ruoyi began to examine the shop, which still looked "greasy" from the outside.

"Is there really no problem with the forum's recommendations? 'wow' is such a weird name, did I spell it correctly?"

“That’s right, it’s ‘Wow.’” Fanning glanced up at the yellow sign with black lettering, then stepped inside. “Well, it’s not bad that it can open a chain store in Upper Dharamshala.”

When the two came out, one of the bodyguards was carrying four large bags of yak meat-filled steamed dumplings on his back, which filled half of his travel bag. Steaming hot dumplings and the aroma of meat were wafting out.

Next, Fan Ning led Ruoyi to raid several Tibetan shops.

Aktori butter pancakes, honey-baked kulu trout, and pine-smoked yak jerky
The portions were a bit small, but there were a lot of different kinds of food. They were all high-calorie, easy-to-preserve cooked foods, and they were also delicious local delicacies cooked fresh.

"Hey, no matter what we Chinese do, we must eat well if we can."

Finally, the bodyguard took a large bag of Chamba energy gels from Fanning. These were self-developed food products by a former mountaineering enthusiast who settled and did business in the area, and the packaging was printed with a Shiva image to suit local customs.

It is relatively rich in vitamins and fiber, and of course, it is also high in calories. It contains almond slivers, vegetable puree, saffron, chili powder and rock salt. Fanning bit into one and the spicy and sweet flavors were quite good, even a bit refreshing.

"Your ability to plan trips is quite amazing," Ruoyi exclaimed. "If I had known, I should have invited you to travel with me a few years ago."

I wonder what he would have thought if I had "harassed" him on Instagram back then.

"This is my first time abroad," Fan Ning said, shrugging. "I don't travel much, so I'll just do whatever I feel like."

"Even more humble than someone playing Schubert's D.960," the girl commented.

After finishing their food shopping, the two did not linger in the "Upper Dharamshala District" for long. They walked straight through it, climbed the steps, and arrived at the rest stop not far from the NH154 highway in the north of the city.

Three hired off-road vehicles were already waiting there, and several people jumped out of the vehicles to help disassemble, reassemble, and move the supplies.

Fan Ning and Ruoyi each had a pair of scissors, squatting on the ground, snip-snip-snip, as they opened the express delivery boxes, occasionally turning around to give instructions.

The delivery address for the batch of equipment and supplies ordered domestically was filled in here. Fan Ning bought more than half of it, and Ruoyi later added some more. It was all about money paving the way and expedited shipping.

"What did you buy?" Fan Ning saw Ruoyi pick up a small, deflated package and felt she didn't recall ordering anything like it. "Hey, why did you also send a little book?"

"We talked about this while looking at the paintings, so I had the housekeeper send it over." Ruoyi waved her hand at him. "Look, so many big things have already been shipped over, a little slap won't make a difference."

"The poetry collection 'The Boy's Magic Horn'?"

Fanning quickly flipped through a few pages.

Saint Anthony of Padua preaches to the fish.
The First Light.
"Three angels singing a sweet song."
“Okay, this looks interesting.” Fan Ning thanked him and put the item in his inner breast pocket. “It’ll be good for killing time on the ride.”

Ruoyi makes a victory sign and opens one side of her down jacket.

When she left Fanning's house, she also took "The Flute of the Orient" from the basement. She kept it in a similar, close-fitting location.

"Tap tap tap tap."

The off-road convoy started and soon drove onto the entrance to NH154 highway, then changed course and headed northeast.

The midday sun hung high like a molten bronze cymbal, its wheels cutting through the heart of the Sutlej River valley. During the dry season, the river outside the window exposed large expanses of rusty brown riverbed, like the spine of a skinned giant beast.

But Fan Ning had never seen such clear water, such a transparent sky, and such sheer cliffs. He cracked the car window open, letting in a gust of cold air, and his thoughts drifted away.

“Hey, Fanning, I’m reminded of ‘Wrapped Coast’.” Ruoyi’s pupils reflected a sapphire-like color in the darkened glass.

"Christopher's installation art?"

"Maybe it's performance art."

两人聊起了“大地艺术家”克里斯托在1962-1969年间与妻子联手打造的一个巨型装置艺术——他们的团队耗时17000小时，使用92900平米的防腐布料和56公里的绳索，让长达1.6公里的海岸峭壁披上了柔软的银白色织物。

"It's a kind of destructive aesthetic, the ultimate creation in the ideals of art martyrs," Fanning commented.

"Can humans also make natural objects disappear and then redefine existence?" Ruoyi asked.

"It depends on whether I misjudged myself before," Fan Ning thought for a moment.

"Not all self-identities are products of misperception." Ruoyi gazed at her semi-transparent reflection in the car window.

“Not just Christo, you’re also deeply ‘poisoned’ by Lacan, huh?” Fanning winked.

The topic somehow jumped back to Lacan's "mirror phase" and "psychoanalysis".

"You can even handle this weird 'brainstorm'?" Ruoyi pouted.

"Your internet Chinese is also quite good."

"."

The two always chatted in this way, with topics that seemed to jump around incomprehensibly to the listeners, ranging from Schopenhauer to Nietzsche, from R. Strauss's *Thus Spoke Zarathustra* to Wagner's *Tristan und Isolde*, and finally to the Greek tragedy *Iphigenia in Aulis*.
The long progression between sentences, whether logical or emotional, involves drawing a path in one's mind, and then quickly discovering that the other person is basically thinking the same way. As a result, the next sentence or viewpoint of the two often "abruptly" pops up on another seemingly unrelated topic.

The convoy spent an afternoon traversing the Kinauer Valley, gradually ascending to an altitude of 3000 meters. In the distance, the twilight floated in the freezing fog, like gold leaf scattered on the snow-capped mountains.

"Hey, Fan Ning, has Uncle Fan Chenxun replied to your message?" Ruoyi asked again.

Fanning shook his head.

"What exactly was he doing in Himachal Pradesh?"

"An overseas order that came through multiple referrals from fellow artists. The client, a man claiming to be a descendant of Scriabin, wanted to organize a low-key, unofficial commemoration on the 100th anniversary of his ancestor's death, to embody some of the composer's artistic ideals. This is the location he chose. Lately, I've been thinking back to whether this commemoration might be related to 'The Secret Realm of Revelation.'"

"The 'total art' that the composer was unable to perform before his death?" Ruoyi pondered.

It feels a bit eerie, especially when you think about the mysterious causes of his death throughout history.

“Maybe the closer we get to the camp, the more likely we are to find out something, and we’ll eventually get up there,” she said.

Fan Ning hummed in response, seemingly lost in thought.

As dusk fell, the convoy gradually approached Kalpa village, the heart of the Kinauer Valley and the last settlement before the camp.

It is renowned for its beautiful apple orchards and snow-capped mountain viewpoints, and due to the large number of hikers, it offers relatively complete related services and facilities. In the distance, the NH154 road continues endlessly, with villages perched on the cliffs of the Sutlej Valley, their rooftops clinging to the rock face like gray dove nests.

"The starry sky above is getting closer." Fan Ning took a deep breath.

The two sat side by side in the back row and looked up at the same time.

There were already some stars in the rose-colored sky outside the car sunroof, twinkling like eyes.