One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

Retreat is more difficult than arrival.

After the blue-gold crack closed behind them, the Kunlun Mountains seemed to finally begin to truly show their hostility. The wind first rushed in from the valley entrance, initially just intermittent gusts, whipping up snow powder that swirled across the ice surface like someone repeatedly sweeping the same patch of ground with a giant broom. But in less than fifteen minutes, those gusts merged into a continuous roar, the airflow crashing in from the front carrying fine ice particles that crackled and popped against their masks. Visibility rapidly narrowed; the outline of the mountain ridge a hundred paces away was blurred into a gray shadow by the white snow curtain, visibility dropping to less than thirty meters.

Nie Lingfeng walked slightly ahead of the middle section, his arms wrapped tightly in a down jacket, making Xiaoyun look like a round, plump ball, with only a narrow slit at the edge of his hat for her to breathe and observe. The little girl was unusually quiet, not making a sound the entire way, only occasionally peeking out a pair of round eyes from that slit, blinking, and then disappearing back into the air. Her breath brushed against his collarbone; she was a small, warm bundle, and even through several layers of clothing, he could feel that childlike warmth, distinct from any cold.

Lu Linglong walked three steps behind Nie Lingfeng, carefully stepping in the footprints of the person in front of her to avoid sinking into the knee-deep snow. She could feel her toes slowly losing sensation inside her hiking boots, but she gritted her teeth and didn't stop. When the wind blew from the side, it felt like someone was scraping her cheekbones with a dull blade. She turned her head and buried half her face in the folds of her scarf, her breath condensing into a thin layer of ice on the fabric fibers, itching her chin.

Zhang Chulan walked behind her, his previous eagerness completely gone. His neck was almost completely hunched, his hat brim pulled down below his eyebrows, revealing only the tip of his nose and his lips, white and chapped from the wind. He waded through the snow, each step requiring him to pull his boots out of the snowdrifts before moving forward, each pull kicking up a string of snowflakes that trickled down his trousers and into his boots, sending a shiver down his spine.

"This damn weather..." he mumbled incoherently, his voice whistled away by the wind, "The sky was a perfectly clear, brilliant blue just a moment ago, and then it turned on me like that... They really don't care about the weather when it's not their own territory..."

"Say less," Wang Zhenqiu said, walking ahead of him. He pulled his scarf down a little to expose his mouth, tilting his head to deliver the message, "At an altitude of over 4,600 meters, if you keep opening your mouth to share oxygen, I don't want to drag you down with me if you collapse."

"I was just... worried that if it was too quiet, you'd all fall asleep while walking..."

"Asleep?" Wang Zhenqiu glanced back at him, a layer of fine ice crystals forming on his goggles. He wiped them away. "Try walking until you fall asleep in the snow at minus twenty-five degrees Celsius, and I'll toast you."

"It's not that bad."

"Then shut up."

Zhang Chulan, realizing he was in the wrong, muttered a couple of times before finally falling silent. After the silence, the sound of the wind became exceptionally clear. As the sharp, whistling wind swept across the glacier's surface, it created a low, resonant sound, similar to a xun (a type of ancient Chinese wind instrument), along the edges of the fissures. It sounded as if the entire mountain was playing a broken melody on some ancient instrument.

Nie Lingfeng walked at the front, stepping across a narrow, horizontally cleaved ice crevice, then stopping to let the others cross one by one. His gaze swept across the surrounding mountains through the snow-covered landscape, then he chose a new direction, leading the group down a relatively sheltered rocky ridge. He chose that direction based on intuition—the sound from the ice wall had left a faint, lingering influence on his consciousness before fading away, like a line drawn on the beach after the tide has receded; he was walking in the opposite direction of that line.

After walking for nearly two hours, the wind and snow finally began to subside. When they emerged from behind the rocky ridge, the view ahead suddenly opened up, the snow had dispersed into scattered flakes, and the sky, which had turned leaden gray, revealed patches of azure blue again. And on the edge of a relatively flat plateau less than half a mile away from them, next to an old pine tree, sat a low wooden hut, almost half-buried in snow.

"There's a house up ahead!" Lu Linglong was the first to spot it, her voice filled with undisguised joy. "Master, look!"

Nie Lingfeng glanced in the direction she pointed. The roof of the wooden house was covered with thick snow, but its outline remained intact. There were no obvious signs of weathering or damage to the edges of the door frame, and a layer of grayish-brown felt padding was stuffed inside the window frames. A string of dried red chilies hung under the eaves, standing out against the snow-white background—someone lived there, or at least someone came to maintain it regularly.

"I'll stay here tonight." Nie Lingfeng changed course and headed towards the wooden house.

When the wooden door was pushed open, the hinges made a long, dry creak, as if it hadn't been oiled in a long time, but the door itself was sturdy and not warped. The room wasn't large, about ten square meters, but the ceiling was quite high; a person standing upright wouldn't hit their head. In the center of the room was a shallow pit dug to serve as a hearth, its walls lined with stone slabs, and several blackened stones were scattered around it. In the corner, a small pile of chopped firewood was neatly stacked, covered with an oilcloth for moisture protection. At the other end of the hut, against the wall, were three simple wooden plank beds, the planks covered with thick layers of dry straw, which were then covered with tightly packed animal hides—rough but clean.

The first thing Zhang Chulan did after squeezing through the door was to throw himself onto the nearest wooden bed. He let out a satisfied sigh as the back of his head hit the bed, his limbs sprawled out, taking up most of the bed frame: "Finally—I'm not moving anymore—I'll fight anyone who tells me to get up now—"

"Nobody told you to get up." Wang Zhenqiu took off his backpack and placed it by the door, then squatted down by the fire pit to look for kindling. "But you have to get up and start a fire. Otherwise, you'll be lying here frozen tonight."

Why am I the one who started the fire?

"Because you said you wanted to lie flat."

"That's a problem with the bed, what does it have to do with me—"

"Rock, paper, scissors. Best of three."

"……Come."

The two squatted by the fire pit, playing rock-paper-scissors for three rounds, with Zhang Chulan losing twice. He grumbled as he got out of bed, knelt by the fire pit, and lit tinder with a lighter, muttering, "What's wrong with my luck today… This morning I found a pair of cracked crampons while searching for equipment, I almost stepped into a crevice just now, and now I've even lost rock-paper-scissors—did I forget to check the almanac before leaving home—"

When did you first look at the Chinese calendar?

"I didn't watch it before, but I have to start watching it today."

The tinder was lit, and the dry pine branches crackled and popped as the flames licked them. A warm, orange glow spread from the center of the fire pit, gently enveloping every wall of the cabin. Smoke rose through the narrow chimney in the roof without being choked by the heat. The temperature slowly climbed, and the stiff, frozen expressions on everyone's faces began to melt away, inch by inch.

Wang Zhenqiu rummaged through his backpack and pulled out a lightweight aluminum pot, a small bag of rice, a few sausages, and a packet of dried shiitake mushrooms. He sliced ​​the sausages thinly, soaked the shiitake mushrooms and tore them into strips, then put them in the pot with the rice. He also scooped half a pot of clean snow water from the snowdrift outside and poured it in, then covered the pot and placed it over the fire pit. Soon, the pot began to bubble and steam, the savory aroma of rice and sausage filling the air, warmly enveloping everyone's sense of smell. Zhang Chulan sniffed and sat up straight, his eyes fixed on the white steam rising from the edge of the pot lid, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Brother Qiu, when did you learn to cook?" he asked, his tone more energetic than before.

"When you're away from home for a long time and don't feel like eating out, you cook for yourself." Wang Zhenqiu poked at the firewood in the hearth with a long stick to make the flames burn more evenly. "You can't be like some people who only know how to eat instant noodles when they're out and about."

"That's what I call efficient and convenient!"

"Yeah, convenient. The noodles you made for me in town last time were still hard even after eight minutes."

"The water isn't hot enough!"

"You're blaming the water."

"Or blame me?"

The rice had been simmering for over twenty minutes. The moment Wang Zhenqiu lifted the lid, a plume of steam carrying a rich aroma of cured meat wafted up, and almost everyone in the room let out a rumble in their stomachs, it was impossible to tell who had started first. Master Wang Ye took a flat copper kettle from his backpack, poured in some hot water, then pinched a small pinch of tea leaves from a packet and tossed it into the kettle. He shook it and placed it by the fire pit to warm it. Lu Linglong took the string of dried red chilies from the windowsill outside, broke off two, tossed them into the rice cooker for flavor, and then sat back down to rub her fingers to warm them up.

Everyone sat around the fire pit, each receiving a bowl of braised rice with Chinese sausage. Holding the bowl to warm their hands, they ate slowly, spoonful by spoonful. The rice grains absorbed the oil from the Chinese sausage and the umami flavor of the mushrooms, each grain distinct yet moist without being greasy. After chewing, the warmth slid down their esophagus into their stomachs, invigorating every part of their body from the inside out.

After eating most of the bowl, Lu Linglong put down her chopsticks, held the teacup in both hands to warm her palms, and stared at the flames for a while before speaking.

"Master," her voice was softer than usual, "how much of what that dragon said... do you think is true?"