Chapter 31: “Snow of the Northern Border” Part 3

Fu Tingli hadn’t worn her coat, and she was glad for it now. Otherwise, two kilometers would’ve been impossible.

She pressed on through the snow, carrying her passenger.

The cold was solidifying her legs. Two kilometers felt endless.

Her breathing grew labored, sweat soaking through, slick and miserable against her skin.

Teeth gritted, holding her breath, she pushed on for what felt like forever until the guide spoke up, slapping his forehead.

“Almost there! Almost!”

“Keep going steady,” the guide said, pointing toward a hazy glow ahead.

“That direction. Or rest in place if you have to. I’ll run ahead and get help!”

Sweat poured down relentlessly.

Kong Liyuan slumped against her back, damp hair spilling across Fu Tingli’s chest, her head nestled in the crook of her neck, breath hot and scorching.

Fu Tingli strained to look up. She saw the blurry yellow glow ahead and watched the guide hobble off toward it, dropping his words behind.

She wanted to bellow at him to stop, to tell him that if he could’ve fetched help, why hadn’t he said so sooner.

But she had no strength left for shouting. Even if help was possible, two kilometers in this raging blizzard of a night held too many unknowns.

Letting him go for help meant leaving Kong Liyuan alone with a stranger. She couldn’t trust that.

Having him fetch rescuers left her and Kong Liyuan exposed in the car, safety uncertain.

If the blizzard hit before anyone familiar with the terrain returned…

She didn’t dare imagine the fallout.

In the end, it all boiled down to one thing: no way out.

She only trusted Kong Liyuan safe under her own watch. She alone stood truly in Kong Liyuan’s corner.

No one else.

With that thought, she actually let out a pale laugh amid the driving snow. Flakes pelted her mercilessly as she mused to herself that this wasn’t some movie—why was life throwing all these ambushes and desperate last stands her way?

Then she recalled that dream from the car. It had been so oppressive—like in those dreams, no one stood on the same side as Kong Liyuan.

It left her dwelling on such pointless thoughts now.

She and Kong Liyuan had faced situations like this before, back in California. California, which had felt like a dream itself.

After the laughter faded, snow rushed into her mouth, choking her into a coughing fit. The icy flakes slid down her throat and seeped into her lungs, making her entire chest ache.

She staggered to a halt on the road for a few steps, struggling to draw in fresh air.

It hurt so much. It was so cold. Maybe she should talk to Kong Liyuan. Kong Liyuan couldn’t hear her anyway.

Fu Tingli thought wearily as she forced herself to take another step forward.

“Kong Liyuan.”

Calling her name took effort. This was probably the first time she’d said it so formally.

Yet it rolled off her tongue as if she’d recited it a thousand times. Not a hint of awkwardness.

“Do you think that whenever we’re traveling together, something bad has to happen?”

She hunched her back, her boots crunching through the snow. “Why else would the road be fine for everyone else, back and forth a thousand times, but the moment we come along, disaster strikes?”

The person on her back stayed silent, her body heat still scorching. Fu Tingli felt her own body shrinking, crushed by some relentless force.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a fever? If you’d said something sooner, I could’ve taken care of you. Instead, you ended up looking after me the whole way. Or maybe I’m just flattering myself.

“I think you picked this car on purpose because you were afraid I’d be too scared to sleep. If you hadn’t, and you’d gone with the lead vehicle, you’d probably be there by now—hooked up to an IV, fever gone. Not suffering like this…”

Sweat poured down in rivers, the distant glow growing hazier. The air in her lungs felt thinner and thinner.

The unconscious weight on her back threatened to slip off her shoulders. Fu Tingli summoned her strength to jostle her back into place.

“You—a perfectly good person—why pretend you’re some villain? You—a perfectly good person—why deserve all this bad luck out of nowhere? And why is it always with me…?”

She poured out everything she’d been holding back.

“You’re burning up with fever—why push yourself to get here early? A few days later wouldn’t matter. The Northern Border and the snow aren’t going anywhere.”

“And listen, just between us—I overheard that Guide calling you Superstar over and over. I know he didn’t mean anything by it, but it rubbed me the wrong way. Like you don’t even have a name.”

Fu Tingli no longer felt the cold. Pain overtook her now, making her tremble all over.

Her voice grew softer, fainter, as if it might dissolve into the snow.

“Then I thought deeper about it, and I realized—that’s probably how you feel every time I call you a female celeb or Superstar. It’s kind of heartbreaking.”

“If everyone around me stopped using my name—if even my mom called me that—if that’s all anyone ever said—I couldn’t hack it in this industry.”

The glow drew nearer.

Fu Tingli’s eyelids grew heavier. Sweat trickled from her forehead, growing saltier, more bitter, mingled with the taste of melting snow.

“The Guide said if—if I’m tired, I should stop and wait here.

“I don’t want to wait. What if I fall asleep and someone kidnaps us both?”

She gulped down air, paused for a few steps to catch her breath, then pressed on.

“At least right now, I’m still alert. I can take a few more steps.

“I’ll tell you something—I haven’t eaten all day. If I stop now, I might not hold up.”

Kong Liyuan’s face rested against her neck, her breaths coming faster now, as if trapped in a nightmare. She shuddered.

Then Fu Tingli felt something cold drop from Kong Liyuan’s neck.

It pressed against her own neck, icy and chill.

“And honestly, I’m terrified of the cold. I don’t want to stay out in this frozen wasteland. When I was little, people told me if you get lost, stay put and wait.”

“So I did. By the time Mom found me, I was frozen solid. Later I learned just a bit farther ahead was a village.”

Fu Tingli’s voice began to tremble. Her vision blurred.

She knew she had no strength left, but she gripped the body on her back with everything she had.

“Kong Liyuan, I’ve decided—I won’t call you Superstar or female celeb anymore.”

“After all, your name is so beautiful. It’d be a shame not to say it more.”

With those words, she bowed her head and paused for a few steps to rest.

When she looked up again, hazy shapes loomed in her foggy vision—a dark mass amid the white expanse, surging forward like a wave. Fu Tingli couldn’t quite make them out.

Her ears rang as if stuffed with snow, filled only with thudding thuds—rushing footsteps, or perhaps the snow itself shaking.

“Probably our rescuers,” she rasped, confirming they were indeed people.

The taut string in her chest snapped like a cut wire.

Her legs buckled. She pitched forward, collapsing face-first into the snow. A foul taste flooded her mouth.

Kong Liyuan sprawled atop her, hot against her back, disheveled hair spilling across her neck.

That icy thing slid to her jaw, clinging slickly.

Fu Tingli exhaled a long breath.

Struggling, she rolled over, facing Kong Liyuan now, letting her press down on top.

The wind whipped wildly, tousling Kong Liyuan’s sweat-soaked black hair into wild strands, like a heroine tormented at the end of her road.

Fu Tingli cupped Kong Liyuan’s face with one hand. With the other, she tugged off her baseball cap, fumbling to place it over Kong Liyuan’s head. She tucked the brim to shield the upper half of her face, then carefully fitted the face mask into place.

Once that face was fully covered,

Fu Tingli’s straining head finally dropped, smacking the ground. Her occiput stung with cold ice, but she no longer cared. She just gasped for air.

Her hands went slack.

Kong Liyuan’s fevered face thudded against her neck. Fu Tingli felt no pain—only numbness everywhere.

Scorching breaths washed over her. Smooth skin pressed close. That icy thing now stuck to her cheek, fused with thick body heat.

Cold and warmth clashed, like being trapped between ice blocks and roasted over flames.

Fu Tingli’s heart hammered wildly, like drums pounding at her ear. Why were those people taking so long? The footsteps had rumbled for ages, yet they weren’t here.

Still, she lifted a weak hand to the back of Kong Liyuan’s head, burying it in her shoulder. Damp strands drifted across her face, into her breaths.

With lowered lids, amid the falling, blurring snowflakes edged in haze, Fu Tingli gazed at Kong Liyuan’s disheveled hair, her flushed earlobes, and the faintly quivering lashes peeking from under the baseball cap.

Her heartbeat thrummed oppressively. That dream replayed over and over before her eyes.

Kong Liyuan in the baseball cap, mobbed at the cemetery gates—no way forward, turning to face the clawing crowd behind her. So vulnerable, so alone.

Somehow, Fu Tingli sensed Kong Liyuan wouldn’t want this fragile side of herself exposed to the crowd, preserved for scrutiny and gossip.

Kong Liyuan wasn’t one to show weakness.

Fu Tingli felt she had to protect that refusal to yield.

She forced her eyes open, lids drooping but refusing sleep. The footsteps vibrating her scalp drew closer.

Kong Liyuan’s breaths burned against her neck, so hot, so hot.

The chaotic footsteps finally reached them. Voices babbled about stretchers.

Fu Tingli reached out with effort, clutching Kong Liyuan’s hand.

She could only sleep once she confirmed these were rescuers. She warned herself, gripping Kong Liyuan tight.

As the footsteps closed in, discussing stretchers in a clamor,

Kong Liyuan shifted on her shoulder, tilting her head slightly toward Fu Tingli. The skin outside the mask glowed with sickly red.

Damp hair clung to her forehead. As if dreaming of something, her brows furrowed silently. She tightened her grip on Fu Tingli’s hand. She looked so fragile, so uneasy.

This was a rare sight for Kong Liyuan.

Even in sleep, she wouldn’t let herself show such helpless thinness.

Fu Tingli watched for a moment, then squeezed back, holding Kong Liyuan’s hand fast.

Laboriously, she raised one hand to stroke Kong Liyuan’s damp hair, smoothing it down.

But soon, her chest felt empty—Kong Liyuan had been lifted away.

Probably from all the sweat-slick exertion, her hands were slippery. No matter how hard she clung to that tightly clasped hand, she could only watch it slide from her grasp.

Fu Tingli struggled to raise her eyes. There, dangling from Kong Liyuan’s neck due to their awkward position, was a necklace swaying hazily before her.

It was that cool, icy thing.

Everything around her seemed to float, leaving her dizzy. At last, she made out the pendant that had brushed past her face. It bore several English letters:

Ava, it looked like.

Who was Ava?

Fu Tingli wondered in her fogged mind. And why did this necklace look exactly like that other one, the “Zoe”?

Or was she just seeing things?

The next moment, someone lifted her up as well. She dangled in the air for a bit before being laid on a stretcher, her back pressing against a hard bracket that dug uncomfortably into her skin.

Rocking and swaying, she coughed for what felt like forever, as if her lungs might cough themselves right out.

A vast white expanse filled her vision. Snowflakes drifted down in clusters, pure and flawless as they landed on her face. She felt as if she reached out a hand, but it wouldn’t rise.

A glance to the side revealed Kong Liyuan on the stretcher beside her. Her hair lay in disarray, whipping in the wind, hiding her face from view.

In her dazed haze, Kong Liyuan appeared to be asleep.

Fu Tingli finally let herself relax and turned her head away.

Yet she could have sworn she heard Kong Liyuan calling her name, laughing softly, then asking,

“Fu Tingli, didn’t you say you hated the cold the most?”

She figured it was just a hallucination. But if it was, so be it—she had bigger things to worry about. That exhilarating rush of relief after cheating death washed over her once more, and she let out a relaxed smile.

She wanted to say, “No need to thank me, Kong Liyuan. Didn’t you carry me the whole way last time?”

She wanted to say, “Are we even now?”

She wanted to say, “We’re really unlucky to end up in desperate straits twice, but really lucky to pull through both times.”

But she couldn’t muster that many words.

She could only struggle to keep her eyes open, watching the snow filter through the pitch-black night and settle on the tip of her nose. It was as if she were back in California, with distant cars looping “California Dream” over and over.

The cold air choked her, sending pain through her entire body. She even tasted a familiar metallic tang of blood in her mouth—a hallucination, no doubt.

At last, she closed her eyes. A fleck of cold snow landed on her eyelid. She smiled again, her voice sinking into the snow like a muffled whisper,

“The snow is so beautiful, Kong Liyuan.”