“Isn’t there no heavy snow on the crew’s side?”
In the Northern Border’s Hewatu Village, a massive and unrelenting blizzard battered the rescue station’s tin door with a relentless patter.
Kong Liyuan leaned against the wall, talking on the phone in a casual pose. She was still wearing that wrinkled black outfit, her black beanie covering her long dark hair.
Her skin was pallid, her thick black lashes casting shadows over her lower eyelids. Beneath the beanie, her brows and eyes lifted slightly.
There was a sickly weariness about her, mingled with a hint of Ayang’s decadence, yet it couldn’t overshadow Kong Liyuan’s innate nobility. The two contrasting auras twisted together like an intertwined vortex.
Just standing there, this woman looked like a cinematic frame brimming with story.
Fu Tingli watched her for a moment before accidentally catching Doctor Mu’s amused, half-smiling gaze. She slowly withdrew her eyes.
Outside, the gale howled, slamming against the windows with resounding bangs. Even though Kong Liyuan had deliberately lowered her voice, it still carried clearly into Fu Tingli’s ears.
“If we can get out within three days, it won’t be a big problem.”
“It’ll be perfect timing to polish the script here. Once we’re out, the other actors and the crew will have the sets ready, and we can start shooting right away without delaying production.”
“I’m fine, no need to worry. If we can’t leave in three days, we’ll figure it out then. For now, line up the schedules for later announcements…”
Kong Liyuan had just reconnected with her management team using Fu Tingli’s phone, which she had freshly charged and turned on.
At that moment, Fu Tingli was sitting by the bed, looking up at the IV drip feeding into her arm. The thick, lingering pain hadn’t fully subsided yet.
It wasn’t as sharp as when she’d first woken, but there was still a dull, nagging ache that left her listless and lethargic.
The rescue station now held only the two of them and Doctor Mu. Everyone rescued from last night’s blizzard had gradually woken up and left.
Only Fu Tingli, who had suffered the worst of the frostbite, was still finishing her IV.
The guide, whose face was rough and reddened from the wind and snow, had dragged over her suitcase and given a brief rundown of the village situation.
Then he rubbed his hands, slapped his thigh, and said, “Ahem, here’s the thing—I’ve gotta head out first.”
At that time, Fu Tingli had just gotten in touch with Qiao Lipan to say she’d arrived in the Northern Border.
Lifting her head now, she locked eyes with the guide. Clutching her phone, which had only about a thousand yuan left after turning on, she wondered if he was asking for more money.
She asked cautiously,
“Didn’t the crew explain the situation to you?”
“No.” The guide waved it off and rubbed his frozen, hooked nose.
“Of course they did. Our team leader even told me to take good care of you all. It’s just that I…”
He limped around the room a few times and shook his head. “This blizzard has probably stranded who knows how many people on the roads.
“This little village can’t accommodate that many outsiders. There’s just one small log cabin hotel. I stayed there last night, and rooms were already scarce.”
He tilted his stubbled chin toward them, looking troubled. “And today, so many people have left the rescue station. I doubt there’s any space left.”
“What do we do then?” Fu Tingli froze.
“That’s why I need to hurry and find you a place to stay. If worse comes to worst…” The guide smacked his lips.
“We might have to crash with the locals. This area’s pretty poor, so the conditions won’t be as nice as what you’re used to in the big cities. I’m just worried you won’t be comfortable.”
As he spoke, his gaze drifted toward Kong Liyuan. He wasn’t some professional tour guide; he just knew the terrain well enough to handle these snowy roads better than most. He’d never been tasked with escorting people like this before, and his first time had to be with a tricky superstar—who was also sick.
This young woman seemed tough enough, but she was sick too. And with his bad leg, they had three invalids on their hands.
He’d been worrying since last night when he heard the roads were closed, afraid they’d have high demands and complain endlessly in this rundown little village, causing chaos.
But the superstar just smiled at his words. Her frank, poised eyes dazzled him, plainly spelling out “I don’t mind” in bold letters.
The young woman listening along smiled too, her eyes crinkling into slits as she fiddled with her phone again.
When he finished, she smiled weakly, giving him a reassuring shot in the arm.
“No worries, Guide Big Brother. We can rough it. We’ve walked tougher roads than this.”
Her voice was faint and breathless, almost too soft to hear.
These two were odd. On the bus, they’d sat apart, polite and distant.
But after this snow buried them, all sorts of things he couldn’t grasp came bubbling up.
Despite being battered into such a state, learning they were stranded seemed to lighten their moods more than the trip to Kanas had.
Was it really that “true feelings emerge in times of hardship” stuff from the TV shows?
“Alright! I’ll go find you a place to stay!”
The guide was baffled but agreed readily. Before leaving, he added a few more reminders.
“Once you’re done with the IV, you can grab some food at the little diner outside. I’ve already eaten.”
“And I’ve got your number now. Call me if anything comes up!”
~~~
By the time Fu Tingli’s IV was nearly done, Kong Liyuan had finished her long, drawn-out call.
Fu Tingli had overheard bits and pieces, realizing how tough it was to be an actress.
If Kong Liyuan really got stuck here for long, it wouldn’t just delay the crew’s filming—it would mess up other endorsements and online events too.
Right now, Kong Liyuan had even lost her phone.
Staying in touch with the outside world had become such a hassle; she’d had to borrow Fu Tingli’s to call her team.
They’d searched the rescue station high and low earlier but hadn’t found Kong Liyuan’s phone.
They’d asked the guide too, and he said he hadn’t seen it anywhere while hauling back the luggage.
Fu Tingli gazed at the woman leaning against the wall, at her thin face occasionally revealed when she pulled down her face mask to breathe, at her lashes drooping in the shadows.
She saw no confusion or helplessness in Kong Liyuan.
Even fresh from a forty-degree fever, even standing there alone without her phone, this woman never showed vulnerability or unease in front of anyone—as long as she was lucid, as long as things were manageable.
Recalling the Kong Liyuan who had trembled on her shoulder in the snowfield felt strangely distant now.
Perhaps sensing Fu Tingli’s gaze, laced with complex scrutiny, Kong Liyuan lifted her eyes.
Fu Tingli immediately looked away, fixing her gaze back on the nearly empty IV bottle.
The droplets rippled endlessly in the fluid. She hoped nothing unwarranted showed in her own eyes.
—like pity or heartache. She knew Kong Liyuan needed neither.
“Is the IV done?”
Kong Liyuan hung up and walked over, handing back the phone.
“Finished your call?” Fu Tingli took it, eyes slightly downcast, and asked,
“Will it cause a lot of delays?”
“Not really, just some odds and ends. I came early anyway, so the schedule should line up fine.”
Kong Liyuan seemed to be eyeing her IV bag too.
Fu Tingli let out an “Oh” and said, “That’s good,” then raised her arm a bit.
“I think this is about done, right, Doctor Mu—”
She called out in a slightly hoarse voice.
“Coming.”
Doctor Mu had been sitting at the table with a cup of tea, as if she’d been watching them for a while, her face still wearing that half-smile.
She walked over, glanced at the bag. “Yeah, almost. Needle out, and you’re good to go. I’m off shift anyway—time for dinner.”
“Do you work rotations here?” As Doctor Mu removed the needle, Fu Tingli chatted.
“We do, but there are only four or five of us. This blizzard has everyone wiped out.”
Doctor Mu deftly pulled the needle free and pressed a cotton swab to the bleeding puncture.
The needle, which had infiltrated a few times, stung as it came out. Fu Tingli wrinkled her nose.
“Hurts, huh?” Doctor Mu asked.
“Yeah.”
Fu Tingli held still on her wrist, then stared at Doctor Mu’s youthful face for a moment. Hesitant but curious, she asked,
“You don’t look local, Doctor Mu. What made you decide to work at a rescue station? Some kind of charity gig?”
“I—” Mu Chixue started to reply.
But then Kong Liyuan, who had stepped aside for the needle removal, reached over and took the cotton swab from her hand.
She looked up at her with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll take over, Doctor Mu.”
And gently pressed down on it.
Her words cut off, the swab snatched away.
Mu Chixue didn’t continue, just smiled again and tidied up the mess.
She picked up her tray, ready to walk away without fuss.
But glancing back, she noticed the oddly silent tension between the two.
With an inner sigh, she turned around and winked at Fu Tingli.
“If you want to know, I’ll tell you next time.”
“Ah?” Fu Tingli blinked as well, then curved her eyes into a smile.
“Sure, I love listening to stories.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, the cotton swab pressing against the back of her hand increased its pressure slightly.
It didn’t hurt, but it was enough to snap Fu Tingli’s attention back.
She hissed softly, not yet fully processing it.
Then she saw Doctor Mu pick up her tea again, blow on it twice, and turn her back to them. She was no longer in the playful, spectator mode from moments ago; instead, she gazed out the window at the snow.
No one knew what she was thinking.
Before Fu Tingli could ponder it further, the cotton swab lifted from her hand, leaving only a faint lingering pressure.
“You only know her as Doctor Mu?”
Kong Liyuan tossed the bloodied swab away, her voice drifting close to Fu Tingli’s ear, lowered so Mu Chixue on the other side wouldn’t hear.
“It’s written on her name tag.”
Fu Tingli whispered back. She didn’t want Mu Chixue to know they were talking about her.
Then she saw Kong Liyuan glance up at her. “Just because it’s on her name tag, you looked that closely?”
“My eyesight’s good. I spotted it in one glance.”
As Fu Tingli spoke, she stretched out her somewhat stiff hand and struggled to get off the bed.
Her legs buckled, and she nearly toppled sideways.
A hand caught her just in time, and she ended up collapsing against Kong Liyuan’s chest like a bundle of soft cotton.
A faint, clean scent enveloped her, wrapping her up like a cloud.
Her nose pressed into something soft.
In the ensuing darkness, she blinked dazedly. Her first muddled thought was that the commotion might make Mu Chixue misunderstand again—they’d only just cleared things up.
So she quickly lifted her head.
But Kong Liyuan didn’t release her right away. The arm around her waist lingered, almost hesitantly, for a moment.
Then it slowly slid upward.
Just like before, it gently patted the back of her head.
It was a brief embrace, compensatory in nature—not particularly warm, both of them disheveled, stripped of Shanghai’s clear boundaries.
Yet it was so hard-won, mingled into a heavy snowfall on the Northern Border.
Fu Tingli recovered first.
She snapped out of it like waking from a dream, pulling free from that almost-embrace.
She glanced at Mu Chixue, who wasn’t looking their way, and let out a relieved breath. Then she smiled softly at Mu Chixue and said,
“Doctor Mu, we’re heading out.”
Mu Chixue turned around as if rousing from a daze, her expression showing she hadn’t noticed their subtle moment at all, and nodded slowly with a simple “Okay.”
Only then did Fu Tingli fully exhale. She pushed her luggage along, enduring the dull ache spreading through her body.
“Let’s go, Teacher… Teacher Kong.”
She still called her Teacher Kong. After all, she couldn’t just call her “Kong Liyuan” right in front of Mu Chixue.
After saying it, she didn’t look at Kong Liyuan again. Instead, she kept her head down, her thoughts heavy, and trudged toward the door.
When she opened it, a biting north wind blasted in, stinging her face.
But as she looked up, the sight of the soft, enchanting snow before her completely captivated her gaze.
Her heavy thoughts seemed to scatter with the wind.
Last night, in her rush to carry her out, she hadn’t had a chance to appreciate the snow’s beauty.
Only now, in the daylight, did she realize how different it was from the light flurries in Shanghai.
The snow here on the Northern Border was like a vibrant, passionate dream. Fresh powder blanketed the sharp rooftops, turning the entire village into a hazy, vast wonderland at a glance.
She could even describe the snow here as pure and fervent.
“The snow on the Northern Border really is stunning,” Fu Tingli murmured, as if entranced by it. Unthinkingly, she turned to look at Kong Liyuan.
Kong Liyuan seemed to share the same feeling. At that exact moment, through the swirling wind and falling snow, her gaze met Fu Tingli’s.
In that second of eye contact.
Fu Tingli thought, does this count as us seeing the Northern Border snow together? Then she heard Kong Liyuan say softly,
