FQ chapter 7

The dinner didn’t last long. Once night fully fell, people began to disperse. Most were there to watch the sunrise and had to get up around 4 or 5 a.m. Aside from a few who were still drinking and singing in the courtyard, everyone else returned to their rooms.

Everything had seemed fine during dinner, but once back in their room, the girl from the couple came to knock on Fan Qing’s door, saying her boyfriend seemed to be experiencing mild altitude sickness.

Fan Qing immediately grabbed the oxygen and medicine he had prepared in advance. Luan Ye had taken off his jacket and turned to ask, “Want me to help?”

“No need.”

Fan Qing quickly gathered what he needed, his tone steady.

“I’ll go check on him.”

After examining the guy, Fan Qing found it was indeed mild altitude sickness—not serious. The likely culprit was drinking a bit of alcohol during dinner. He gave him medicine and had him inhale half a can of oxygen, which helped ease the symptoms.

Once things stabilized, Fan Qing left some medicine with them. He divided the remaining medicine into two portions: one he had the girl bring to the other two female travelers just in case, and the other he brought back for Luan Ye.

The whole ordeal took nearly half an hour. By the time he returned and closed the door behind him, Luan Ye had just finished showering and opened the bathroom door.

The hotel’s hair dryer didn’t work very well. Luan Ye’s hair, which reached his neck, was only half dry, and he wore a plain white T-shirt—the kind you buy three for 99 yuan at the supermarket. Steam from the bathroom escaped as he opened the door, softening his features with a misty glow.

Fan Qing paused at the door for a few seconds.

That medium-length hairstyle was hard to pull off, but Luan Ye’s face could handle it. Plus, he usually tied his hair back, giving him a sharp, clean look rather than a soft one.

Fan Qing hadn’t expected him to look like that with his hair down.

Luan Ye looked up. “You’re back. Everything okay?”

Fan Qing shut the door, the lock clicking into place. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

Luan Ye responded with a short “Oh.” Fan Qing put the supplies away, took off his coat, and went into the bathroom.

The bathroom was still foggy but quite clean. Luan Ye’s toothbrush and towel were neatly arranged. The handmade bracelet he usually wore was placed nearby—probably taken off before showering.

Fan Qing thought Luan Ye would’ve gone to bed by now, but when he came out, he found him smoking on the balcony.

The balcony was outside the room, separated by double glass doors. It had a small round table and two chairs.

Luan Ye had closed the door—probably to keep the smoke from drifting into the room.

The night wind was chilly, and he had wrapped himself in a thin hotel blanket. He sat cross-legged, lazily leaning back in the chair. His right hand rested on the edge of the table, cigarette still burning between his fingers.

Directly in front of Luan Ye was the snow-covered mountain.

The moon had risen, casting silver light over the peaks, making them look even colder. At over 5,000 meters altitude, the mountain was blanketed in crystalline snow. Mist swirled around the peak, while dark ridges crisscrossed below.

The mountain and the moon, along with Luan Ye’s back, all radiated a quiet loneliness, as if they had cut themselves off from the world.

Fan Qing felt an inexplicable discomfort at the sight. He walked over and slid the glass door open. Luan Ye turned, meeting his gaze.

He lifted a hand in greeting. “Just smoking.”

He meant that if the smoke bothered Fan Qing, he’d close the door again—but Fan Qing just nodded.

He reminded him, “If we’re watching the sunrise tomorrow, we have to get up at five.”

Luan Ye looked at him in the moonlight for a moment. “Are you sleepy?”

Fan Qing shook his head. Luan Ye gestured to the seat next to him. “Then sit for a bit, watch the moon rise.”

Fan Qing: “…”

He sat down.

Across from them, the snow-covered mountain seemed to stare back in silence. Downstairs, some people were still singing. Their voices drifted up intermittently—it was a rendition of “Ulan Bator’s Night.”

A half-used pack of cigarettes lay on the table. Following adult social etiquette, Luan Ye asked, “Want one?”

Before Fan Qing could reply, Luan Ye dismissed himself: “Never mind, what’s an eighteen-year-old doing smoking anyway?”

Fan Qing frowned. “I turn nineteen in three months.”

“Mm.” Luan Ye nodded. 

Fan Qing was silent for a moment, then asked, “And you?”

Luan Ye imitated him, “Almost twenty-eight, in five months.”

Fan Qing: “…”

Luan Ye continued, “How long have you been doing this?”

“I told you on the mountain.”

“That was you talking to someone else.” Luan Ye switched the cigarette to his left hand, turning to face Fan Qing. “Now it’s just us. Be serious.”

“…Over two years, almost three,” Fan Qing said.

“You could drive at that age?”

“…Back then, I only led hikes.” Fan Qing said, “I started renting the car this year. Got my license after my birthday last year. Want to see it?”

“No need.” Luan Ye smiled. “Didn’t mean anything by it. Just think it’s… impressive.”

“I can’t even remember what I was doing at eighteen.”

“Most people are preparing for college entrance exams,” Fan Qing said plainly.

Luan Ye chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, probably.”

He had been sent to the U.S. before turning fifteen and did high school there. At eighteen, he’d just taken the SAT. He didn’t remember his score, but it must’ve been high—he had sent the results to his mom, and she’d given him a sum of money.

“Why’d you become a guide?” he asked.

“Quick money.”

Luan Ye looked at him. Fan Qing added, “I need to pay for tuition and living expenses.”

Luan Ye blinked. “You’re still in school? College?”

Fan Qing’s expression was complicated. “Would you believe me if I said middle school?”

“…Just curious.” Luan Ye laughed and coughed on his cigarette. “Sorry.”

“Just finished the college entrance exam. Results haven’t come out yet.” Fan Qing said. “Nothing to be curious about.”

Just finished the college entrance exam.

Luan Ye recalled the day they met—only two or three days after the national exams.

“Maybe because I didn’t finish college,” he said.

Fan Qing glanced at him, surprised.

Not because of education level; he just thought Luan Ye seemed smart.

“Studied over a year, then dropped out.”

Luan Ye briefly explained: “Illness.”

“I thought…” Fan Qing hesitated, “You studied photography in college?”

“No,” Luan Ye smiled, looking down, flicked ashes into the ashtray, “My partner taught me, then I self-taught.”

Fan Qing nodded.

A moment of silence passed between them. The courtyard noises gradually faded. The moon rose higher, clearing some of the mist. The snowy mountain under moonlight softened.

Wrapped in his blanket, Luan Ye was too lazy to fetch his camera. He grabbed his phone, lowered the exposure, adjusted the focus, and snapped two pictures of the night-time mountain.

Finally, Fan Qing spoke again. “So you came here to take photos?”

“No.”

Luan Ye glanced at the photos, then put the phone back down.

“Vacation,” Fan Qing said.

“Something like that.”

After a pause, Luan Ye turned to him and smiled.

“I don’t really want to live anymore. I just want to find a place to wait for death.”

As soon as he said that, Fan Qing’s expression changed.

The relaxed look from earlier vanished. Fan Qing sat up and stared at Luan Ye. His brows furrowed slightly, lips pressed into a tight line — he looked displeased.

Luan Ye was caught off guard and the smile faded from his face. The cigarette he had barely smoked was stubbed out in the ashtray.

“I was joking,” Luan Ye said.

Fan Qing looked at him for a long time before turning away.

“Don’t joke about things like that.”

Luan Ye didn’t reply right away, and Fan Qing added:

“Don’t joke about your life at the foot of a snow mountain.”

His tone was so serious that Luan Ye fell silent for a while before quietly responding, “Got it.”

Then he stood up and stretched, his tone shifting back to casual. “Let’s sleep. We still have to catch the sunrise tomorrow.”

Fan Qing stood up with him, his gaze unconsciously falling on him. He watched as Luan Ye brushed his teeth and climbed back into bed, wrapping himself tightly in the blanket like a cocoon, then ordered Fan Qing, “Turn the AC up, and then turn off the lights.”

His tone was lazy and natural — like that earlier sentence really was just a joke.

Fan Qing turned off the lights and climbed into bed. The room fell into complete darkness.