FQ chapter 34

The lamb, just a few months old, was soft and light, like holding a cloud. After taking the photo, Fan Qing turned and said, “You’re not going to hold it for a bit?”

Luan Ye rubbed the lamb’s head a couple of times, then quickly pulled his hand back. “Nah.”

The little girl had deliberately stepped back three or four meters so she wouldn’t end up in the photo. Fan Qing lowered his voice and asked, “Why not?”

Luan Ye mimicked his low tone. “It’s alive.”

“…What else would it be?” Fan Qing was momentarily stunned.

“I’m afraid I’ll accidentally bump or squeeze it too hard and make it uncomfortable, or if I don’t hold it tight enough, it’ll fall and get hurt…”

Fan Qing stared at him for a long time. His tone was casual, but his expression wasn’t joking.

For something as simple as taking a picture with a lamb—something that takes thirty seconds—Fan Qing hadn’t expected Luan Ye to imagine so many potential disasters and shut them down before they could happen.

Just like during the mountain trip, worrying they might not find mushrooms, or if they did, that they couldn’t carry them back…

“You…” Fan Qing didn’t know what to say. All he could do was comment, “You’ve got a very active imagination.”

“Jealous?” Luan Ye smiled. “Psychosis comes with excellent creativity.”

Fan Qing said nothing, just kept looking at him. Luan Ye had already lowered his head to check the selfie: “Alright, this will do—”

Fan Qing cut him off. “Give me your hand.”

“Huh?” Luan Ye looked up.

Fan Qing took the phone from Luan Ye’s hand and shoved the lamb into his arms.

Caught off guard, Luan Ye instinctively reached out and caught a fluffy little cloud—the lamb. It was obedient and stayed still even when passed around, resting quietly against his chest and nudging his shoulder.

Warm and soft.

“…What the hell.”

Luan Ye stared at Fan Qing, slightly dazed.

Fan Qing stepped back and quickly snapped two photos. Then he returned, handed the phone back to Luan Ye, took the lamb from his arms, returned it to the girl, and paid by scanning the code—all in one smooth motion.

The whole process was quick and clean. Luan Ye stared at him the entire time, until Fan Qing came back to his side.

“What was that for?” Luan Ye didn’t know whether to laugh or be annoyed. “Forced sale?”

A passing tourist gave them a quick look.

“You held it. And took a picture.” Fan Qing ignored the passersby and looked at Luan Ye. “It didn’t fall. And it didn’t kick you.”

“…You’re something else,” Luan Ye finally said after a moment, voice a little hoarse.

Fan Qing gave a faint smile. “Let’s go.”

……

Dukezong Ancient Town wasn’t very big, but with Luan Ye’s wandering style, they still took a while exploring. At lunch, Luan Ye let Fan Qing pick the restaurant. He chose a Tibetan place he’d been to before and liked.

Luan Ye seemed tired from all the walking and was pretty quiet while eating. After lunch, they returned to the parking lot around 2 PM—they were the first to arrive. Twenty minutes later, everyone else trickled in, still excited and chatting even as they got in the car.

Luan Ye had his eyes closed, but he was idly fidgeting with his phone. Fan Qing could tell he wasn’t asleep.

That afternoon, they headed to Songzanlin Monastery.

It was the sunniest part of the day. Above 147 stone steps, the sky looked freshly washed, the temple buildings rising in layers. Red, white, and yellow walls stacked upon each other, painted thangka art dazzling under the sun, prayer flags fluttering in the wind.

The path was full of tourists in Tibetan robes holding prayer wheels and taking photos—cameras everywhere. Fan Qing glanced at Luan Ye; this time, he had brought his camera.

His original one.

Luan Ye took a few shots from the base of the monastery. When he noticed Fan Qing watching, he turned his head.

“Should’ve brought my other one,” Luan Ye sighed. “Looks like taking photos here is a good side hustle.”

Fan Qing didn’t believe he’d shoot portraits seriously and ignored the nonsense, simply reminding everyone, “The altitude’s high. If anyone feels unwell, take a break. Don’t push yourself. There’s oxygen in the car.”

Climbing stairs at 3300 meters is no joke for people from lower elevations. The crowd thinned out as they went up, and soon only Luan Ye and Fan Qing were in front.

During a break, Fan Qing looked over. Luan Ye tilted his head back to drink water, his breathing heavy, but he didn’t complain or ask to stop.

The higher they climbed, the fewer tourists there were. Instead, monks in deep red robes moved among the prayer halls.

Photography was prohibited inside. Songzanlin had many different prayer halls. Luan Ye and Fan Qing visited them one by one. Each hall worshipped different deities but was adorned with equally intricate, colorful prayer flags. Monks sat cross-legged chanting deep Tibetan scriptures. Whether inside or on the long staircases, people bowed—some were tourists, others locals.

One Tibetan woman with dark, weathered skin was bowing full-length on the ground every few steps, pressing her forehead to the stone. Clutched tightly in her hand was a photo of a child, around seven or eight years old.

Passing monks would stop, gently touch her head, and speak a phrase in Tibetan.

Fan Qing followed Luan Ye’s gaze and quietly explained, “Might be for illness, or…” He paused. “They believe it brings blessings.”

At the top of Songzanlin, there were tourists taking pictures, passing monks, and red-beaked eagles circling in the sky.

Some came here for sightseeing, some for faith. And some—each time they bowed to the ground—carried with them the weight of pain and hope.

In such a setting, even without sharing the same beliefs, one could still feel the depth of emotion present.

Luan Ye looked away.

The mountain had various large and small halls. One side hall had few people and was lit with many butter lamps, their flames quietly flickering. A monk sat at the entrance, writing prayer notes and lighting candles for people.

Luan Ye stood at the door for a while, then turned and asked Fan Qing, “Do you believe in Buddhism?”

Fan Qing looked at him and answered honestly, “No.”

Given they were on sacred ground, Luan Ye stared at him and sighed dramatically, “So honest.”

The monk by the door must’ve overheard. He turned and smiled at them kindly.

Fan Qing could tell Luan Ye didn’t have a religion either. While others bowed in the halls, Luan Ye just walked around, seriously studying the murals.

The hall had high, narrow windows. It was dim inside. When Luan Ye looked up, the light caught his profile in uneven shadows.

“Let’s light a lamp,” he said after a while. “We came all this way.”

Fan Qing couldn’t help but laugh at that last sentence. “A true tourist’s motto.”

Luan Ye went on like a tongue twister: “May I be blessed with good fortune, smooth work, riches, and sudden wealth…”

“…Ambitious,” Fan Qing nodded.

Luan Ye chuckled and walked over to the altar. Fan Qing didn’t go in, choosing to wait by the door.

A young monk in red robes looked up and asked Luan Ye for the name of the person offering the lamp.

Fan Qing waited, but didn’t hear a reply, so he turned to glance inside.

By now it was nearly dusk, and the sun was no longer scorching.

Beyond the temple, endless mountains stretched under the setting sun. The sky, the hills, and hundreds of colorful prayer flags fluttered in the wind, filling the heavens and squeezing into the narrow doorway.

Inside the hall, Luan Ye looked up at the flickering lamps. Sunlight softened his expression. Wind chimes rang faintly. The faint smoke of burning incense cloaked him like a shadow.

At that moment, Fan Qing suddenly realized: this lamp probably wasn’t for Luan Ye himself.

Sure enough, a few seconds later, Luan Ye spoke.

Luan Ye lowered his gaze, his voice soft and steady.

“Bai Mingcheng.”

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T/N:

it might sound confusing but Bai Mingchuan and Bai Mingcheng are not the same person. Everything will be revealed in the next chapters[/mfn]