Chapter 11

The next morning, because the curtains did not close tightly, the early morning sunlight sliced straight into the room.

Liang Yuanxing woke up and pulled the quilt over his face to continue sleeping. After Duan Qingshen got up, he walked to the side of the bed and said, "Wake up, wake up."

"I have an urgent matter and need to return to Zhejiang," Liang Yuanxing said, muffled under the quilt. "I need to go back and change my name to Liang Shenmian."

"Then I'll change mine to Duan Xingxing, and from now on, you can wake me up." Duan Qingshen pushed the quilt twice more and said, "Get up, wash up, and pack your luggage. I'm going downstairs to buy some breakfast."

The town was filled with a thin, indistinct mist in the early morning. The chill was palpable—a pure, dry cold, devoid of any dampness.

Liang Yuanxing held the pancake Duan Qingshen had bought and stood next to the motorcycle. He kept the bag open, letting the pancake cool in the breeze.

He asked, "Is the owner of the pancake stall an undercover cop?"

"..." Duan Qingshen looked down at his own, which was the same, leaking filling from both sides. "Just make do with it."

"It's quite delicious," Liang Yuanxing said while chewing. "Everything tastes the same once you eat it."

"Don't choke on the wind; eat with your mouth closed."

"How can I eat with my mouth closed?" Liang Yuanxing asked.

There were many tourist signs after the Yellow River Bridge, pointing toward wetland parks and the like.

The intercom Liang Yuanxing was wearing was touch-sensitive. If he wanted to speak to Duan Qingshen, he would gently press it, and it would enter sleep mode when it no longer detected human voice.

However, the sensitivity of the intercom seemed a bit excessive. The bike hit a couple of bumps, triggering the communication mode, and Liang Yuanxing didn't notice.

As a result... his singing, performed inside his helmet, was transmitted to Duan Qingshen's car.

Duan Qingshen's intercom was resting in the cup holder. When the singing suddenly blared out, his first reaction was that the frequency had hopped to a radio station or someone else's intercom. Because he was driving, he didn't pick it up to check immediately.

But after listening for a few moments... why did it sound so familiar?

Many people have a slightly different tone when singing compared to normal speech, and Liang Yuanxing was one of them. His voice was thinner and lighter when he sang. Combined with the narrow space inside his helmet projecting the sound, it had a reverb effect like singing in a bathroom.

He was singing "My Happy Times."

"Time is still early, don't open your eyes."

"How have the long, long roads been traveled; I'd rather be the me who loses himself in joy."

Duan Qingshen paused the music in his car, leaving only the navigation on, and listened to Liang Yuanxing's voice. It was an a cappella performance with no accompaniment. The sound quality of the intercom was a bit rough, but it was just right for the road.

They crossed the Yellow River while listening to "My Happy Times." The air north of the Yellow River had a cool scent. Liang Yuanxing continued singing the next song, "Sleepless Flight." The "Dududu~" at the beginning made Duan Qingshen feel as if the car were driving onto the clouds.

The song had a brisk rhythm, but because the pitch was a bit high and Liang Yuanxing was too full from breakfast—and he was riding a bike at the time—he coughed twice when he couldn't hit the notes. Duan Qingshen forgot that this action was called "eavesdropping" and instinctively picked up the intercom, saying, "Did you choke on the wind? Should we pull over so you can have some water?"

"Ah—?" Liang Yuanxing was so startled that his handlebars nearly slipped.

Duan Qingshen was taken aback: "Be careful!"

"Wait a second!" Liang Yuanxing asked, shocked. "How did you hear that!? And you didn't tell me you were listening?!"

They drove to a dirt road where there were no guardrails and stopped.

Liang Yuanxing killed the engine, took off his helmet, and marched toward the Jeep, looking aggressive. Duan Qingshen also got out of the car, not knowing what to do. When he closed the door, his jacket got caught in it. He tugged at it clumsily, couldn't pull it free, and had to open the door again.

Liang Yuanxing had already walked over, helmet in hand, and frowned angrily: "Mr. Duan, aren't you being a bit childish?"

"I'm sorry." Mr. Duan pursed his lips and closed the door again. It didn't close properly, so he closed it once more. "I really... I really didn't realize, it's just..."

"Didn't realize?"

Large trucks roared past on the national highway from time to time, the wind they kicked up swirling with gravel. Duan Qingshen pulled him to the other side of the car: "I was wrong."

"I really was wrong." Duan Qingshen was taller than him, and he looked down into his eyes. "At first, I thought... I thought the intercom had crossed frequencies and was picking up a radio broadcast."

"Can a radio broadcast sing like that?" Liang Yuanxing retorted. "There were a few bumpy sections where I even did runs and trills!"

"Not at all. It sounded great."

Liang Yuanxing looked at him gloomily and didn't respond.

Duan Qingshen could only apologize again: "I'm sorry."

He was very sincere, and he was genuinely afraid that Liang Yuanxing was angry. If you looked at it seriously, it counted as eavesdropping. He didn't try to make any excuses for himself and just repeated his apology dryly.

But the part Liang Yuanxing cared about was different. He switched the helmet to his other hand, scratched the back of his head, and said, "It's not that... you should have told me. I was just singing blindly, I..."

He stuttered. What he wanted to say in the second half was, "I didn't want the first time you heard me sing to be like this," but he stumbled because it was too embarrassing to say it out loud.

Fortunately, Duan Qingshen understood. He shook his head: "I think it was very good. Listening to you sing makes me feel very relaxed."

Duan Qingshen had been carrying a weight in his heart. He was thirty years old, carrying about one hundred thousand in savings and a sense of bewilderment, and he was in a state of "floating freedom," which made him very uneasy.

"This time doesn't count," Liang Yuanxing said. "You can listen again next time when I sing properly."

"Okay." Duan Qingshen smiled. "Like listening to celestial music that clears the ears."

"Forget it."

An hour and a half later, when the convenience store billboards at gas stations were filled with dense advertisements for "Dezhou Braised Chicken," they knew where they were without looking at the navigation.

National Highway 205 runs through North, East, and South China. If you drive from south to north, you can take one road all the way from Shenzhen to Shanhaiguan.

That noon, as it happened, they were eating hot pot chicken in Cangzhou when Jiang Yu called.

She called Duan Qingshen. The hot pot chicken was still steaming, making it impossible to eat. He told Liang Yuanxing to wait before eating the piping hot food while he answered the phone. Before he could even say "Hello," Jiang Yu demanded angrily, "Hurry up and collect the payment!"

"Sister Yu, let's not take it. We agreed to help out as a favor."

"What favor? That's compensation from the wedding company. It was meant to pay for the filming, so hurry up and take it." Jiang Yu's attitude on the other end was very firm. "By the way, another thing: can you make it to Beijing today?"

The waiter brought over garlic vermicelli shrimp and crispy pork. Duan Qingshen gestured for him to eat first and continued, "We aren't passing through Beijing. We're taking the Beijing-Shanghai Expressway and only passing through Datong."

"No!" Jiang Yu laughed. "Oh, I didn't explain clearly. I have a job to introduce to you in Beijing. Do you want it? It's a young guy who used to work at my clothing store, and later he went to Beijing to strike out on his own."

Duan Qingshen felt a bit embarrassed for a moment and gave a bitter smile: "To be honest, I'd really like to take it, but my portrait photography is really quite average. I don't want to embarrass you."

Hearing this, Liang Yuanxing could roughly guess what was going on just by listening to Duan Qingshen's side of the conversation. But he didn't interject and just watched Duan Qingshen.

Jiang Yu's voice on the other end was bright and clear: "You don't think I'm forcing you on someone, do you? Really not. Why would I push a favor on you for no reason? He saw the photos you took for me on my WeChat Moments and came to ask me about it himself."

Seeing that Liang Yuanxing wasn't using his chopsticks, he switched the phone to his left hand, picked up his chopsticks, and put a piece of crispy pork into Liang Yuanxing's bowl.

"Let me do this, Sister Yu. Let me discuss it with Xingxing first and then call you back. A few minutes, okay?" Duan Qingshen said.

"Portrait photography, two days in Beijing. One set outdoors, one in a studio, one night scene. You give him all the raw files, he handles the retouching. 8,800. Take it or not?"

"Take it!" Liang Yuanxing blurted out. "8,800! Is the outlook for commercial photography in Beijing that good?"

"Maybe he's doing it for Sister Yu's sake," Duan Qingshen said. "So, if you agree, shall we head to Beijing first?"

Liang Yuanxing nodded: "It's not much of a detour. Let's go together and earn some gas money."

"Okay." Duan Qingshen went back to the phone with Jiang Yu. Liang Yuanxing shoved the crispy pork into his mouth and nodded, indicating it was delicious.

The route didn't change much; they had originally planned to take the Beijing-Shanghai Expressway anyway. The original plan was to only take a short stretch of the Beijing-Shanghai Expressway and then switch to the Rong-Wu Expressway. Now, they changed their route to head directly toward Beijing.

After finishing the hot pot chicken, Liang Yuanxing felt full of energy.

"Let's go! Time to make money!" Liang Yuanxing hugged his helmet. Seeing Duan Qingshen still leaning against the car door looking at his phone, he urged, "Hurry up, it's already past two o'clock."

Duan Qingshen stood up straight. "It's fine. If we arrive now, we'll just hit the evening rush hour. I'm just sending the equipment details to the client."

That made sense. Liang Yuanxing looked up at the sky. He remembered that when he left home last week, it was 28 degrees Celsius outside. The sky was very clear, and the wind made his T-shirt stick to his skin. Actually, by October, the humidity in the middle and lower reaches of the Yangtze River wasn't at an exaggerated level—by comparison, the 65% humidity that day had made him feel the wind was very crisp and dry.

In Shandong, because it was along the coast, he felt it was fine too. But once past the Yellow River, it was different. The dryness made Liang Yuanxing feel as if someone had peeled a layer of damp plastic wrap off his skin... perhaps that was an exaggeration, but to him, it was a completely different experience.

So, he took another deep breath.

Duan Qingshen put away his phone and waved his open hand in front of his eyes: "What are you thinking about?"

"Hmm?" Liang Yuanxing turned his head abruptly. "Did you call me?"

"No," Duan Qingshen smiled. "All set. The client is easy to talk to and doesn't mind a 'wild' photographer."

"Really!" Liang Yuanxing also smiled. "Did you tell him that three years ago you were the cover photographer for the Northwest Special Issue of *Seeing: Geography*?"

Liang Yuanxing finished in one breath, his recitation of the title terrifyingly fluent.

"I didn't." Duan Qingshen took the helmet from his arms and put it on his head. "That was over three years ago. Why keep bringing it up? The warranty has long since expired."

Liang Yuanxing pushed his goggles up: "That is your honor."

Duan Qingshen pressed his goggles back down: "That is just my past."

"And I'm not good at shooting portraits anyway," Duan Qingshen added. "I made that clear to him."

"And he's okay with that?" Liang Yuanxing pushed them up again and blinked.

Duan Qingshen nodded: "Yes, he's in a bit of a rush. He said his original photographer had a family emergency and had to return to his hometown yesterday. What matters is that he really liked the set of photos I took for Sister Yu."

"Alright." Duan Qingshen finally pushed his goggles down, fastened them, and patted the top of his helmet. "Download an app on your phone and get your Beijing entry permit sorted."

"What's that?" Liang Yuanxing looked at him with clear eyes, though only for a brief moment before he realized what it was—literally. "Oh, a permit to enter Beijing."

"All out-of-town license plates need one," Duan Qingshen said. "We'll apply for one for the area inside the Sixth Ring Road, but we'll find a parking lot near a subway station to leave the car; we won't drive in the city."

That was indeed a wise choice in Beijing. Liang Yuanxing gave him an approving look: "Reliable Mr. Duan."

"And impulsive assistant Liang." Duan Qingshen looked at him helplessly.

The 200-plus kilometers wasn't too far. From the Jing-Tai Expressway, they switched to the Beijing-Shanghai Expressway. Motorcycles were allowed on the Beijing-Tianjin-Hebei section. When passing through the toll station, the traffic police checked Liang Yuanxing's motorcycle license and told him to drive on the right the whole way.

At Exit 182 toward Tianjin, there was a long stretch with only two lanes. Motorcycles were restricted to 80 km/h on the highway. With only two lanes, Duan Qingshen merged into the same lane as him, leaving the fast lane for others.

After entering the Tianjin boundary, the sky began to darken slowly. Duan Qingshen said over the intercom, "Let me drive in front, Xingxing."

"All right, go ahead."

When they saw the road sign for "Beijing 65KM," it was already completely dark.

When passing through the public security checkpoint, a light rain began to fall, and the temperature dropped below 10 degrees. Duan Qingshen lowered the passenger window to look at Liang Yuanxing, who was queuing in the other lane, and picked up the intercom: "Are you cold?"

"I'm cold," Liang Yuanxing said. "Is this the difference between the north and the south? Half a month ago, our bar still had the air conditioning on."

"You guys have cooling and heating?" Duan Qingshen asked teasingly.

"Cold," Liang Yuanxing's voice trembled. "I'm so cold."

Duan Qingshen encouraged him: "Hang in there. You're only twenty-three; this is the age when you shouldn't fear a little pain in the rain."

Liang Yuanxing turned his head angrily and discovered that this person actually had his car window wide open: "You're thirty, brother. This is the age when you need to take care of your health. Close the window."

Duan Qingshen laughed: "Pull over after we pass the checkpoint."

"What for?"

There was a police station behind the checkpoint, and there was emergency parking nearby. Duan Qingshen said, "Just stop for a bit."

"Oh."

They went through the security check, showed their documents, opened the trunk, and passed through the checkpoint quickly. Liang Yuanxing was faster because he didn't have a trunk. The rain wasn't heavy; it was like a mist, so fine you couldn't even see the droplets, but it was extremely cold.

Liang Yuanxing's goggles reflected the flickering car lights and police lights. The cold of the north was completely different from the south; it was bold, straightforward, and rustic. Cold was just cold, and the rain was merely an accompaniment.

Duan Qingshen drove over, parked next to him, and got out of the car.

"What's wrong?" Liang Yuanxing asked.

"Give me your helmet," Duan Qingshen said. "I'll ride the motorcycle, and you drive my car."

"Huh?" Liang Yuanxing didn't understand.

"You're dressed too thinly," Duan Qingshen said. "Hurry up. I have a motorcycle license. Get in the car."