Chapter 3

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Liang Yuanxing said, “How about we go shoot the sunrise?”

Duan Qingshen replied, “Sleep.”

But he couldn’t sleep at all. After graduation, working as a resident singer in a bar had completely flipped his sleep schedule, and now lying next to Duan Qingshen only made it worse. Liang Yuanxing hadn’t expected Duan Qingshen to be so young; in fact, he had never even guessed his age.

Some photographic works carry a strong narrative, especially those taken with telephoto lenses. But “To the Northwest” didn’t make him feel like the photographer had trekked through mountains and waited for sunsets. There was no emotional embellishment, no intense self-expression.

It was simply an epic of the silent desert.

In the photo, even the sand stirred by the wind was free. It told no story but conveyed one message: you must become the free and unfettered wind.

For three years, Liang Yuanxing regretted that the wind could never blow out of a phone screen. Yet now, unexpectedly, some strange wind seemed to have blown Duan Qingshen right onto his bed.

“Sleep,” the wind repeated.

“Ah.” Liang Yuanxing blinked in the dark. “You noticed that?”

“Your gaze is too intense,” Duan Qingshen said.

“I’m Liang Yuanxing.” Without any lead-in or follow-up, he blurted out his name, even though it had been verified just two days ago.

Duan Qingshen fell silent for a moment before replying, “Hello, I’m Duan Qingshen.”

So strange.

Two strangers lying on a bed in a small town guesthouse at dawn was odd enough; now they were suddenly introducing themselves for no clear reason?

Eventually, Duan Qingshen, exhausted, fell asleep.

He was someone who could endure fatigue—after all, he was a surgeon. But in the past two days, he had undergone a fundamental transformation, and today he had finally taken the step seriously, falling into a rare deep sleep. As for the person beside him, well, let him be.

Duan Qingshen’s biological clock woke him exactly at seven in the morning. Instinctively, he felt he needed to get up for work, but halfway pulling back the covers, he remembered he had already quit.

Relieved, he went back to sleep.

Near noon, he was gently roused by Liang Yuanxing.

It was clear that Liang Yuanxing struggled internally to wake him up, feeling a strong sense of guilt at the audacity of disturbing him, but still nudged him awake, saying, “Master Duan, time for lunch.”

Master Duan? Who was that?

“Don’t call me Master Duan…” Duan Qingshen muttered, as if that title belonged to a fortune-teller.

He sat up resolutely, rubbed his eyes, and looked at Liang Yuanxing crouching by the bed.

Meals at the guesthouse were extra, and Liang Yuanxing had already paid for his portion early in the morning, which made Duan Qingshen feel even more embarrassed. He quickly transferred the money to him via WeChat.

During the meal, the innkeeper and his wife asked where he was headed. When he said Shandong, the innkeeper exclaimed, “What a coincidence!”

Duan Qingshen swallowed his food. “You’re going there too?”

“He,” the innkeeper nodded toward Liang Yuanxing, “he’s unemployed now. Doing a motorcycle trip—from West Lake all the way to the Northwest.”

Liang Yuanxing sat right beside him. He estimated the distance from West Lake to this town and asked, “It took you almost two days to ride here?”

“Yeah.” Liang Yuanxing nodded. “I crashed and ended up in the hospital on the second day.”

Duan Qingshen pressed his lips together, unable to laugh, and cleared his throat. “Uh, crashes are inevitable when riding.”

Then he thought it over. Riding all the way to the Northwest?

Liang Yuanxing caught the flicker of uncertainty in Duan Qingshen’s eyes and nodded heavily to confirm his suspicion. Yes, I’m heading northwest because of you.

“You two together, then!” the innkeeper said. “You have to cross all of Jiangsu to get to Shandong. Having two people on the road is safer—especially since little Liang’s still limping.”

Not limping—not really. He didn’t argue with the innkeeper but cast a glance at Duan Qingshen.

Duan Qingshen looked down and avoided his gaze while eating. Liang Yuanxing’s gaze floated toward him again, and Duan Qingshen couldn’t pretend not to see it any longer. He put down his chopsticks and grabbed a tissue, asking, “How’s your wound?”

He was already moving freely; his recovery was going well. But before Liang Yuanxing could answer, the innkeeper spoke first, “That wound was long and deep. I even helped him downstairs this morning.”

Not true—he had come down on his own.

Duan Qingshen understood perfectly well. He’d seen Liang Yuanxing’s photos; the injury was lucky—just a bit bloody.

“Is that so?” Duan Qingshen looked at him, not testing but curious.

“Boss, he’s a doctor,” Liang Yuanxing said helplessly.

“Hahaha,” the innkeeper laughed awkwardly.

Duan Qingshen stood, emptied his bone dish into the trash, returned to his seat, and asked, “Shall we go together?”

“Huh?”

“Most highways in Jiangsu ban motorcycles. You’ll have to take the national roads. It’s on the way anyway, so let’s travel together. If your wound acts up, I can help treat it.”

Since he had already left his parents’ orbit, he decided to close his eyes and wander wherever fate took him, grabbing onto whatever he bumped into. He looked at Liang Yuanxing, who seemed not to have fully processed this yet.

An hour later, Liang Yuanxing posted on social media:

Yuanxing: Starting off with all limbs intact!

The photo was of his cool motorcycle.

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He deliberately took the picture with his camera, then used the camera’s Wi-Fi to transfer the photo to his phone before posting it online.

But the social media compressed the image so much it looked no different from a phone shot. After all the fuss, Liang Yuanxing held his phone, frustrated enough to almost shake his chin.

Duan Qingshen chuckled beside him and patted his shoulder, “At least the colors straight out of the camera are excellent.”

Liang Yuanxing nodded in agreement.

“Be careful on the road~”

The innkeeper, his wife, and two guests waved them off.

Liang Yuanxing was riding a three-box off-road motorcycle, with three moderate-sized rectangular boxes on the back containing his travel gear.

Duan Qingshen was driving a Jeep, a rugged vehicle that seemed mismatched with his appearance. Liang Yuanxing saw lots of luggage inside—bags and boxes, like moving house.

But Liang Yuanxing didn’t ask much; it didn’t matter. What mattered was the present moment.

After setting the navigation route together, Liang Yuanxing took the lead, with Duan Qingshen following behind. Autumn seemed to have only just begun that day, as had the journey.

Had he not met Liang Yuanxing, Duan Qingshen’s original plan was to spend a night at the guesthouse and then hit the highway directly. As long as he slept well, his stamina could carry him through eight hours of driving to his destination. But plans changed—he had to take the national road and keep pace with a motorcycle.

Duan Qingshen gripped the steering wheel, maintaining about a 50-60 meter distance from the motorcycle. Watching the rear boxes, he suddenly realized this guy had crashed and ended up in the hospital before even leaving the province. He couldn’t help but smile.

He didn’t quite know how to describe his feelings at that moment. This state was so unfamiliar to him, as if he had only just awakened after thirty years of life.

Ahead, the rider was already singing inside his helmet: “You come back~ You don’t come back~ Even if the sky falls~”

After finishing, he pretended it was a real performance, saying to himself, “Thank you! Thanks, everyone!”

At first, Liang Yuanxing had debated whether to ride or drive. After his aunt and uncle immigrated, they had left him their house and car. When they heard he planned to road trip, his aunt specifically reminded him to get the car checked before departure to avoid breakdowns.

In the end, he chose to ride, feeling that sitting inside a car always felt like a barrier. Although the motorcycle helmet separated him somewhat, his body was still in the wind.

National Road 104 was wide and smooth, similar in condition to a highway, with very few potholes. Though it was autumn, the roadside trees weren’t yellowed—autumn in Jiangsu and Zhejiang arrived late and left early.

Because of the motorcycle ban, Liang Yuanxing hadn’t ridden this bike since his days performing by West Lake. He was itching to give his beloved bike a good run.

At this moment, with the destination ahead and Duan Qingshen behind, he grew happier the more he rode.

At a red light at a crossroads, Duan Qingshen pulled up alongside him and lowered his window. Liang Yuanxing’s parking posture was cool—wearing riding gear, one long leg planted firmly on the ground.

“What’s up?”

“Let’s stop at the next gas station,” Duan Qingshen said. “I’m running low.”

“Got it, Brother Shen!”

With five seconds left on the light, Liang Yuanxing leaned forward gripping the handlebars, then glanced back at Duan Qingshen. Duan Qingshen rested his left hand on the window frame and pointed ahead, signaling him to watch the road, not him.

The gas station had only four pumps, each with a long queue. Liang Yuanxing filled up behind a Chevrolet. He pushed up his goggles and looked around but didn’t see Duan Qingshen’s vehicle.

He looked again—still no sign. His heart tightened. Could there be another gas station between here and where they agreed to meet? Had he missed it?

He hurriedly grabbed his phone from the dashboard to call Duan Qingshen on WeChat. Before switching from navigation to WeChat, someone tapped his shoulder.

“I thought I took a wrong gas station,” Liang Yuanxing’s muffled voice came from inside his helmet.

The gas station was noisy, engines roaring, fuel pumps buzzing, and the wind swirling through. Duan Qingshen had to lean down to hear, “What did you say?”

Liang Yuanxing clipped his phone back in place, cupped his helmet, and lifted it off. “I said, I thought I came to the wrong station—I didn’t see you.”

“I went in ahead of you, already filled up, parked over there.” Duan Qingshen pointed to a parking spot near the exit, hidden behind a giant self-serve car wash machine.

“Oh,” Liang Yuanxing said. “No wonder. You drive pretty fast—I thought I was going fast enough.”

“No, not really,” Duan Qingshen said shyly, coughing, eyes darting.

Liang Yuanxing’s hair was all messed up under the helmet, with marks on his face. He casually ruffled it and smiled with squinted eyes. “Wait for me, I’m filling up too.”

“Okay.” Duan Qingshen held up two cans of drinks. “Coffee or sports drink?”

“Sports drink, thanks.” Liang Yuanxing took it and placed it on the bike’s drink holder, still puzzled. “Why did you get here before me?”

He asked, and Duan Qingshen took a deep breath, summoning courage. “I followed the wrong bike.”

“Huh?”

“I mistook another motorcyclist for you. He rode fast, and I was afraid of losing him, so…” Duan Qingshen smiled wryly.

Liang Yuanxing burst out laughing before Duan finished speaking, then asked, “You didn’t speed, did you?”

“No.”

“Good.”

After refueling, Liang Yuanxing rode alongside Duan Qingshen’s Jeep, and they started fiddling with the Bluetooth walkie-talkies they’d just bought from the gas station convenience store.

They had an 800-meter range. Since Liang Yuanxing’s helmet already had a Bluetooth headset connected to his phone, they bought a model that clipped to the lower edge of the helmet.

“Is this how it works?” Liang Yuanxing put on his helmet, pressed the talk button, and asked, “Can you hear me?”

Duan Qingshen sighed, “I’m standing right in front of you…”

“True.”

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Back on the road, the walkie-talkies made the journey much easier.

Liang Yuanxing: “Test!”

Duan Qingshen: “Got it.”

The device was compact, about half a palm in size, touch-activated to speak, and automatically went to sleep if no voice was detected.

Liang Yuanxing led, Duan Qingshen followed. They had already traveled over a hundred kilometers since leaving the guesthouse. It was October, and darkness came early.

“Let’s find a place near Zhenjiang to stay,” Duan Qingshen said. “We can start early tomorrow. Sound good?”

“Sounds great!” Liang Yuanxing’s voice mixed with wind and static from the walkie-talkie. “By the way, why are you going to Shandong?”

“A classmate’s wedding.”

“Oh! You’re going to the banquet.”

“I’m going to take some photos for them… and eat at the banquet.”

Hearing this, Liang Yuanxing perked up. “Are you going alone? Need help? I know lighting and photo editing, and I have a camera with a 70-200 zoom lens!”

Duan Qingshen gripped the steering wheel and suddenly laughed, looking at the joyful motorcycle ahead, clearing his throat. “Speed limit’s 60. Slow down.”

“Oh.”

“You’re welcome to come along if you want,” Duan Qingshen said. “I… don’t have a camera.”

“Wait, what would you have done if you hadn’t met me?” Liang Yuanxing’s voice was clear and fresh, floating through the static with the wind.

As dusk deepened, Duan Qingshen could see the motorcycle’s taillight and hear Liang Yuanxing’s voice. Suddenly, he truly wondered about that question.

What would I have done if I hadn’t met you?

Maybe he would have had nowhere to stay last night, or perhaps he would never have known that someone loved his photo so much.

For most young people today, their awards stage is: setting a photo as a profile picture, chat background, social media background, or screensaver.

“To the Northwest” was Duan Qingshen’s last shot before losing his camera. He never imagined anyone would remember him, let alone someone who would ride from West Lake to the Northwest just for that photo.

No one had ever looked at his life with such pure appreciation.

His parents often began critiques of his work with “purpose” and “value,” always ending with, “Focus on your studies, don’t get distracted.”

“Hello? Hello?” Liang Yuanxing didn’t hear a reply. “Test! Test!”

“Here,” Duan Qingshen said. “If I hadn’t met you, I’d buy a new camera.”

“Oh…” Liang Yuanxing sounded a bit disappointed. So it wasn’t that important after all.

“I’d go broke buying one,” Duan Qingshen added.

“Ha!” Liang Yuanxing laughed again.

This road was National Road 104, the Jinglan Line, over 2,600 kilometers long, connecting Fujian and Beijing. Their route would take them through Jiangsu to a coastal city on the Shandong Peninsula. As they turned onto Yijin Road near Jidu Bridge, Duan Qingshen rolled down the window to let the autumn breeze from the Beigan River in.

Along with the wind came the roar of the motorcycle engine nearby.

Not far from Zhenjiang city, night had fully fallen.

October mosquitoes were fiercer than in midsummer. In the noodle shop, bug corpses blocked part of a lamp’s light, and some flying insects bounced inside. A mosquito zapper hung on the wall, occasionally crackling.

Duan Qingshen walked from the cashier back to the table and saw Liang Yuanxing staring up. He looked up along with him.

Clack. Duan Qingshen set a chilled cola in front of him.

“Thanks,” Liang Yuanxing said.

“Watching the bugs?” Duan Qingshen sat opposite.

“Why do flying insects die in lamps? Can’t they fly away?”

“Don’t know,” Duan Qingshen shook his head. “Maybe by the time they realize, they’ve been roasted dry.”

The noodle shop was straightforwardly named “Zhenjiang Guogai Noodles.” Inside were six long tables, each with a bottle of vinegar and a can of chili oil.

The chili oil container looked well-used; when Liang Yuanxing lifted the lid, the thick oil made it stick firmly.

“Wow,” he marveled at the fiery red chili oil and the spicy aroma, swallowing hard.

Just then, the owner brought their bowls of steaming noodle soup, rich in layered fragrance.

Liang Yuanxing was about to scoop a big spoonful of chili when Duan Qingshen immediately looked at him.

“Go easy on the spice; your wound is still healing.”

Liang Yuanxing looked up in shock. “But I already scooped it.”

He hoped the chili would speak, saying, “I came all this way.”

“Then put it in my bowl,” Duan Qingshen said ruthlessly.