Lovely Allergen - Chap 100
Yue Zhishi kept calling Song Yu the entire way to the airport, but his phone was turned off — and so he sent over many, many messages.
His hands were shaking when he went to pay the taxi driver.
The airport terminal was chaotic, the reflection of its ghostly pale lights on the floor blinding people’s eyes. People were clustered around in small groups here and there, as though only he was by himself. Yue Zhishi didn’t remember how he found his way to the counter, or how he explained himself to the people working behind it. When he thought about it later, he felt he must’ve come across very distressed — because the staff member kept repeating to him again and again, “Don’t worry, I’ll help you look.”
His mind was in an utter mess; he only remembered he’d said he wanted to go to West city, and he’d wanted the quickest flight.
After the staff member checked the available flights, they very politely gave him a negative answer.
There were no direct flights.
He couldn’t immediately, in the shortest time frame possible, search for Song Yu.
Yue Zhishi’s hand was pressing down onto the counter’s ice cold surface — he was pressing down quite heavily. Someone rushed next to him to buy a ticket, and when he pulled over his luggage, it knocked into Yue Zhishi’s knee and shin. Yue Zhishi swayed, and he crouched down in front of the counter, feeling like he’d wasted his entire journey.
He could hear that person continuously apologising to him, asking if he was okay. Yue Zhishi could only nod his head; he couldn’t stand back up right away.
After one minute had passed, the person left with his ticket. Yue Zhishi finally gathered enough energy, and he held onto the counter and took in a deep breath. He slowly stood up and asked about transit flights.
In a roundabout way, he managed to purchase a seat on a flight to the provincial capital that was just about to take off.
Yue Zhishi was very grateful he’d brought his wallet out the door today in order to buy his anime merchandise. He carried a complete set of his ID cards.
It was raining outside, the sky a cold and lonely off-white colour. Fog was everywhere outside the glass passageway to the boarding gate. He was still calling Song Yu when the plane lifted off, but his calls wouldn’t go through no matter how many times he tried. He was both angry and scared, but there was nothing else he could do.
He once again took a flight by himself.
At 30,000 feet above in the air, the sky was covered in shades of grey — and yet Yue Zhishi’s heart still remained within the rain.
To Yue Zhishi, the short two hour flight went slowly, a year passing for each second that ticked over. It was very difficult for him to not think about the worst outcome; he even couldn’t help but blame himself for the bad luck.
He was being pulled apart. Half of him was flooded with the grief and agony caused by his fevered imagination, of seeing real ruins and remains, of seeing ghostly images hovering around and crying for help. The other half of him was filled with the layers and layers of courage he’d forcefully extracted out for Song Yu — enough so that he could try to calm down, so that his common sense could possibly attempt to dispel his panic.
Song Yu.
Song Yu. Song Yu.
He silently recited Song Yu’s name again and again, using it as a way to cope with the stress.
His phone didn’t have much battery left, so Yue Zhishi turned it off, planning on turning it back on after he landed. The flight attendant passed by; he called out to her in a fluster.
“Hello, how can I help?”
“A cup of warm water please, thank you.” He quickly added, “And I’d also like some paper and a pen… It doesn’t matter what type.”
The attendant gave him the cup of water very quickly, as well as a felt-tip pen and a piece of white paper. There was an ache in Yue Zhishi’s chest, and his chest felt like an airbag slowly losing air with his heart compressed into a heavy shot put ball, mercilessly weighing it down. His stomach didn’t feel well either — Yue Zhishi finished all of his water, a hand pressed against his belly, his other hand straining to write on that piece of paper.
He knew very well he was acting very impetuously. He’d gotten onto a plane without any clear plans and hadn’t notified his family, and he’d even completely ignored Jiang Yufan, who’d been with him when he’d heard the news. He was acting so abnormally — he wasn’t like an adult at all.
Right now, what he needed to do was calm down. Before he landed, he needed to produce an actual workable plan to go look for Song Yu.
Yue Zhishi did his best to recall the suggestions that staff member had given him at the airport counter. The next connecting flight would’ve needed him to wait for an entire night, and when the staff member had seen him unwilling to wait for it, they’d immediately suggested taking a coach bus.
He wrote down the name of the bus station and wrote down next to it all of the things he needed to buy as soon as he got off the plane, such as various different kinds of medication, necessary clothes, phone battery pack, water, a sufficient amount of cash… No matter what he thought of, Yue Zhishi would instantly write it down — he was afraid he would forget it later in his hurry to get off the plane.
And then, he had no choice but to think of the worst outcome: what should he do if Song Yu continued to remain unreachable. He couldn’t think straight, even though Yue Zhishi had clearly done his utter most to calm down; his unfocused eyes could only see dizzying swirls, his breathing short and chest tight. He thought these might be his psychological responses to imagining a disaster, and so he took out his inhaler from his pocket, just in case.
Song Yu. Song Yu…
Yue Zhishi silently said his name again and again, his emotions calming. He closed his eyes; he searched for clues in the dark. He immensely regretted not having visited Song Yu’s new research lab — he didn’t have contact details for anyone in his research group. Suddenly, he remembered he knew a senior in Song Yu’s previous research lab, and so he wrote down her name, scribbling next to it call after getting off the plane.
His mind rapidly thought of Professor He. Even though he didn’t have his phone number, he thought the university website would definitely have Professor He’s email address. It didn’t matter; it was a good thing to find an email address at this time. A great number of thoughts and ideas instantly swept through Yue Zhishi’s brain.
He’d definitely be able to find Song Yu.
Once that thought emerged, Yue Zhishi’s anxiety slowly ebbed away.
At the end, he exited the plane with that paper scribbled full with plans. It was only 2:30 in the afternoon, and yet this city seemed to be nearing a cold and gloomy night, the sky dark and murky. Yue Zhishi had nothing but himself — he didn’t even have a single piece of luggage.
He turned on his phone as soon as he landed, and he received many, many messages and missed calls from Jiang Yufan. It was very difficult for Yue Zhishi to think of other things right now, and so he sent back a brief message, telling Jiang Yufan to not worry. And then, he called Song Yu.
The phone remained turned off.
He’d never hated Song Yu so much before. He hated his disappearance and non-response, but after one second, his eyes misted over with tears. His heart weakened too quickly — there was no way he could blame Song Yu for a minute, for a second. He only hoped Song Yu could hurry up and quickly accept his calls.
If he really did end up seeing Song Yu, Yue Zhishi thought he would throw a massive fit of temper. He would yell at him, hit him; he’d interrogate Song Yu why he didn’t pick up his calls, why he didn’t contact him.
He carried those resolute intentions all the way to the pickup area. There were so many people outside, and the joy at reuniting was written on everyone’s faces as they waved their hands at the people they were here to pick up, as they called out the other person’s name.
But only the sound of an unreachable phone rang next to Yue Zhishi’s ear.
Lowering his eyes, he hung up his call and hurriedly walked out. He got into a taxi, his hand clenched on that piece of paper filled with plans. The driver was an enthusiastic person: when he heard Yue Zhishi was in a rush, he drove very quickly.
“Are you here by yourself? Why don’t you have even a piece of luggage?”
Yue Zhishi’s mood was extraordinarily terrible, but it seemed very impolite to not respond. He briefly said, “I’m looking for someone. I need to go to West city.”
The driver seemed to understand something, seeing Yue Zhishi’s tightly drawn eyebrows, and so he let out an ‘oh’ and remained silent for a period of time. He later couldn’t help but say, “Don’t be anxious, handsome guy.”
Yue Zhishi’s nose suddenly started to burn, but he held it back.
“Mn.”
The driver took him to a large shopping centre, and Yue Zhishi left after saying thank you.
He was usually someone who could aimlessly wander around for an entire day, but at a time like this, Yue Zhishi abruptly turned into an efficient, mature adult. With the detailed list in his hands, he bought every single item he needed and went immediately to the bathroom after paying. He changed into the thick mountaineering jacket and warm clothes — he didn’t want to fall sick before finding Song Yu. He would come across as too useless, if he did.
The station for the coach bus was even more chaotic than he’d imagined. Perhaps it was because Yue Zhishi was particularly sensitive right now, but to his ears, the sound of anyone’s voice seemed to be amplified countless times — the station seemed so very noisy, so very messy. He carried his extremely heavy backpack and went to the ticket counter.
The ticket seller didn’t have a good look on his face when he heard where Yue Zhishi wanted to go. His voice transmitted through the window intercom and stabbed at Yue Zhishi’s ears.
“That place just had an earthquake. You didn’t know?”
Yue Zhishi nodded a bit belatedly, but then, worried his response would be misunderstood, he quickly said, “I know.”
The ticket seller seemed to think something was not quite right with Yue Zhishi, so he repeated, “I said, West city just had an earthquake. Do you still want to go? A lot of people are refunding their tickets.”
“I know there was an earthquake there.” Yue Zhishi still wanted to say something, frowning, but he suddenly couldn’t speak. He quickly looked elsewhere, but in the end, he still couldn’t stifle his emotions.
He hadn’t cried when he’d first heard the news. He also hadn’t cried when he’d taken the plane by himself. Over this long period of time, when he hadn’t been able to get in touch with Song Yu at all, he hadn’t dropped a single tear.
It was here, at a foreign ticket counter over 300 kilometres away from the disaster area, that he once again heard about the earthquake. That nerve Yue Zhishi had kept tightly, desperately strung seemed to suddenly snap.
He knit his eyebrows together — his pair of stubbornly wide-open eyes filled with tears, and when his eyes couldn’t hold them in anymore, they started to slide down.
But he couldn’t break down. It wasn’t the right time yet.
Yue Zhishi used his sleeve to wipe away his tears, and he repeated, eyes red, “I need to go. How much is the ticket?”
The ticket seller’s voice turned slightly softer, and he gave him a number. Yue Zhishi fumbled out his wallet, searching around for his ID card, but he couldn’t quite remember the compartment he’d placed it in. When he found it, pulling it out in a fluster, he also pulled out a folded piece of paper.
It was the response Song Yu had once written on his textbook.
A certain corner of Yue Zhishi’s heart seemed to cave in, sorrow and grief flooding through. But he didn’t have the time to feel it — he could only push the paper back into his wallet and take the bus ticket and his ID card from the ticket seller.
“This is the last bus. All of the later ones have been cancelled.”
He got carsick very easily, so he normally would never take a coach bus. This journey would take seven hours. To the past Yue Zhishi, those seven hours would be an endless length of time he wouldn’t have been able to handle, let alone the fact his destination this time was a place he feared the most, was frightened of the most — a disaster zone.
But when he thought of how he might be able to see Song Yu after those seven hours, the journey didn’t seem to be so tortuous.
For Song Yu, he could grab onto every single vague and uncertain chance to be together with him. He could give up a future life filled with happiness in exchange for the short period of time ‘trying’ with Song Yu — he could also, for Song Yu, try his best to repair his defect of not being able to calmly, openly accept being loved.
He wasn’t all that brave, but if Song Yu was lost in Yue Zhishi’s most dreaded abyss, Yue Zhishi would still jump in without a single shred of hesitation.
Once he got on the bus, his thick outer coat and bag pressed into Yue Zhishi’s body in that not-large-enough seat. A dizzying smell filled the car, and the countless beads of dust seemed to be floating in the dry air.
He put in his earbuds, continuing to send out calls on his phone attached to the battery pack. When the line made a sound, the call ending with a click, he would once again press through another call.
In a gap of time between hearing the sound of disconnection, Yue Zhishi somewhat strenuously twisted open a bottle of water, pulled out the medicine to prevent altitude sickness and swallowed down the many, many tablets in his hand. One tablet seemed particularly large, sticking in his throat.
His calls remained unable to be connected.
Yue Zhishi took a few more sips of water, coughing for a while, and then he unfolded that crumpled piece of paper. He read through all of the items listed on it, drew a line through the things he’d already completed and then attempted to contact Song Yu’s senior sister. She responded after twelve minutes, but she didn’t know anything, very helpfully saying she would help Yue Zhishi ask other students.
He then started to search through the university website, looking for a way to contact Professor He, only to end up with an office number and email address. Yue Zhishi tried calling the office number, but as expected, no one picked up. He spent ten minutes writing an email and then sent it over to Professor He using his own university email.
But he didn’t hold much hope towards an email response. He knew, in circumstances like these, no one had the time to look at their emails.
Hope once again turned distant.
As Yue Zhishi looked out at the grey sky outside the window, he pulled out that paper again — the paper filled with Song Yu’s name and the single word Song Yu had given him at the end.
He really, really hoped Song Yu could respond to him again, just like that. It would be fine even if it was just one word.
The coach bus swayed as it drove ahead, and Yue Zhishi felt really dizzy, really wanting to vomit. He didn’t know if what he was feeling were side effects of the altitude sickness medication, or if he was truly too tired. In a daze, he closed his eyes and leaned against the car window, falling asleep with the swaying and the rocking. He also had a dream. In his dream, he once again got into a taxi, arrived at the airport and went through security to board the plane alone by himself. It was as though he was given another passing look at his chaotic day.
But at the end of his dream, the coach bus he was sitting in crashed into a truck; he jumped awake in the midst of the screeching of brakes and sounds of crashing.
The car window was fogged over, a field of white outside. Yue Zhishi, awoken from his dream, stretched out a hand in a bit of confusion and wiped away a small section of the fog on the glass window.
The passenger next to him opened his mouth, using a dialect Yue Zhishi could partially understand to say, “That’s a heavy snowstorm. What should I do, they just had an earthquake too… I still need to hurry back and see my mom, she’s alone by herself.”
Yue Zhishi’s heart sunk down slowly, bit by bit. He looked at his phone, only then realising he’d slept too deeply; he hadn’t noticed Lin Rong’s call.
She seemed to be busy, taking care of her mom, and had yet to hear the news about the earthquake. She’d even sent him a message, asking if he would come home for dinner.
After thinking for a while, Yue Zhishi told her he wouldn’t be coming back that night. He didn’t want to tell Lin Rong about the news — she’d been too overworked lately, and she would definitely find it hard to accept Song Yu getting into an accident while out on fieldwork. She might even collapse.
One minuter later, he received Lin Rong’s response.
[Aunt Rong: Then make sure you eat well. Be careful, take care of yourself.]
The snow outside the window was truly falling very heavily, enough so that the bus started to slow down quite obviously. Yue Zhishi could feel himself getting alarmed.
Someone asked the driver if they would be late, and the driver responded with an unclear answer. It was like a vicious cycle: the more uncertain of an answer they received, the more uncontrollable people’s emotions would become.
A small child in front of him started to cry, his wails particularly loud. The carriage became even more noisy, and so Yue Zhishi lowered his head and pulled out a pouch of candy from his bag. He’d purchased it earlier, afraid he would be dizzy from low blood sugar if he didn’t have the time to eat. Tearing the pouch open, he grabbed out a few pieces and stretched out his hand in the space between the two seats in front of him; he handed the candy to the young mother, who was currently trying to soothe her child.
She was very surprised, and when she processed what he’d done, she kept expressing to him her gratitude. The child stopped crying, clutching onto the red candy Yue Zhishi had given him, and tearfully said thank you under the coaxing of his mother.
Yue Zhishi shook his head, he himself peeling open a candy and throwing it into his mouth. He then continued sending messages to Song Yu. When he saw the option to call, he couldn’t help but tap it, sending through a video call request.
Even though he clearly knew no one would pick up.
He abruptly realised he was no longer that frightened; his hands were no longer shaking so uncontrollably.
But he sunk into a feeling of emptiness, vast and boundless. His consciousness was like sluggishly flowing icy water, trickling drip by drip into his body before arriving at his heart.
All of his ideas and thoughts, the plan he’d worked so hard to write down — they were abandoned by his slowly running consciousness. In the end, when his consciousness finally poured fully into his heart, he had only Song Yu’s name.
The bus still eventually arrived at its destination, and even though the journey had required three extra hours, it was the second thing Yue Zhishi felt grateful for in this long, endless day.
There were very few people at the bus station at the early hours of the morning, and it was especially cold. Yue Zhishi pulled on his jacket’s hood before getting off the bus. The side effects of the altitude sickness medication didn’t seem to be too severe; Yue Zhishi found it a bit hard to breathe and his head very much hurt, but those symptoms matched what he’d found online for altitude sickness. Yue Zhishi wasn’t too worried.
He tried to reduce the symptoms by breathing in a way he’d seen online — breathing in and exhaling out in small, tiny breaths. But it didn’t really help with what he was feeling.
There were many people dressed in firefighter uniforms outside. They seemed to be inspecting every single passenger who’d arrived, as well as restricting some of them from continuing ahead.
People were lined up to go outside. There were even volunteers on duty in the middle of the night, dressed in thick black down jackets, and they asked every passenger detailed questions about why they were here; they even recorded down the passengers’ names and contact information, continuously stressing that there might still be some incoming aftershocks.
The snow was falling, quick and fast, and the bus station rapidly needed to shut down. Yue Zhishi was thankful he managed to get onto the last bus.
A volunteer with a red armband collected his personal information, and another issued him with an emergency pack and an emergency response guide. When he was questioned why he was here, Yue Zhishi quickly replied, “I’m looking for my boyfriend.”
It wasn’t a place of higher learning here — some people around him gave him strange looks.
But that young female volunteer only temporarily paused, and then she asked a few more questions. “Then where is your boyfriend right now? Is he a local? Are you able to contact him?”
Yue Zhishi shook his head. “He’s not a local. I can’t get in touch with him, he came here to do surveying work, and now…”
She pulled Yue Zhishi over to a side and said, “It’s okay, you can talk slowly. What kind of surveying work is he doing?”
Thinking she might be able to help, Yue Zhishi hurriedly explained Song Yu’s work. He emphasised, “If he isn’t injured, he should have gone to help with the emergency rescue work. But I can’t seem to contact him.”
Yue Zhishi thought of something. “Do you have the phone number for the local earthquake emergency rescue command centre?”
“I think so.” The female volunteer frowned, and she pulled out an old notebook. After finding the right number, she dialled it — only to have the line continuously busy. She then called a friend currently volunteering at the earthquake command centre, but the other person also didn’t pick up.
“In situations like these, it’d be really hard to get through to the command centre.” Another volunteer headed towards them. “They’d be ridiculously busy right now.”
“Has the area been badly affected?” Yue Zhishi asked.
That person explained, “We’re not in the epicentre here. You won’t be able to keep driving if you headed a bit further west. A lot of houses have collapsed over there.” He pointed at a coach bus stopped by the side of the road, its lights on. “Do you see the bus there? A bunch of medical emergency and rescue teams have just arrived from the provincial capital, they’re going to head to the disaster zone soon. I’d advise you to not go — it’s really chaotic over there right now. No one’ll be able to take care of you, they don’t even have the time to eat.”
Pulling out a cigarette, he groped over himself for a while, but when he couldn’t find a lighter, he pushed the cigarette back into its pack. “Just forget about it, young man. Wait overnight at a nearby hotel, and see how things are like tomorrow in the morning.”
Except Yue Zhishi’s attention was completely caught by that bus. He took two steps over in that direction, and the female volunteer pulled him back. “Hey, where are you going? That bus won’t take outsiders.”
“My boyfriend’s over there,” Yue Zhishi said, voice very soft, very weak. Worried she couldn’t hear him, he repeated again in a slightly louder voice, “He might be helping with the emergency rescue work. Their work’s really important, it could save a lot of people.”
“He’s really young, only twenty two years old. He’d only just started doing emergency mapping, this is only the second time he’s come out for fieldwork after changing researching directions… I’ve called him so many times, and sent him so many messages….”
There was no colour on Yue Zhishi’s face. He spoke very slowly, not much logical flow to his words, and the bag on his back looked like it could crush him from its weight. And yet he was being very stubborn; he looked like he was struggling so hard to breathe, but he kept opening his mouth, kept attempting to persuade them. “I know he’s there, I just want to try looking for him. Please, can you help me?”
“Don’t… don’t you guys also have to compile a list of missing people?” Yue Zhishi stood in the cold wind, his right hand clenched on his left arm. “If I can determine he’s missing, then you… can also…”
He couldn’t continue on. He’d done all he could.
“Ah, seriously.” The man who’d unsuccessfully tried to smoke fished out his car keys. “I need to head to the epicentre later to take over someone’s shift. I’ll take you over.”
Yue Zhishi finally seized onto a shred of hope. “Really? Thank you… Thank you so much.”
“Don’t thank me, I’m afraid I’ll be harming you.” The man opened his car doors. “A lot of people have already come looking for their family members. You’re a bit late — many people have since been taken away.”
But he’d already tried his best.
That female volunteer got into the car as well. The car didn’t have much space, the car trunk and seats filled with pop up tents and crates of water. The male volunteer freed up some space for Yue Zhishi and told him he needed to have his seatbelt on securely.
The snow had stopped, but it covered the roads thickly and made it hard to drive. After driving for one kilometre, Yue Zhishi couldn’t help but look outside — the sky was too dark, and as he leaned against the car window, he could only see faint outlines of those broken buildings and collapsed homes. He couldn’t see them clearly, but fine pinpricks of pain still rose in his heart, his breathing stuttering. Those stabbing feelings continuously extended out before finally spreading over his entire body.
In his seat, Yue Zhishi bent over at the waist and curled into his belly, pulling in small breaths of air. The altitude sickness, his stress reactions towards disasters and his longing for Song Yu — they were all torturing him in complicated and multiple ways.
He was so afraid of his asthma flaring up. One hand gripped his phone, while his other hand clutched his inhaler.
The female volunteer kept looking back at him in concern, asking if he was suffering from altitude sickness, if he’d had any food and if he wanted to eat anything. Yue Zhishi couldn’t really force out words, so he shook his head and then grabbed out some things he could eat from his bag. He stuffed the food into his mouth, chewing automatically like a machine, and swallowed it down with the water he didn’t finish on the bus.
The road they were originally driving on had some cracks in the ground, so they changed to another, the time it would take to get to the epicentre now slightly longer. Yue Zhishi once again tried to call Song Yu, but another ringtone rang in the quiet car.
“It’s my friend.” The female volunteer raised her voice and rapidly accepted the call. “Hello? Yes, I met a boy here, he’s looking for a guy doing emergency mapping at the epicentre. The guy’s twenty two years old, young, and he should be here with a group led by a professor. Mn… he said he’s his boyfriend… Anyway, can you help me ask around? Okay, thanks…”
She reported over her current location in detail as well as the shelter area she was about to arrive at before hanging up. Turning over from the passenger seat, she consoled Yue Zhishi and said, “I’ve already asked my friend to look around, don’t worry.”
Yue Zhishi said thank you many many times, the sound of his voice very thin.
“It’s fine, I was originally responsible for recording people down anyway. Looking for someone is also part of my duty.”
The male volunteer kept looking at him in the rearview mirror. “Young man, your altitude sickness’s pretty serious.”
He felt like his mind might’ve been separated from his body. He was very used to the feeling of not being able to breathe smoothly, so when the man said he looked like he was seriously suffering, Yue Zhishi only gave him a confused look.
“We’re almost there, we’re almost there.”
The female volunteer also thought he didn’t look right, so she pulled out a portable bottle of oxygen from her own mountaineering bag, handing it to Yue Zhishi in the rocking car. “Here, hold this. I’ll teach you how to use it.”
He didn’t really want to take it — he didn’t want to waste other people’s oxygen.
“Hurry up and take it. I still have more, and plus I’m a local. I don’t feel the altitude as badly.” Drawing off the dust cover, she inserted the transparent oxygen mask into the nozzle and pushed it into Yue Zhishi’s hands. “Face the mask and press down on the pump head for oxygen.”
The car stopped in the darkness, the doors opening. The female volunteer urged him to not go blindly searching for Song Yu and also refused to let him go, saying there was a possibility of aftershocks happening at any time here.
“Just wait here, my friend’s already helping you search.”
Yue Zhishi nodded, getting off the car while inhaling in the oxygen. His feet seemed to be floating, and when he found a bit of steadiness, he checked his phone. When he realised it was turned off, he rushed to turn it back on, but it wouldn’t light up no matter what he tried.
“It’s too cold, it’s almost twenty degrees below zero. Phones turn off from the cold very easily here.” The female volunteer reminded him, “Don’t let your hands freeze, you’re not even wearing gloves.”
Looking at the heavy layers of snow, Yue Zhishi could only return his phone to his pocket before pushing the oxygen bottle in his other hand into his bag’s side pocket. He started to help the male volunteer move the things in his car.
“Hey, don’t move!” The guy caught onto his arms, but he heard Yue Zhishi softly say, since there are no news, I just want to help out.
“All right…” the guy sighed. “Be careful, they’re very heavy.”
Yue Zhishi didn’t dare try to carefully look around the disaster area; he didn’t dare look at the crumbled houses or their debris. Only fields of white snow were in front of his eyes. He blindly followed the male volunteer when moving the goods, and then waited for their friend to send over some news.
He needed to do some more things — he needed to accumulate some more good luck. His luck was truly too terrible.
Then he absentmindedly thought — would he not look devoted enough, acting like this?
But he truly did hope he would have good luck, this one time.
After moving across all the water to the shelter area, Yue Zhishi felt a bit like he couldn’t continue on anymore. He was helping the others pitch the fourth tent when he felt a dull pain in his chest, and so he swiftly crouched down and inhaled some oxygen for a few minutes, trying to alleviate his altitude sickness. From far away, he seemed to hear someone crying, bitterly sobbing in loud wails, and a great grief rose in his heart.
Forcefully pushing himself up, Yue Zhishi went and grabbed another tent to set up. He was much more familiar with the process now — he could now instantly find where to push in the rods and prop up one side for the rest to follow.
Once he finished one tent by himself, a tiny sense of achievement swelled in Yue Zhishi’s heart. But it didn’t last for long; his emotions turned numb again very quickly, and he silently grabbed another tent.
He thought he could also successfully pitch this new tent, but after he finished setting it up, he realised one side of it was ripped, wind rushing through the split and scraping on his face like a knife. Yue Zhishi stood in the snow by himself, his sneakers almost completely covered. Some of the snow had already melted, and water was seeping into his feet — both of his legs had long since gone numb from the cold.
The large blue tent blocked his entire line of sight, and he could only see light through a small crack. He turned around, saying something to the busy volunteer behind him, but his voice was too weak. The other person didn’t hear him at all.
“I’ll pack it up then,” Yue Zhishi absently said to himself. Pulling out the tent rods, he accidentally cut his hand, but he already couldn’t feel anything; his fingers were blue from the chill.
As soon as the rods were pulled away, the tent gradually fell down. His palms were on the snow covered ground, and he pushed himself back up very painfully — the black night and white snow once again returned to Yue Zhishi’s vision.
And other than those things, he also saw a tall person. He was wearing the blue down jacket Yue Zhishi had once praised as nice-looking, and he held an old phone in his left hand. His other sleeve was empty. His body carried a white work badge, as well as something else: a white strap hung from his neck, and an oxygen bottle with nasal cannulas was behind him. The oxygen tubes were hooked around his ears, and he was running around with another volunteer, searching.
At a certain point in time, that person’s frantic eyes lined up with Yue Zhishi’s confused gaze.
For a single moment, Yue Zhishi felt like he’d died, his consciousness drifting away from his cold and stiff body — until Song Yu truly ran over and appeared in front of him.
He wanted to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, but in the next instant, the Song Yu in front of him reached out his left hand and pulled Yue Zhishi in, calling out his name with his head lowered.
“Yue Zhishi, Yue Zhishi…”
It was so very rare to hear Song Yu’s voice trembling. He was saying how are you here, who let you come.
Yue Zhishi was desperately trying to breathe, and his brain also felt so very dull. He felt like he couldn’t truly hear what Song Yu was saying.
“Song Yu…” His voice was thin and fragile, like a patch of snow about to melt in his arms. He called out Song Yu’s name many, many times and received a response just as many times in return, but Yue Zhishi didn’t answer Song Yu’s questions. For a moment, he forgot why he was here, and he even also forgot what he’d initially planned on saying when he finally saw Song Yu.
He only left his head lowered, holding back his tears, and sobbed as he lifted his hands to scrub away the tears on his face.
“Song Yu, I know how to pitch tents now. I set up all of those myself…”
