Chapter 16

The cake in the box was about four inches in diameter, topped with Oreo cookies and fruit. Liang Yuanxing set the ukulele aside, cupped the cake with both hands, and looked inside.

“How did you know it was my birthday... oh, you must have seen my hospital admission form,” Liang Yuanxing mused aloud.

“Yeah,” Duan Qingshen nodded. “The nurse said you didn’t have any family visiting, and you looked young. I was worried you might be underage, so I checked your birthdate on the admission info.”

Liang Yuanxing looked up, helplessly. “I’ve already graduated from university.”

“Well, considering how kids develop these days, it’s still necessary to confirm,” Duan Qingshen replied.

Just as Liang Yuanxing was about to pick at the Oreo with a fork, his phone rang. Duan Qingshen helped him hold the cake. “Answer it.”

It was his aunt calling. Liang Yuanxing swiped to answer: “Auntie~”

The call was on speaker, and many voices shouted in unison: “Happy! Birthday! To! You!”

Liang Yuanxing had to move the phone away a bit, then smiled wryly. “Wow, what a chorus, Auntie… thanks, everyone! Haha~ I think I heard second cousin’s voice? You’re all gathered today?”

The second cousin was his sister’s second cousin, and their extended family was close-knit, so Liang Yuanxing joined in calling her “second cousin” as well.

“Yes,” his aunt said, “the second cousin’s family just moved here from Christchurch. They still have some furniture en route, so they’re staying with us for a few days. Where are you today?”

Liang Yuanxing glanced at the stars. “I’m in Inner Mongolia now.”

“Wow!” his aunt exclaimed. “You’ve been to Inner Mongolia already!”

Then his sister grabbed the phone: “Hey, bro! You’re in Inner Mongolia? Are you staying in a yurt tonight? Video call, video call!”

Liang Yuanxing laughed helplessly. “Inner Mongolia isn’t covered with yurts everywhere. I’m in a hotel. The hotels here are just like the ones in Zhejiang.”

“Did you ride a horse then?”

“...” Liang Yuanxing paused. “Xiaoyu, I just got off the highway two hours ago.”

“Okay then~” Xiaoyu said. “Happy Birthday! Did you eat cake? Can you still get cake at this time? Make sure to have some during the day!”

“There’s cake,” Liang Yuanxing replied, looking at the cake box Duan Qingshen held. “Don’t worry.”

While Liang Yuanxing chatted with his family, Duan Qingshen observed the night sky. Tonight wasn’t ideal for astrophotography—light pollution was a factor, and the moon was about 62% illuminated.

Some photographers say a full moon affects star photography as much as a level 5 light pollution; the moon’s brightness can scatter the starlight and ruin the shot, and it’s impossible to fix in post-processing.

Though opinions vary, and some photographers boast that only amateurs fear the moon, Duan Qingshen had only a small balcony vantage point. Once the clouds drifted away, the moon was unavoidable.

After Liang Yuanxing finished chatting with Xiaoyu, she handed the phone back to their mother, and his aunt resumed reminding him of things.

“Ah—” Liang Yuanxing sighed after hanging up. “Quick, the cake.”

Duan Qingshen smiled as he handed it over. “You’re pretty close with your aunt’s family.”

“Yes,” Liang Yuanxing said, taking a big bite of Oreo and cream. “Always have been. My aunt’s main office is in New Zealand, and her husband’s cousin is there too. Since my aunt got transferred this year, they decided to move the whole family.”

Duan Qingshen nodded.

Liang Yuanxing added, “They wanted to bring me along, but I didn’t want to go.”

He took another bite. The four-inch cake wouldn’t last long. At night, Duan Qingshen couldn’t predict exactly which city they’d exit the highway near. Near Ordos, he found a cake shop on a delivery app. They required reservations; only small four-inch cakes were available on short notice, so this was all he could get.

“Oh.” Liang Yuanxing suddenly remembered. “Only one fork?”

“Seems like it,” Duan Qingshen rummaged the bag. “Why?”

“How are you going to eat?”

“I’m not eating.”

“No way.” Liang Yuanxing lifted the cake toward Duan Qingshen’s mouth. “Just bite it directly. I don’t mind.”

“...” The fork was too close. Duan Qingshen’s lips touched some cream. “Save me one bite, okay?”

After all, it was birthday cake—it had to be eaten.

Liang Yuanxing didn’t refuse and took two more bites before handing the rest over. He felt a bit embarrassed but knew that if he apologized in words like “sorry,” the distance between them would truly grow. He understood that.

Duan Qingshen took the cake, unhesitatingly eating with the fork Liang Yuanxing had used. Cream cake really did bring happiness, especially birthday cream cake.

Liang Yuanxing pulled the blanket tighter. The night wind was true to the weather forecast: the strong wind warning and cold wave arrived on time. This was a city already with heating, but the sky wasn’t very clear. He looked up. “Maybe we shouldn’t take photos tonight. It feels a bit forced.”

“You can still shoot.” Duan Qingshen finished the cake, put the bag away, and stood to check the camera. “I’ll try again.”

A six-second exposure later, the photo was saved. Duan Qingshen took the camera down. Liang Yuanxing peeked over. “How is it?”

Duan Qingshen handed him the camera without comment on the quality. “Your first starry sky at twenty-four.”

Given the less-than-ideal conditions, the photo was quite good.

Liang Yuanxing stared at the starry sky on the camera screen, speechless. Naming a photograph is part of the art, like “Go Northwest.” The photo was taken in the northwest, but the title encourages you to “Go Northwest.”

This photo was similar. Nothing extraordinary—some advanced smartphone cameras could capture similar images. But for Liang Yuanxing, it was different. This was the first starry sky he saw at age twenty-four.

Duan Qingshen took the camera from him. “Come inside; it’s too cold.”

“I haven’t even looked properly yet...” Liang Yuanxing made a pouty face. Well, it was indeed too cold. He folded the blanket and hugged it as Duan Qingshen packed up the tripod, closed the balcony door, and drew the curtains.

Inside, it was warm; he could feel his skin warming after coming in. He loosened the ukulele strings and returned it to its case. Duan Qingshen opened his laptop and began importing the photo. Soon, Liang Yuanxing’s WeChat chimed with the photo sent by Duan Qingshen.

He tapped to view the original, waiting for it to load.

The internet was a bit slow. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he murmured, “I wonder when Boss Chi’s photos will be released.”

“Next week,” Duan Qingshen said. “But the exact day is unknown.”

“Really?” Liang Yuanxing looked up. “Do you think anyone will approach you for commercial shoots then?”

Duan Qingshen was checking his email. “Hard to say.”

Indeed, it was uncertain. Chi Shuanghai’s studio was in Beijing, a city overflowing with commercial photography opportunities. Their collaboration was merely “pleasant,” and Chi himself might be too busy to promote commercial shoots.

Duan Qingshen rested his chin on his hand. His inbox mostly contained hospital newsletters and ads from subscribed magazine websites. He scrolled back many pages, tapping on his laptop’s touchpad.

Liang Yuanxing wondered what he was doing. He posted the starry sky photo to his Moments, washed up, then sat back on the bed, curiously eyeing Duan Qingshen’s nape. “Aren’t you brushing your teeth?”

“I did,” Duan Qingshen said. “I’m just trying to find an email address.”

“Oh… for what?”

“Looking for the editor of ‘See the Earth.’ I want to ask if they’re still accepting submissions.”

Liang Yuanxing’s Moments filled with likes and comments; some friends sent birthday wishes. But none of that compared to his current surprise.

He leaned forward. “Are you going back to your old job!?”

“Not confirmed,” Duan Qingshen said. “I’m just asking.”

After sending the email, he closed the laptop, washed up, and went to bed.

Truth be told, Duan Qingshen didn’t have high hopes. After turning off the light, he repeatedly cautioned the excited Liang Yuanxing not to expect too much—the editor might have left the magazine, or the magazine might already have enough photographers. Better not to get hopes up.

Liang Yuanxing couldn’t hear him. He was already planning vantage points and mentally composing shots.

“...Go to sleep.”

Those were perhaps the three most frequently repeated words Duan Qingshen had said to him.

“Okay!” Liang Yuanxing shut his eyes with exaggerated seriousness, as if to say, “See? I’m sleeping.”

Duan Qingshen knew him well.

“Have you seen a doctor for your problem?”

“Hm?” Liang Yuanxing opened his eyes. “Yeah, just ordinary insomnia. Not every night. If I’m too excited during the day, I can’t sleep at night.”

He glanced furtively at the other bed—though it was dark, he still did so secretly.

Since traveling with Duan Qingshen, he was always excited.

But he kept enough sleep hours; he knew better than to drive while fatigued.

“When we get to the desert, try to sleep under a level one dark sky.”

“Level one dark sky?” Liang Yuanxing asked.

“A place without artificial light, completely dark,” Duan Qingshen said. “The best condition for star photography.”

The room was quiet for a while, their breaths soft. Duan Qingshen couldn’t sleep either. After sending the email, he grew pessimistic, worrying he’d raise Liang Yuanxing’s hopes in vain and regretted telling him about the email. This kind of thing should be done quietly—if it failed, it would be as if it never happened. If it succeeded, then he could tell him, sparing him the anxious waiting.

This was one drawback of studying medicine—too long a learning curve, lacking social experience. Others at thirty might be thriving in multiple careers, social and professional success, like Zeng Xiaoyang, whose wedding was a joyous feast.

But at thirty, Duan Qingshen had just passed his attending physician exam, his savings of one hundred thousand yuan wasn’t just from salary but included past prize money and photo copyright fees. The car was family’s.

Sometimes, he felt like a failure—lacking the grit to continue practicing medicine, and before meeting Liang Yuanxing, lacking the courage to return to photography.

Always hesitating, always speculating.

—What would you do if you hadn’t met me?

Liang Yuanxing’s joking question on the road haunted Duan Qingshen’s restless night.

Such purposeful matters aren’t about what others say but about what one does. Clearly, Liang Yuanxing was pursuing his firmest goal—just get it done, then worry about the rest.

At this thought, Duan Qingshen exhaled lightly.

“What are you thinking?” Liang Yuanxing noticed his sigh.

“If in the end, you can only shoot stock footage for Viewfinder,” Duan Qingshen said, “would you accept that?”

“No way.”

Duan Qingshen felt a chill but said nothing.

Liang Yuanxing continued, “Stock footage pays too slowly. We could do follow-shooting at amusement parks—Disney in spring and summer, Universal Studios in autumn and winter. Work three years, save money three years, then buy a Hasselblad to shoot the aurora at Upeanvik.”

Duan Qingshen laughed, then paused and lowered his voice. “Sorry, your trip’s turning into work.”

“No, it’s good,” Liang Yuanxing’s voice came from the dark. “I don’t have direction—I don’t know what to do.”

Family emigrated, parents passed away—not only directionless, but lonely.

They were both lost souls.

Duan Qingshen turned his head, his hair rustling against the pillow; Liang Yuanxing lay on his back, head turned, but in the dark, nothing was visible. They looked at each other in the dark.

Recently, Liang Yuanxing sometimes expressed how lucky he was to meet the photographer of “Go Northwest,” but on reflection, the real luck was his own.

Morning, hotel parking lot.

The weather app showed an outdoor temperature of 3°C, startling Liang Yuanxing.

They ultimately skipped Xiangshawan, deciding to push westward before the cold froze their cameras, causing ghosting in photos.

Luckily, breakfast at the hotel was warm.

Liang Yuanxing sighed, “When I checked the forecast at home, it dared tell me the average temperature here was 14 degrees.”

Duan Qingshen pulled a fleece-lined thick coat from the trunk and handed it to him. “Early October during National Day should be warmer. Wear this over your cycling gear.”

“It’ll get dusty,” Liang Yuanxing said. “Cycling picks up a lot of dust.”

“You care about dirt?” Duan Qingshen closed the trunk. “First, see if you’re cold.”

Indeed, Liang Yuanxing zipped up the cotton jacket all the way. By now, he guessed Duan Qingshen’s car held nearly all his belongings—including such heavy clothing.

“You brought a lot of clothes...” Liang Yuanxing tentatively said.

“Yeah.” Duan Qingshen looked at him. “Remember that town where you were hospitalized? It’s several hundred kilometers from my home. I rented a place there. After quitting my job, I canceled the lease. I can’t go home, so I packed everything into the car.”

Liang Yuanxing nodded in understanding. He’d never asked why Duan Qingshen quit. Not because he didn’t want to know, but because it wasn’t urgent—they’d be together for now.

More importantly, he recalled Duan Qingshen mentioning at the seaside that his parents divorced because his father cheated. He didn’t want to bring up unpleasant memories.

He preferred looking forward—and hoped Duan Qingshen did, too.

He put on his helmet, gave Duan Qingshen a thumbs-up, signaling he was ready.

Duan Qingshen tapped his helmet and smiled. “Let’s go.”

The first journey at twenty-four.