Chapter 4

The noodle shop’s tables weren’t wide, and the large bowls of noodles they ordered were placed so close that their edges nearly touched.

Liang Yuanxing’s hand trembled slightly as he held his spoon. After a moment’s hesitation, he asked, “Can you handle spicy? This smells pretty hot.”

“I can,” Duan Qingshen replied.

A spoonful of chili oil was poured into Duan Qingshen’s bowl. The broth was the savory, slightly sweet stew liquid from braised beef. As the chili oil spread, he stirred with his chopsticks, instantly creating a fragrant and spicy beef noodle soup.

Liang Yuanxing’s eyes lit up with delight.

Duan Qingshen smiled and said, “Maybe add just a little less—half a spoon.”

It was quite late. The noodle shop owner had already packed up the large pot used for boiling noodles outside, sealed several large basins of braised beef and sliced meat, and placed them in the freezer.

He was listening to a storytelling audiobook with a regional accent on his phone. After turning off the noisy machine at the door, he came over to their table and said, “Take your time, no rush.”

The two nodded and thanked him.

The owner grabbed a bottle of cold soy milk from the freezer and sat alone at the innermost table to rest. This was the outskirts of the city; drivers coming off the national highway at night often stopped here for a meal and a break.

A few middle-aged men came in, and the owner straightened up, waving his hand. “Sold out, all gone.”

The two looked up simultaneously, exchanged a glance, and smiled—quite lucky. If they had come any later, the owner probably would have closed the shop.

They spent the night near the highway at a chain hotel, which was fairly clean, and booked a twin-bed standard room.

However, probably to save space, the two beds in the room were put so close together there was barely a finger’s width or a slim gap between them.

Liang Yuanxing stared at the gap for a long moment and said, “We’ll have to be careful with our phones tonight—this gap seems tailor-made for phones to slip right through.”

Duan Qingshen nodded. “Okay, will do.”

Duan Qingshen took a disinfectant wipe to clean the two bedside tables and told Liang Yuanxing to go shower first.

“This room is already so small, was it really necessary to have a TV cabinet and hang a TV on the wall...” Liang Yuanxing muttered as he came out of the shower, stepping over the suitcase on the floor.

Looking up, he saw Duan Qingshen on the phone by the window and sealed his lips, staying quiet.

“Yes, when I visited Grandma over the Mid-Autumn Festival, I saw her health report; her indicators were all fine... After that, I’ll be quite busy, so I won’t come to see you next weekend. Alright, Dad, you get some rest early too.”

Liang Yuanxing rubbed the back of his neck with a towel, watching him in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” Duan Qingshen asked.

“N-nothing,” he quickly stopped himself, holding back whatever he was about to say.

He suppressed it, but Duan Qingshen, acting as if nothing was amiss, said softly, “I’ve resigned, but I haven’t told my family.”

He said this plainly, his heart racing because he rarely expressed himself with such straightforward sincerity.

Liang Yuanxing blinked. “But strictly speaking, you’re not lying—there really will be a lot going on next.”

Duan Qingshen didn’t argue and smiled faintly.

He thought his smile might have been too bitter, causing Liang Yuanxing’s gaze to soften with a hint of tenderness.

“Go to sleep,” Duan Qingshen said.

But Liang Yuanxing showed no sign of sleepiness. After a long day of cycling and traveling, he should have crashed immediately. When Duan Qingshen told him to sleep, he responded with a hum and closed his eyes.

Like before, when his aunt worried about his sleep, he was an expert at pretending to be asleep. His aunt would quietly reopen his door after he supposedly fell asleep to check if he was really out.

In the darkness, Duan Qingshen listened to the apparently steady breathing beside him. He opened his eyes and glanced silently toward Liang Yuanxing. He was about fifty percent sure Liang was faking sleep, but then thought the man was quite obedient—when told to sleep, even if he couldn’t, he pretended he was. Duan Qingshen sighed quietly and didn’t expose him.

Regardless, the next morning Liang Yuanxing woke up with the alarm, not a minute late.

Liang Yuanxing had brought two sets of cycling gear. The hotel didn’t offer laundry service, so he shoved the dirty set into a bag, stowing it back in the rear trunk. The hotel’s parking lot was open-air; a few guests who had finished breakfast were smoking there.

Liang Yuanxing’s cycling suit was the professional type, a one-piece with a black base, reflective strips on the shoulders, arms, and back, and built-in protective pads at the knees and elbows.

Duan Qingshen watched Liang pack his toiletries, wallet, and other items into the trunk. The cycling suit fit him well. Liang Yuanxing seemed about 1.8 meters tall, with a well-proportioned figure and slightly long hair—not the careless, unkempt kind, but a deliberately maintained style.

Duan Qingshen wasn’t versed in such details; he just thought Liang looked good.

As Duan Qingshen checked the tires, he suddenly remembered something.

“You were wearing cycling gear the day you fell?”

Liang Yuanxing shook his head. “No. That day I was carrying my camera, went out from the guesthouse to shoot night scenes and buy barbecue. I just wore a helmet.”

He put on his helmet, slipping on gloves as he said, “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have been so greedy. But if I hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have met you.”

He looked up at Duan Qingshen. Duan reached out to pull down his helmet’s goggles and tapped the top twice. “Let’s go.”

“Okay!”

The weather was fine, and the roads were good.

Their route along National Highway 233 ran beside the Beijing-Shanghai Expressway. As they headed north, the air grew cooler. The speed limit on the highway was 80 km/h, and they still had over 400 kilometers to go.

They mainly used walkie-talkies to report road conditions, fuel consumption, and to discuss whether to stop at the next gas station for a restroom break.

Leaving at eight in the morning, if all went well, they’d arrive around nine that night. They were already a day behind Duan Qingshen’s original plan, and since he had to follow behind Liang Yuanxing’s slower pace, progress was slower. But none of that mattered—he didn’t need plans now.

Well, maybe not entirely, since the subject of his photography had to be planned for.

At the first gas station after passing Huai’an, Liang Yuanxing splashed water on his face in the restroom, water dripping from his chin as he came out. Duan Qingshen was standing near the edge of the parking area, close to the road, making a call. Liang walked over silently and smiled at him.

“We’ll get there tonight. I sent you a message on WeChat, but I guess you didn’t see it,” Duan said, switching phones to his other hand while reaching through his car window to grab the passenger armrest and pulling out some tissues for Liang.

“Yeah, I figured you didn’t check WeChat. It must’ve been blowing up these days... Must be because of the wedding,” Duan said. “No, nothing happened. It’s me... my assistant. He rides a motorcycle, so he’ll be a bit slower. Yeah, I hired an assistant who handles lighting and post-production, and he’s got a Leica with him. Alright, gotta go. See you later.”

“Your classmate?” Liang asked.

“Yeah. I only remembered around noon that I hadn’t arrived and forgot to ask him to bring the camera,” Duan tossed the phone into the car through the window. “He’s probably overwhelmed with wedding prep.”

Liang nodded in understanding. “Oh, by the way, can I leave my ukulele in your car? I’m worried the road will be too bumpy.”

“Sure, bring it over,” Duan said after a moment, then added, “Actually, maybe put the camera in my car too... Actually, just take those cases off and leave them here.”

“Huh?” Liang looked a little embarrassed. “But you’ve already got quite a bit of stuff in your car.”

Duan chuckled. “I was going to ask you about that. You’re heading northwest this season with so little gear, and you haven’t packed many thick clothes. Don’t worry, the back seat and passenger footwell are empty. Bring it over.”

Together, they took the three trunks off Liang’s motorcycle. Just as Duan suspected, having grown up never leaving the south, Liang’s concept of “autumn” was sweaters, jackets, and long pants. The cool breeze, a comfortable twenty-degree temperature. His thickest item was a fleece-lined sweatshirt.

“I checked the weather forecast,” Liang handed over the ukulele case. “Dunhuang is around ten degrees.”

“That’s the daytime average. Nights can drop to four or five degrees, maybe even colder if you’re out in the desert taking photos.”

They stored two cases in the trunk and one on the back seat. Duan closed the door and turned around. “Helmet on. Let’s go.”

“Where to next?” Liang asked, holding his helmet.

Though they’d only known each other for a couple of days, Duan understood what Liang meant by “next.”

“Not sure yet,” Duan pursed his lips. “Take it one step at a time. Let’s just go.”

Liang smiled. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Duan watched him walk back to his motorcycle, swing his leg over, and turn the key. At the gas station parking lot along the highway, the voices around them were tinted with accents from all over the country. Subtly, Duan suspected Liang hoped he would ride with him to the northwest.

He wasn’t sure—just as he wasn’t sure if Liang had really been pretending to sleep the night before.

Turning off National Highway 343 onto the mountainous deep route, then onto National Highway 205 past Lianyungang onto the Yan-Shanghai line, Liang shivered from the cold.

For a stretch, it was completely dark, the only sound the wind. Duan told Liang over the walkie-talkie to slow down so he could pass, instructing him to follow closely behind his taillight. That way, Liang didn’t have to watch the road ahead—just the taillight in front.

That night, they ate dinner beside the coastal road. One advantage of a seaside tourist city was its hospitality; no matter how remote or dark the national or provincial highway, there was always an open restaurant.

Liang was already shivering despite not yet reaching the northwest. Duan ordered at the restaurant entrance, seafood kept fresh in large oxygenated tanks by the door. He picked a few seafood dishes and stir-fried seasonal vegetables. Turning back, he sighed and told the waiter, “That’s all, just cook it directly; there are only two of us.”

The waiter nodded, and Duan went over to Liang. “Aren’t you cold standing out in the wind like this? This place nearly has heating.”

“Cold,” Liang turned his head, his voice trembling. “But look over there.”

He pointed at the sea, toward the lighthouse.

Duan stepped closer, hands in his coat pockets, watching Liang’s camera screen. “There’s quite a bit of noise. Try lowering the ISO.”

The wind on the Shandong Peninsula was fierce; Liang’s camera strap was whipping against his face and hands. Squinting, he checked the settings. “Is 300 okay?”

“300 or 500, both work. Also, check your focal length and set the shutter speed safely.”

“Want me to do it?”

Duan shook his head. “You do it yourself. It’s your camera; you have to know how.”

He raised the camera and took another shot. The image was underexposed, which was normal—no tripod, handheld, and his hands were shaking from the cold.

Liang looked a bit discouraged. Duan patted his shoulder. “No way around it—night scenes with single light sources... Actually, that barely counts as a light source. Let’s go inside before you catch a cold.”

Both were starving; they’d barely eaten at noon. Cooking fresh seafood was simple—put ingredients in a cold pot with water, ginger slices, and cooking wine, cover and wait for the boil. The flavor was fresh and perfectly tender.

After eating, Liang felt less cold but a bit too full. Young people often only realize they’re full when the food feels stuck in their throat. He was slow to react, letting Duan pay the bill first.

“How much? I’ll pay you back,” Liang said, standing with his camera on his back and helmet in hand.

“No need,” Duan said. “Can you do me a favor?”

“What favor?”

Duan pocketed his phone and looked at him. “I booked the hotel. We’ll drop off our stuff there first. It’s been a while since I’ve shot portraits, and I’m worried I’m rusty. Could you be my model?”

Liang pointed to himself, eyes clear. “Me?”

“You,” Duan smiled.

“Can I?”

“You can—look how handsome you are,” Duan said warmly.