Beyond the mining area, the surroundings were so quiet it made one question reality. The headlights remained fixed on the tracks left by the tires, which were spaced wider than usual and featured a distinctive, robust tread—like fierce, toothed jaws—extending into the darkness beyond the reach of the light. When driving quickly, one could hear fine grains of sand being splashed against the protective panels. Ye Liuxi held one hand firmly on the steering wheel, the other gently resting, fingers tapping rhythmically to a tune she was humming. Having grown accustomed to the CD player’s music, everything she heard felt like a performance, and what she hummed were always songs—“A long, serene night… I hurry through the wilderness… My steps are light, unafraid of the long journey…” This piece, with its challenging melody, is well known in Kunqu circles for the saying, “men fear *Yèbēn* (the night journey), women fear *Sīfán* (the mundane life)” — even seasoned performers often struggle to sing it well, let alone Ye Liuxi, whose voice would drift off into the hills as soon as the melody began. She could only recall a few lines, repeating them over and over, The car was still moving, its tires inching along the paths Changhai had walked, and she heard herself humming: "Light as a breeze, yet unafraid of distant roads... Yu Men Pass, Ghost Pass, I entered with chains upon my body... tears streaming down my face..." Suddenly, she braked hard, the tire tread scraping against gravel and pushing the car several meters forward. After a few seconds of stillness, she reached into the canvas bag on the passenger seat and pulled out her small notebook, flipping to the latest page and writing down the lyrics she had just hummed. Then she silently recited them again. The lyrics were deeply poignant—what about "wearing chains"? Wasn't that something only from ancient times? The final syllables rhymed perfectly, sounding almost like a folk song passed down through generations. —— After another hour or so, they entered the Kumtag Desert, where the sweeping, gentle contours of the vast dunes flowed smoothly and gracefully. As the car ascended, she felt a gentle reluctance, as though spoiling the masterwork of nature. Then, the vehicle suddenly felt heavier. Oh no, what was Changdong saying—first downshift, then a false throttle release, then a sudden, firm press of the accelerator... Before he could even finish recalling it, the engine died, sputtering twice, then drowned in the sand. Ye Liuxi sat in the car for a while, then suddenly lost his temper, kicking the accelerator and brakes fiercely, clutching the steering wheel as if trying to pull himself out—his strength proved insufficient, and he ended up only punching the dashboard twice. After getting out, he kicked the sand fiercely too. He’d left his satellite phone for Fei Tang, who wasn’t very reliable—anyway, to solve the problem, he’d still have to go find Changdong. Ye Liuxi straightened his hair in the mirror beside the car, determined not to lose his composure, no matter how bad things turned. — Good luck, following the tire tracks, he rolled over several dunes and stood atop the last one, where a faint glow emerged from the depression below. In the desert, water naturally gathers in the lowest areas. This glow seemed to slide down from the surrounding sand slopes, pooling into a small, steady body of light. Changdong sat motionless within that pool of The car was parked aside. The camp lights emitted a soft glow, their light dim, casting a gentle illumination over the sand that only brightened a single corner—vast and open, stretching endlessly. Closer up, it was noticed that ropes had been drawn out from the car's body, the other end tied to a wooden pole deeply embedded in the sand, with several glass bottles hanging from the rope. The bottles remained perfectly still, even more silent than Changdong. The goose-head dune area was naturally a place with little wind; wind shapes the dunes, and if it blew constantly and strongly, how could the goose-head form be preserved? Ye Liuxi approached the car slowly, moving with quiet grace, still unsure of what to say. Changdong, however, seemed suddenly aware, turning abruptly to see a slender, shadowy figure against the dim, dark background. "Kong Yang?" he asked. Ye Liuxi found the moment unengaging and simply leaned against the car, choosing not to move. "If you think it's Kong Yang, then I'll stay here. I'm used to making my entrance within the expectations of others. When I arrive and see you looking disappointed, it affects my mood." She looked up at the sky, her gaze settling on a slender sliver of the moon. A while later, Chang Dong approached and asked, "How did you happen to come?" Ye Liuxi looked up at him. He was nearly half a head taller than she was—she had never noticed before, though she knew she stood at 1.7 meters. It seemed that his earlier image of slouching shoulders and a hunched back had left a strong impression on her. Though she couldn't see his face clearly, only the outline against the night sky, that was fine—sometimes, a quiet, solid presence carried more weight than a flashy appearance. Ye Liuxi said, "I have something to talk to you about." "Can't you say it over the phone?" "I'm afraid you'll hang up." Chang Dong leaned against the car, creating a half-body distance between them. "It seems you're aware that asking about something might be off-putting. Then go on—what would you like to know?" "I'd like to know what approach you originally planned to use when proposing to Kong Yang. I'm not asking for anything special—just some thoughts that I'd like to verify." She tilted her ears—Chang Dong remained silent, the wind bottle steady, even the sand grains still. Ye Liuxi comforted herself: "No need to speak. Usually, we can pressure someone into confession. Today, I should simply be understanding—after all, a heartbroken person feels heartbroken... But Chang Dong actually spoke up. "Now you can't see it anymore. Back then, when there were no major sandstorms, the slope of this sand hill was entirely covered with desert rose stones—a type of wind-polished stone, crystalline in structure, shaped like roses, a rare kind of floral mineral." "Under specific geological conditions, it has evolved over tens of thousands of years through gradual changes and weathering, never wilting or drying out." Ye Liuxi understood well: it was more profound than a real rose—those flowers were thorny, expensive, and often drooped even after just one night. "Kong Yang has always been unwell and never ventures into the desert; she finds the climate here difficult to adapt to. But I'm the opposite—since birth, I've always been drawn to the Gobi and desert landscapes." "She guessed I wanted to propose. Probably, she was accommodating me—thinking that a man's most important moment in life should happen in a significant place. When I suggested she join me, she immediately agreed." His voice softened. "Do you know, actually, I had arranged for a car. Right after the proposal, I'd send her back—just one night short of that." Ye Liuxi said nothing. Just one night—once the blade had struck, once the heart had ceased, there was nothing to be avoided; it was fate. Chang Dong took a deep breath. "I'd like to turn off all unnecessary lights in the desert at night, and use special lighting to make the desert roses on that dune turn a deep, rosy red. That's it. What do you want to verify?" Ye Liuxi paused before speaking. "With your proposal like this, no one could possibly achieve it alone." "When you propose, someone has to handle the lighting setup; if you want Kong Yang to feel romantic, you arrange photography to capture every moment; if you want to surprise her, someone has to gently distract her so she doesn’t notice...” Chang Dong listened quietly, mentally replaying every detail of that evening. Indeed, everything was accurate—someone was guiding Kong Yang through conversations inside the tent, someone adjusting the spotlights from a high vantage point, someone directing the vehicles to reverse carefully, clearing space to avoid obstructing the photography... "All of this requires advance planning and repeated coordination—everyone working together. There simply isn’t a situation where you want to camp at the goose-head sand slope, only to find others strongly opposing it." Chang Dong smiled, a rare expression for him. For a long time, his face had been tense, his muscles unsure of which direction to move—this was a genuine, if subtle, smile. He admitted, "Yes, no one opposed it. Most people are kind. Even if they’ve never met you before, they’ll simply say congratulations when they hear about your happiness." "What's going on with Weibo?" Chang Dong said. "I'm not really clear about it. All I do is act as a guide. What the Shanchai team wants to achieve in terms of planning and impact—I don't care much about." Usually, from the first breeze to the full-blown sandstorm, there's a period of transition—because the wind eye divides the core from the periphery, and progress takes time. But that night, there was no transition, only the final outcome. He seemed to have accepted it already: "In the end, it's just bad luck." Who says life is like a play? He stages shadow puppetry, requiring a beginning, a climax, and a conclusion—otherwise, audiences would criticize and complain. Life isn't a play. It decides who to cut, and when. It breaks off wherever it pleases, and then, amid cries and lamentations, it folds the farewell scroll. Ye Liuxi asked him, "Why didn't you share the truth?" "I did—told the investigators. They thought it was possible. But the public doesn't care about that." ——Everyone else is gone, so your words aren't up to you anymore. Of course, you'll say only what serves your interest. Fortunately, we have Weibo as evidence—every word, every sentence, seen by the entire world! In the eyes of the families, their loved ones had once strongly opposed setting up camp at Ge Tou Shapotou—despite still having hope of survival, their lives were cut short solely due to his personal interests. Worse still, many of the victims failed to purchase special travel insurance, despite being reminded, simply because they found the premiums too high. As a result, the families not only received no compensation but had to bear the costs of search and rescue operations. Driven by self-interest or frustration, they now urgently needed to identify one person to hold accountable—to tear apart, to bite, to claim damages. Who allowed you to survive? Who let you marry? Changdong hadn’t anticipated such a major storm, only later realizing that there were institutions profiting by orchestrating disputes: You don’t know how to escalate the situation? Uncertain about which channels to use? I’ll handle it—just pay. If you’re not satisfied, we won’t charge. Within a single night, numerous "insiders" came forward with emotional photos and videos being widely circulated, pushing Kong Yang to the center of the storm. Her photos were manipulated to the point of being unrecognizable, and many criticized her as lowly: wouldn't things have been fine if she hadn't proposed? Because of Kong Yang, Chang Dong chose to remain calm and composed. A woman who had stayed with him without receiving much in return—he didn't want her to be criticized after her death. He simply wished for the noise to subside and for her to have peace. Didn't he just want money? ... Chang Dong looked toward the gentle dunes in the distance. If his memory served him right, two years ago, that very spot should have been covered in blooming desert roses. How ironic—it had always seemed to him that the roses growing naturally in the fields wouldn't last, that they were inferior to the rose stone, which had formed over ten thousand years. Yet, a single sandstorm had erased the entire dune. Ye Liuxi said, "I still have one more question." "You've asked too many questions." Ye Liuxi smiled, turning to face Changdong, lifting her chin slightly to look into his eyes, shaded by the brim of his hat. "Changdong, I came to find you. You haven't smoked, you haven't drunk, you're not in any distress or mentally foggy—your thoughts are clear, your words calm. Yet, when you sensed movement behind you, why did you instinctively say, 'Kong Yang'?" People don't have expectations without reason.