Fei Tang couldn't quite explain why, but whenever he came up with an idea that neither of the two present had thought of, he felt a deep sense of accomplishment. With nothing else to do, Fei Tang wanted to return to the main tent. Chang Dong said, "Why go back? Keep your distance from Huo Ya's group—stick to your own path." Fei Tang had been hoping to hear exactly that, yet Chang Dong only suggested staying away, without clearly inviting him to join them. Of course, Fei Tang could simply stay close to Chang Dong as a matter of convenience, but that would only be temporary. For long-term value, he needed to be formally invited back. "No problem. If they have any other plans, I'll be there to hear about them." He got off the vehicle and walked away. Chang Dong asked Ye Liuxi, "Don't you think Fei Tang has been acting a bit odd lately?" Ye Liuxi curled up in the back seat, pulling the sleeping bag over herself. She didn't like being tucked into sleeping bags—she found people inside felt like silkworms wrapped in cocoons, constrained and limited, and if something went wrong, it would be hard to escape. Chang Dong chuckled and casually turned off the lights inside the car. The front seat was more cramped than the back, and with his tall frame, he felt uncomfortable when curled up. The darkness before him blurred everything into a whirl of thoughts: the oddly dressed shadow figures, the gray Eighth who had bled so profusely, and Ye Liuxi’s words—“Come, carry the person out.” “Liuxi?” Ye Liuxi paused before responding, “Do I know you well?” Chang Dong said, “Every time I call you Liuxi, I have to say three syllables—it’s tiring.” To Ye Liuxi’s surprise, this reason seemed entirely plausible, just as the name “Chang Dong” sounded more natural than “Meng Jingu.” “Is there something?” “Some thoughts I’d like to share with you—perhaps as a reference. I don’t think you’re quite rooted in the usual social environment.” Ye Liuxi rolled over, facing Chang Dong’s direction, though he couldn’t see him. The car was quiet. The steady rhythm of one breath mingled gently with the soft, quiet one, touching in the unseen space, then fading back into "From childhood through adulthood, I've met many different types of opposite-sex friends—some quiet and gentle, others outgoing and bold, even some so strong that they've once made my husband cry." "But no matter how unique their personalities, all of them still operate within a certain framework—never stepping outside the bounds." "Take the case of the flag town: when we dealt with the male patrons who had been drugged, we stripped them bare and left them freezing. Many of my female friends have done the same, even going so far as to punch or kick them—yet no one would simply leave the windows open and walk away, because that could easily result in the patient's death. Legal awareness represents a framework, but you may lack it—or perhaps you do have it, yet you simply don't care." "You tend to resolve issues through force. At Dunhuang, I paid you to handle the trouble, and you immediately insisted on confronting the other party head-on. When Hai Ba concealed the truth, you said you wanted to 'get them to speak'—this isn't the framework I'm used to. Remember the conflict between Qiao Meina and Huo Ya? They started off shouting at each other, then decided to call the police. I didn't dare to point out that this was a standard procedure, though it was at least reasonable." "In modern society, there are many ways to resolve problems. Physical confrontation is direct and often effective, but it can also lead to long-term complications. For you, however, it's not even a choice—it's your first instinct." Ye Liuxi listened quietly. "And tonight, Hai Ba died suddenly—everyone was stunned, yet you remained calm and simply said, 'Let's take them away.' No ordinary person, no matter how brave, could remain completely indifferent to a death." People raised in a normal social environment wouldn't have such a personality, yet she wasn't detached from society either. … Chang Dong gradually fell asleep, and as he entered the deep, restful sleep, the song still lingered in his mind. —— "Step forth, and though my blood runs dry, I care not if my tears flow steadily. / Should I step forth or step in?" … At dawn, he suddenly opened his eyes. The window of the car was serene—no wind, the morning light gently rising. A rare, fine day. — Ye Liuxi heard the soft rustling sound of pen moving across paper. With difficulty, she opened her eyes and pushed herself up: Chang Dong was bent over, drawing on a notebook. Ye Liuxi lay back down, growing impatient: "Don't you feel tired? It's so early in the morning—what are you drawing puppets for?" As long as he remained in that position, she always felt as though he were carving puppets or doing something related to them. Chang Dong handed her the notebook. Ye Liuxi sighed: "I should have stayed quiet. If only I had stayed quiet, I could have slept longer." She lazily took it, opening only one eye to gaze at the drawing: "What is it?" "Ah, I see now—it's a hand-drawn, minimalist map of the realm. The flowing lines, drawn with just a few delicate strokes, mark the boundaries. To the east, it reads 'Western Han'; near the corner where the character 'ji' (representing the Yellow River) curves, a concentric circle indicates Chang'an, today's Xi'an. To the west, it reads 'Western Regions.' At the boundary, a towering pass stands tall. Ye Liuxi murmurs, 'I've been to the Yumen Pass site many times—just a plain yellow soil mound. Why draw it so carefully?' Chang Dong leans in, draws an arrow from 'Western Han' to 'Western Regions,' saying, 'This is leaving the pass.' Yes. Then he draws a reverse arrow from 'Western Regions' to 'Western Han,' saying, 'This is entering the pass.' Ye Liuxi looks at him sideways, 'Is there a problem?' "We all have certain preconceptions. For years, we've lived in the interior, taking it for granted that leaving the frontier means going outward, while entering means coming inward. But what if there's a group of people who have always taken the frontier region as their base? From their own perspective, their notions of 'leaving' and 'entering' would be exactly reversed from ours." Ye Liuxi paused, her mind suddenly struck. She sat up and studied the diagrams in the booklet carefully. Chang Dong said, "Then the song would no longer seem contradictory—it would now align perfectly with the images on the coffin." The song was sung in the voices of that group, recounting the memories of the past events depicted in the paintings. They had been forced to wear chains and leave the Yumen Pass, with no hope of returning eastward. Over time, they had come to regard the distant lands as their home. The moment they crossed the frontier, they bled out: "I can never leave the frontier again and return to the Han dynasty. Once I go back, I shall not survive." No matter how tearful I am as I cross the pass: I am not from here, I have no desire to come, yet the emperor only cares for his own pleasures and comfort, paying no heed to my tears. In this light, the Jade Gate Pass seems more like a prison. But didn't Fei Tang say that prisoners were only sent to the frontier, not beyond it? And under Emperor Wu's reign, the empire's territory was vast indeed—so why, then, would he go all the way to build a prison beyond the Jade Gate Pass? —— Since we've lost our gray-haired elders and gained our loose-toothed ones, the style has truly changed: the sun is high, yet no sign of cooking has appeared. On the other hand, Meng Jingu's camp is bustling with excitement: today's weather is simply perfect—this light is ideal for capturing stunning visuals. They've even settled on the theme for today's episode: the Prosperous Loulan. He urges Meng Jingu to go to Changdong for guidance: "Didn't you say your friend knows the Bai Long Dui well? Ask him where the best scenery is, and let's go there to shoot our footage." Meng Jin Gu was deeply reluctant but didn’t dare to refuse, so she stammered her way to Chang Dong’s side, still hesitating when suddenly someone from the camp erupted in fury. Chang Dong found this unusual—this was precisely the moment to give Meng Jin Gu a chance to speak. “Old Qian, the photographer, is notoriously temperamental. He scolds his assistant constantly—over lighting, over camera settings, even over minor issues. Artists are like that, hard to please.” But today, his irritation seemed especially intense, even loud enough to produce the sound of a pot being knocked over. Chang Dong said, “Let’s go check on him.” He knew Meng Jin Gu was merely a go-between; the real decision-maker was the photographer himself. It was also a good opportunity to gently persuade him—security at the camp site was compromised, making outdoor filming unsuitable. As soon as they arrived, they saw Qiong Meina desperately holding onto Old Qian, standing face-to-face with him, her arms outstretched to protect her photography assistant behind. The assistant was in her early twenties, short in stature, plain and unassuming, looking utterly worn out. Another model and makeup artist stood by, at a loss, just as uncertain as if they were arguing with the one with crooked teeth—within their own camp, it was hard to pick a side. Qiaomeina was quite direct: "Have your complaints, come straight to me. Don't blame Xiao Feng. I asked him to help." Lao Qian roared, "You don't know what you're talking about! You have a face but no brain—do you know how much that machine costs?" Chang Dong, noticing Lao Qian's sturdy build, yet seeing Qiaomeina, a young lady, acting so openly and unyielding, found it rather amusing. He said, "Just let him go—relax. He won't dare to hit you." Then he turned to Qiaomeina and asked, "What's the matter?" Qiaomeina's eyes glistened with emotion. The situation had to be traced back to yesterday's argument with the one with crooked teeth. Though Qiaomeina had been quiet after being convinced by Ye Liuxi, she still harbored deep resentment toward Lao Qian's bad temper. So, before going to bed, she Feng was assigned as the assistant to assist Old Qian on this trip, and had plenty of opportunities to handle Qian’s equipment. He wanted to impress the beautiful colleagues, so he promised to look into it. After some searching, the night photography gear was missing, but he discovered a camera with a rather unique design. Feng had never operated it before and was curious, so he tried it out a couple of times before putting it back. He thought it was just a minor issue, but when Old Qian checked the equipment in the morning, he was furious. With Changdong present, Qian’s temper had already been somewhat restrained: “If it were just an ordinary camera, I’d have been fine—after all, I’m not a stingy person. This high-speed camera, however, is quite expensive. It can capture bullets piercing through walls, right? I keep it for filming special effects in big productions. You’re using it to film sand? What about this sandstorm? How will you handle equipment failure? What about sand clogging the camera lenses?” Feng nearly cried out: “Professor Qian, I’m truly sorry. I just lifted the camera up and tried it out, then turned it off quickly. I thought I hadn’t captured "Old Qian sneered, 'You don't know what a high-speed camera is, do you? Even if you capture just one second of footage, it takes several minutes to convert it into standard video.' Chang Dong was struck, 'Professor Qian, really one second takes that long?' Qian, who had just earlier looked down his nose at him, now felt a sense of pride, 'Could it really be called high-speed? In essence, it's about trading speed for time. In one second, you might see nothing at all, but the camera is already snapping thousands or even tens of thousands of frames. When converted, that becomes a long video—every subtle detail, every trace, nothing is left out.' 'Can I take a look?' Qian paused, 'At the machine?' 'No,' Chang Dong said, 'Could you please convert the footage that Xiao Feng recorded into standard video so I can see it? Thank you.' — Converting the footage wasn't difficult; Qian had all the equipment and software ready. The issue was that Xiao Feng's footage, though clearly improvised, turned out to be a real blow to the reputation of Qian's high-speed camera. When Qian gave up his computer screen to Changdong, he still couldn't help chattering on: "He just takes random shots—there's hardly any light at night, and look, everything's blurry. If the lighting were good and the technique were better, you'd even be able to see how the sand particles move through the air..." Indeed, it was blurry—poor picture quality. Changdong could only perceive shifts in light and shade, as dark tones slowly converged from the edges toward the center, forming a dense band, then gradually dispersed back out from the center toward the edges, finally settling into a hazy, uniform black. The entire process lasted over three minutes. During this time, Meng Jin and Gu all came to watch, only to glance briefly and then give up—there was just a solid black mass, full of noise, and they couldn't understand why Changdong could sit through it so patiently, so unimpressed, from beginning to end. Changdong felt a chill in his heart. If everything happened within just a few seconds, then it becomes easy to understand: ——Fang Tang lay on the ground, splashing around, seeing nothing, and suddenly was pulled several meters away; ——Jo-mena's car door opened without any apparent reason; ——the spade suddenly came dancing from afar, cutting off Gray Ba's throat... Whenever he and Ye Liuxi mentioned it, they always referred to "that thing," feeling as though it were an invisible yet agile hand. Was this hand simply the wind and sand so commonly seen in Bai Long Dui?