CH 102

Chapter 102: An Ice-Free Land (Main Story, End)

Yue Zhishi didn’t know what he was doing either, walking over just like that to help with the volunteers.

He was even afraid when watching disasters in movies.

The volunteer expressed his utter joy and gratitude at Yue Zhishi’s appearance, and when Yue Zhishi nodded, about to follow the volunteer over, he suddenly realised he was still holding Song Yu’s lunch.

“Please wait, I’ll come back really quickly once I deliver lunch.”

Very obviously, Song Yu didn’t agree with him becoming a volunteer.

“You haven’t gone through professional emergency training, you won’t know how to hide if there’s another aftershock. It’ll be really dangerous.” Frowning, Song Yu paused for two seconds. “Just stay in the car.”

Yue Zhishi didn’t feel anything because of Song Yu’s rejection — he knew Song Yu was worried about him.

“It’ll be okay.” He stroked Song Yu’s arm. “I’ve already asked, I’ll be working in the central shelter area for disaster victims. There’ll be a lot of people, so if there really are aftershocks, everyone will find safety together. They also said we can stop working once the professional team arrives.”

He dropped his eyes, his voice very slow due to breathing with his mouth. “I want to be like you too. I want to help.”

“Aren’t you afraid?” Song Yu asked.

“I am,” Yue Zhishi honestly said. “But they can’t find anyone. I can clearly help, so why shouldn’t I go?”

He was quiet for a few seconds, and then he raised his eyes again, looking at Song Yu. “And as long as I’m with you, I’m not as scared anymore.”

In the end, Song Yu didn’t stop him.

He wrapped an arm around Yue Zhishi and gave him a quiet, peaceful kiss.

“You have to be careful. Don’t get injured, okay?” Song Yu said, his voice a very tender request, “I’ll come pick you up, okay?”

Yue Zhishi nodded. “Okay. I heard the satellite phones have been delivered when I was getting food. You should give mom a call.”

After growing up, this was the first time Yue Zhishi had used that term to refer to Lin Rong — and it made Song Yu feel a bit of distress, for some reason.

“I will.”

Watching Yue Zhishi walk away by himself — it was also Song Yu’s first time.

He was finally going to do what he wanted to do.

After temporarily saying goodbye to Song Yu, Yue Zhishi followed the volunteer from earlier and walked towards a different direction. Here, people came and went; there were many disaster victims, and they were crowded together in the tents, eating their lunch. Fortunately, not many of them had serious injuries.

“How good’s your foreign language? Can you talk with foreigners?”

Yue Zhishi nodded. “I can.”

“Good. We have four foreign tourists who are here by themselves. They were about to head into the snow mountains, but they were injured in the earthquake. One of them has even had his legs crushed. We’re pretty remote here, so even though we do have English speakers, it’s still hard for them to communicate with foreigners. It’s been really hard to collect their information.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“You’re studying law?” the volunteer asked.

“Mn. But I’ve only just started, I’m just a first year in university.” Yue Zhishi was a bit nervous. “I might not be able to help with much.”

“That’s fine, it’s not like we’re asking you to go into court right now. Just first calm them down, the tourists are too anxious. We don’t understand what they’re saying, and they don’t believe what we say. The professional legal team is on its way, they might be here by the afternoon.”

“All right.” As he followed behind the volunteer, Yue Zhishi saw a stretcher carrying a victim with an injured back. He suddenly felt an ache in his chest, his breathing faltering; he didn’t dare look at the victim again. He quickened his footsteps.

Those four foreign tourists were from Australia. Two of them were arguing with a few volunteers when Yue Zhishi arrived — both sides seemed unable to understand what the other was trying to say.

“See. It’s a mess.”

Yue Zhishi was brought in, and he attempted to talk to them. His best subject ever since he’d been a child had been English; he spoke extremely fluently. When the tourists heard a familiar language, the look on their faces immediately changed, and they quickly asked Yue Zhishi for help.

“Everything’s fine, let me first record down your information, and then we’ll do our best to contact your embassy as quickly as we can…”

He spent over an hour with those foreign tourists, calming them down. They didn’t want him to leave — they wanted him to stay with them to continue helping them, but Yue Zhishi had no choice but to leave.

“I still need to go help with the legal advice. If you guys need any assistance, you can ask them to look for me.”

That volunteer also said, “Reception should be fixed by the afternoon. I’ll leave you a phone.”

Yue Zhishi agreed.

The hastily built legal advice centre was actually extremely simple and crude: one tent with one table inside. A large amount of people surrounded it, most of them locals, and they spoke with thick accents. They seemed to have a fairly serious conflict between them and the volunteer.

“You don’t know anything about the things I’ve asked you, so what will happen to my house?” A woman around fifty years old was sobbing on the table. “I’ve lost everything…”

“And my insurance, how’s my insurance going to compensate me? No one cares about us anymore…”

There was only one volunteer there, and she didn’t understand these things; she only kept repeating, “Please calm down, we’re still undertaking search and rescue work. Someone will come by later and help you…”

“——when are they coming? My important items are at home, my laptop has all of my business information!”

“Me too, can I go back and get my stuff… Will these things be compensated later?”

Yue Zhishi was a bit scared, seeing a situation like this, but he still did his best to control his inner fear and walked towards those people who’d suffered from the disaster.

In reality, as a university student who’d only just started his degree, he essentially had zero knowledge and experience. At the start, Yue Zhishi could only introduce himself and his educational background, trying to console them. They didn’t accept him at first, thinking he was too young; his face looked more like someone who’d appear on television, and it didn’t look reliable.

But Yue Zhishi patiently informed them about property law, telling them what rights they could claim if they held a deed to a property and what things they needed to start preparing… Every question a disaster victim asked of him, he would do his best to clearly answer, his manner sincere. Compared to unsure, uncertain responses, a relatively professional answer consoled the disaster victims a bit more, and everyone started to believe the volunteers could and were willing to truly help them.

As he answered their questions, Yue Zhishi recorded down each disaster victim’s personal information, including the status of their home and the best way to get into contact with them. It’d be easier for the professional legal team to take over later once they arrive.

Every so often, Yue Zhishi inhaled some oxygen.

That middle-aged lady who was wailing and shouting earlier felt a bit pained for him. “Young fellow, do you want some water?”

Yue Zhishi waved a hand at her and took off his oxygen mask. “I’m fine, auntie. I’m just feeling the usual effects of the altitude.” Except she decisively pushed her very precious water into Yue Zhishi’s hand — so Yue Zhishi could only twist it open, pouring a small bit down his throat before immediately giving it back to her.

He said thank you, but she kept shaking her head. She gave him a very pure and honest smile, and said thank you to him instead.

She said, thank you for coming here to help us.

Suddenly, Yue Zhishi could feel his nose stinging. He didn’t feel like he’d truly done anything; he was actually feeling slight regret at not having worked harder at his studies to learn more.

He was busy from noon to evening. The volunteers later sent over some instant noodles, but Yue Zhishi couldn’t eat it. He had some of the rice from the lunch he hadn’t finished, filling his stomach with some food, and then ran to help with the foreign tourists. He needed to run back and forth.

That male volunteer from earlier finally brought over new people — they were all very young university students who had taken the initiative to come from nearby cities and provide support.

“I study foreign languages!”

“I study law, but my grades aren’t great hahaha.”

“I’m a physical education student, I’m nothing but energy.”

“This is great,” Yue Zhishi said very softly. Two seconds later, he repeated again, “This is honestly fantastic.”

Because of a second heavy snowfall, the legal team was stuck on the road for a while, only arriving at 8pm. They were extremely surprised — they didn’t expect to receive an organised, extremely complete file of disaster victims.

“I’m not sure if the suggestions I gave them were correct or not,” Yue Zhishi said, somewhat embarrassed. “I’m still a student, and I haven’t done things like this before. But I’ve written down their basic situations as well as the compensation they’d like to receive. The file should be able to help.”

“It’s very helpful.” The young volunteer lawyer in charge patted his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Shaking his head, Yue Zhishi looked at the young team. He silently thought to himself, he really needed to work hard and become a lawyer.

Then he could be like them — he could come and volunteer his legal assistance.

A team offering free medical assistance arrived nearby; there were some older doctors, as well as a lot of young ladies.

Yue Zhishi helped them move in their medicines, and when he met a woman with a nurse badge, he hesitated for a very long while before he couldn’t help but ask. He asked how a broken bone should be treated — if it wasn’t stabilised well, how should he bandage it again and how should he set a sling.

He learned a lot, and then he stood by the side and watched as she bandaged up injured disaster victims.

Yue Zhishi was initially most afraid of seeing disaster scenes, and it was especially so now that he was looking at injured people: his heart was pounding really, really quickly, and he even found it hard to breathe. But he managed to restrain his adverse reactions when he thought of Song Yu’s hand — his heart slowly calmed down, and he did his best to learn the nurse’s movements.

“Like this. Do you understand?”

The young boy from an ethnic minority stood up, his arm wrapped up and unable to do anything except hang in its sling. Giving the nurse a very unsophisticated smile, he said many words of gratitude, and then he asked Yue Zhishi, who had been standing by the side, “Hey, have you learned how to do it yet?”

Yue Zhishi somewhat bashfully smiled, quietly saying, “I’m not sure either…”

After arriving here, he saw too many mothers searching for their children. He saw collapsed houses, disaster victims crying because they no longer had homes. These scenes all stabbed at the deepest layer of dread in Yue Zhishi’s heart — but there were so many more people who were even more steadfast and optimistic than Yue Zhishi had expected. They were able to tease each other in those temporary tents, and they even came to comfort him, telling him to not be afraid, there was nothing to be afraid of.

Yue Zhishi couldn’t help but think: these people felt like they would never be defeated.

Now that he was personally in the disaster zone and was providing them with the tiniest bit of support, it felt as though he’d gained the courage to look disaster straight in the face.

It was as though there was a voice in his heart, and it was saying — I’m not afraid of you.

Humans might be small and insignificant, but when they came together, they contained a great and mighty power.

After someone else took over his shift, Yue Zhishi went to the place he and Song Yu had planned to meet up, his footsteps heavy and dragging. He hadn’t had enough rest. As he stood there and waited for a few minutes, he heard the cries of a child — it sounded like a very young child.

He followed the sound for a while, searching, before he finally found a small child behind a group of tents. The child was only about five or six years old, dressed in a red quilted jacket.

“What’s wrong?” Yue Zhishi crouched down, a hand lightly touching the child’s face.

The child sobbed, crying in Yue Zhishi’s direction as he called out for his mom and dad, as he said he wanted his mom and dad.

Pain instantly tore through Yue Zhishi’s heart, and his stomach felt so very much uncomfortable. But he hugged the child, stroking down his back, and said, “It’s okay. Tell me, have you seen your mom and dad after the earthquake? What are their names?”

He picked up the child, obtaining bits and pieces of knowledge between his sobs. The child had been separated from his mom on the street, and he hadn’t seen them since.

He was crying next to Yue Zhishi’s ear. Waves of grief flooded through Yue Zhishi’s heart, almost about to drown his entire person, but he was carrying a heavy life in his arms — he could not weaken.

“I’ll take you to find them.”

Song Yu had yet to arrive, so he asked a volunteer at their meeting place to help him send over a message. He then went to look for the volunteer who’d been searching for foreign language speakers earlier. That volunteer had a loudspeaker, and he knew a relatively large amount of people.

But it was truly very hard to find someone. It was too cold and too chaotic here, everyone hidden away in their tents. Even if they were in the same gathering place, it was still possible to miss the child’s parents. Yue Zhishi was thankful he had arrived in the early hours of the morning; Song Yu had been able to find him because there had been less people then.

He spent the entire night looking. Yue Zhishi was utterly exhausted, but whenever the child started to cry again, he would hold him. Yue Zhishi even had a short moment where he numbly thought, if he truly couldn’t find this child’s parents, he really wanted to adopt him.

At least the child would be like him: he’d have someone to take care of him.

But his idea didn’t come true — and it was very fortunate it didn’t have to come true.

The child’s father rushed over, searching for him, after he heard the broadcast. He seemed to have injured his leg as he wasn’t walking very smoothly, but he seemed to have forgotten he’d been injured. He ran over, swiftly and rapidly, and then knelt down to tightly embrace that child. When he heard the child cry out dad in heartbroken sobs, Yue Zhishi couldn’t take it anymore; he turned around, his back towards them as he himself started to cry.

It was only now that he finally dared to think of his own father.

That man seemed to live only within other people’s mouths. He sounded so perfect, but Yue Zhishi didn’t understand him at all, and neither did he want to understand him. Every time he heard a story related to him, Yue Zhishi would keep silent.

He’d never experienced much parental love, and so he was very afraid to think of them. Because it didn’t matter how much he thought of them, missed them — it would be in vain.

So he might as well not think of them at all.

In the cinema room, Yue Zhishi had been able to tolerate watching the most harrowing scene in the disaster movie. Even when the camera had lingered on bloody, brutal moments, he had still been able to stay in his seat.

The true moment he hadn’t been able to withstand had been the reunion between the child and his mother.

At that time, he’d thought with utter agony — why can’t we see each other anymore?

Why didn’t you come back alive…

And now, as he watched that child who’d been lost through the earthquake return to his father’s side with his help, Yue Zhishi finally dared to truly imagine.

If that year, his father hadn’t died, would he have been like that child — would he have tightly held onto his father who’d rushed back home.

Yue Yi should’ve also wrapped tight arms around him. Just like the father in front of his eyes right now, Yue Yi would’ve said to him, “It’s okay now, Le Le. Dad’s home.”

Yue Zhishi was standing in the cold wind, holding a plastic bead the child had given him. He was watching them walk away when Song Yu called out his name and headed over to him.

Yue Zhishi gave him a very faint smile, and then he was pulled into Song Yu’s arms.

Worried he’d bump into Song Yu’s injured hand, Yue Zhishi retreated very quickly. “How are you feeling, does your hand hurt?”

“It’s fine.” Song Yu tugged the hood of Yue Zhishi’s jacket over his head. “I managed to borrow the satellite phone in the afternoon, and gave mom a call. She yelled at me for quite a while.”

And then, Song Yu smiled. “I could only say to her, it’s not like I wanted something like this to happen.”

“Was she angry at me too?” Yue Zhishi dropped his eyes.

“Mn, she was so angry.” After scaring him, Song Yu hugged him again. “But she also said she believed you didn’t dare tell her because you must’ve definitely been worried about her. And Grandma… why didn’t you guys tell me?”

“She didn’t want me to tell you.”

Family was like that — they would always report only their joy, and not their sorrow, Yue Zhishi thought.

But it was also only because of their love for each other that they didn’t dare tell them of their troubles.

Yue Zhishi also didn’t tell Song Yu about the child just then. He simply gripped onto Song Yu’s left hand and returned back to the surveyor control vehicle with him. Even though Yue Zhishi didn’t tell him about the volunteer work he’d done during the day, too tired, Song Yu still gave him a warm embrace. He said to him, again and again, “You’ve grown up. You’re amazing. You’re so brave.”

Even though the magnitude of the initial earthquake had been so high, the initial rescue workers had been able to work with so much time, and they continued to efficiently search and rescue. The number of casualties dropped substantially compared to before.

The shelter area finally had electricity the next day, and parts of it also recovered reception. Yue Zhishi finally received Song Yu’s delayed messages.

When he saw those words, he seemed to be able to see Song Yu’s panicked face. He kept mulling over Song Yu’s I love you. Don’t come., a bittersweet flavour in his heart.

He plugged in his battery pack and gave Lin Rong a phone call with the worst reception in history. She yelled at him on and off for a while, and when he heard her sobbing and sniffling, he kept apologising and admitting he’d been wrong.

Lin Rong scolded, “You’re so courageous, weren’t you afraid of something happening while on the way there?”

Yue Zhishi softly said, “I forgot to be scared as soon as I heard the news…”

“Well. Both of you won’t be able to come home for Lunar New Year then, right?”

Yue Zhishi was quiet for a long while, not daring to answer.

Lin Rong had no real way to blame him, and she even started to talk about coming over to be with them. Yue Zhishi spent a long time convincing her before he managed to get rid of that idea in her head.

He also contacted everyone who cared about him, letting them know he was safe. Jiang Yufan became very hot-headed and said he too wanted to come help — he only changed his mind after Yue Zhishi did his best to persuade him.

But he himself didn’t want to leave.

Yue Zhishi still wanted to stay here and help a few more people.

Three days after the earthquake, the shelter area became more and more satisfactory. There were now portable toilets, and children in the area started to gather together in a large tent to receive counselling. Psychology teachers had arrived specifically for this, and they gave them counselling lessons, helping the children to adjust.

Sometimes when Yue Zhishi was very tired, he would sit outside the tent and listen to their classes. As he listened to those adorable small children answer questions with their young and lilting voices, he would feel filled with hope.

Fortunately, the likelihood of aftershocks occurring had already decreased. There had been a few days everyone had spent being anxious and fearful, worried of the tremors.

He became one of the volunteers in charge of collecting information from survivors. He rushed about to every single corner of the snow mountains, recording down information, and then he would contact news media and social media sites to provide them with the information he’d collected. He did his best so that friends and families of survivors could hear of their safety.

So many people forwarded and spread the news — families continuously saw each other again, reuniting after misfortune.

Yue Zhishi could now watch very calmly as other people found their lost families again; he even felt happiness now, because of it.

The day before Lunar New Year, he was following a young boy of ethnic minority as he was collecting information and walked past a place. Yue Zhishi paused, quietly looking at it for a while.

The boy called out to him, and so Yue Zhishi could only hurry to catch up.

He heard Song Yu say their map of the disaster was becoming more and more complete and more and more precise, able to assist the command centre very well in its rescue plans. Yue Zhishi felt that was extremely fortunate.

The disaster situation gradually stabilised, the amount of search and rescue work slowly decreasing. Medical staff were finally able to keep up. Once the situation steadied, the university requested Professor He to bring his students back home — and so they had no choice but to leave.

Thinking about it, Yue Zhishi felt like the last two weeks had passed like a frenetic dream. He wouldn’t feel scared if he thought about it later, but he would still feel upset.

He was even reluctant to depart.

It snowed again, the day before they were meant to leave. Yue Zhishi pulled at Song Yu’s hand, saying he wanted to take him somewhere.

The snow mountains were at their backs, and the warm sun of winter twinkled with dazzling light. The sky was so blue — it was so blue it was as though nothing unfortunate had ever happened at this place. It was so very beautiful.

The two of them gazed at it as they walked, Song Yu occasionally lowering his head to look at Yue Zhishi.

“You’ve worked too hard. You’ve lost a lot of weight.”

Tilting up his face, Yue Zhishi smiled at him. “I haven’t.”

Song Yu fell into a brief silence, as though he had made a silent, difficult decision. He frowned as he asked, “You would be afraid, wouldn’t you. If I continued working in this field.”

“I would.” Yue Zhishi nodded truthfully, and then he lowered his head. “Anyone would be afraid, as long as they’re human. People are selfish creatures — I also would like for you to work in the easiest, safest kind of career.”

“But that day, when I saw the disaster map and 3D model you guys created, I suddenly thought this was… truly a good thing.” Yue Zhishi drew his eyebrows together and looked towards Song Yu. “You guys have really saved a lot of people.”

“And those firefighters, doctors, nurses — even the common people who’d stepped forward so bravely. They all have lovers and people they love. The people they love and their families are all so unselfish.”

Yue Zhishi retracted his blank gaze and gave Song Yu a slight smile. “Compared to them, the risk of your work isn’t quite so high. So I need to do my best, and learn to be not so selfish.”

Holding Yue Zhishi’s hand, Song Yu couldn’t speak, filled with emotion. Yue Zhishi brought him to a gate in a certain part of the old city.

“We’re here.” There was a bit of pride in Yue Zhishi’s voice. “It took me a long time to remember the way here, or else we would’ve gotten lost.”

It was a church. It wasn’t as grand as the one in Guangzhou, and neither was it as exquisite. It quietly rose tall and upright underneath the blue sky and the snow mountains, and it was gorgeous, steeped in a plain and pure beauty.

Yue Zhishi pulled out a small blue velvet box from his pocket. It almost fell from his hand; he looked a bit amusing from how nervous he was. He clutched the box firmly, resting it in his palm, and his face was scrunched up very adorably.

“This is a present I had custom-made for your birthday earlier…” He found himself a bit laughable — it was already past Lunar New Year, and he had yet to give out Song Yu’s birthday present.

And yet Song Yu was stunned; his eyes moved so slowly from Yue Zhishi’s frostbitten fingers to the open box in his hand. A pair of rings, flickering with silver rays of light, rested inside. They were designed very simply, and the two differently sized rings nestled against each other.

“I looked for a long time before I found a store that did custom designs. I designed these together with the craftsman.” Yue Zhishi said with some embarrassment, “I even had to borrow some money from Aunt Rong. I don’t have any savings anymore, only debt.”

Song Yu couldn’t hold back from caressing his cheeks. “So my inheritance is all gone?”

Yue Zhishi swiftly took out a ring, as though afraid Song Yu wouldn’t want it. “There’s only this, now.”

He raised Song Yu’s left hand, and as they stood in front of that blessed church that hadn’t collapsed due to the disaster, he asked Song Yu in a voice soft and gentle, “Can I put this on you?”

Song Yu also took out the other ring in the box. “Can I?”

Yue Zhishi nodded several few times very quickly. He stretched out his own fingers and very docilely said, ahead of time, thank you.

Song Yu only realised something was inside the ring as he was about to push it over Yue Zhishi’s finger. Twirling it, he looked at it under the sunlight — a piece of dark green jade, the size of a .20 carat diamond, was embedded into the platinum ring.

“This is…”

“Tibetan jade.” Yue Zhishi pursed his lips. “It’s quite fit for the occasion. Aren’t we really close to its place of origin right now?”

Song Yu smiled in understanding.

So Yue Zhishi had secretly set the jade stone he’d given him inside the rings.

“This was really hard to do, the craftsman had to try many times. That’s why it took so long.”

“Why’d you embed it inside?” Song Yu asked.

“Because I want to hide my jade away.” Yue Zhishi gave him a bright smile, that tiny dimple appearing at the corner of his mouth. His pair of beautiful eyes curved into the crescent moons found at the start of a new month, and they looked as though they’d never gone through any pain and suffering.

“We’ve finished exchanging rings.” Song Yu cupped his face with a hand. “Can the newly married couple now kiss?”

Yue Zhishi took a step back, shy; he wanted to say this wasn’t a wedding, but Song Yu slipped an arm around his waist before he could. In front of the glorious church, Song Yu caught his soft lips with his own.

There were no white veils, no suits; there were no fresh flowers or a carpet, and there was no one here to give them their blessings. Instead, bitingly cold wind held their bodies in its arms, and the snow mountains were also there to witness their new lives.

And their soundless vows — they were of a transient duration, and yet they were a permanent promise.

Before they started driving back, Professor He called Song Yu down for a talk. Yue Zhishi sat in the car, gazing outwards from the car window. The ring finger on Song Yu’s lowered hand was the same as his — it glistened with beautiful silver rays.

“Where’s Song Yu?”

Hearing someone call Song Yu’s name, Yue Zhishi turned his head around. He saw a senior, his hand holding a phone with a shattered screen.

“Senior, he’s talking with Professor He,” Yue Zhishi softly said.

“Ah, is he? Then I’ll hand it to you.” The senior smiled as he gave Yue Zhishi the phone. “Look at how smashed it is… The rest of our phones turned off from the cold, only his was broken. The phone repairer guys only just gave it back to me. Give it to Xiao Song later, I don’t know if he still wants it or not.”

Yue Zhishi nodded, and then he lowered his head to look. The phone screen was truly shattered beyond repair, but surprisingly, the phone was still able to turn on.

The senior was just about to take his seat at the front, but then he seemed to abruptly think of something. He turned around and asked Yue Zhishi, “Is your profile photo a small piece of cheese? The one in Tom and Jerry.”

Yue Zhishi dipped his head. “Mn.”

“No wonder. The phone exploded with WeChat messages as soon as I turned it on. They were all sent by someone called ‘Murmansk’. That should be you, right?” The senior said, smiling, “You were so worried.”

Another senior sister said, “Of course he was worried, Xiao Yue and Xiao Song are our university’s fairytale love story. Have you ever seen our ice mountain Xiao Song speak to someone else so softly? He ran to hug him as soon as he saw Xiao Yue, and he was even smiling so tenderly. It wasn’t like him at all.” She sighed, “Looks like ice mountain men don’t really exist in this world. They will always melt at true love.”

Yue Zhishi’s attention was completely caught on what the senior had said earlier, and he mumbled to himself somewhat blankly, “Murmansk…”

Lowering his head, he unlocked the phone, fingers tapping on the broken screen. He saw the WeChat conversation with himself.

He really was given that nickname.

He was very familiar with that word, but he still faintly felt some doubt.

Slightly turning his face over, he just so happened to meet Song Yu’s eyes outside. Song Yu raised his head and gave Yue Zhishi a gentle and soft smile.

“Senior.” Yue Zhishi pulled his gaze away and leaned forward, asking in a quiet voice, “Murmansk is the name of a place, right?”

That senior sister also turned around. “Ah, yes. In Russia.”

“It’s the one and only ice-free port in the Arctic Circle.”

— Main Story, End —

The author has something to say:

This is the end of the main story, there’ll be extras later. I keep having back pain lately, so every day I keep feeling like there are things I haven’t completed. The extras later might be temporarily posted every other day, and they’ll start on the 9th, sorry sorry.

My postscripts have always been written at the end of the extras, but this time, I want to write a bit at the end of the main story.

Some of my older readers might know this book’s actually had a synopsis ever since I finished writing Rose & Renaissance in 2018. I even talked about it in my author’s note in a VIP chapter of another book (Feiren?) It’s almost been two years now, but my fourth book ended up pushing its way past this one in line. That’s why I’ve only written it now. At first, I had only wanted to write a cute shou in a fit of sudden impulse one day, but then I ended up leaving it for such a long time. When I finally came back to this novel, it was already the end of May 2020.

I’d been trapped in my hometown for at least half of the entire 2020 year, and that honestly extremely, extremely affected me. Whether it was my mentality towards my usual life or my writing style, they all changed very drastically. So when I picked up this novel again, with nothing but an empty outline, the first thing my mind visualised was the ending: when a disaster occurs, so many people would dedicate and sacrifice themselves. They would continue forward with their burdens, and after the dust settles, those who loved each other would give each other a comforting embrace.

I guess you could say the main tone of this entire novel was established only after I thought of this kind of ending, of a disaster. So when some readers have said this story appears really sweet, but in reality, the tone of it leans oppressive — this is why.

Song Yu’s career choice has been questioned ever since he decided on his degree. People asked, why is he studying this or why didn’t he go to T University. Everything was based on the ending in my head. I kept thinking, the reason why we can continue living on so safely is because there are other people who take our place in doing the things that must be done. They protect us without a single sound, and that’s so worthy of our respect. We cannot use money, or their futures, to measure their value.

And that includes Le Le’s personality of wanting to please others, as well as his separation anxiety and PTSD towards disasters. I’ve felt those things in reality, and his character was derived from that ending. He already isn’t the simple, adorable character I thought up two years ago. The Yue Zhishi that appeared two years later, after I established the entire novel’s tone, is the complex character that I wanted to write.

I’m very glad I was able to stick to my original ending; it hasn’t really changed from what I’d originally visualised. I even feel a bit like I’ve circled back to the very beginning. I feel like I can see where I initially started — the Song Yu and Yue Zhishi who rush towards other people, Arctic Circle and his sole ice-free port.

Actually, my feelings for this story is also rather complicated. On one hand, I hope everyone can feel what I hope to express, and on the other hand, I also hope everyone would never have to personally experience these things yourself. I hope you won’t have to suffer because of a disaster, I hope you won’t have to feel pain because of a relationship that isn’t good enough. So it doesn’t matter what you hear from this story; I think any sound you hear is a good sound, because people will always be different from others.

Finally, I would like to express my gratitude towards the people who walk forward every time there’s a natural or man-made disaster. I’m truly very very thankful — they too have lovers and their own families, but they have no choice but to step forward bravely in order to protect even more people. They are honestly such mighty people. Now, at the end of 2020, I’ve realised the importance of many jobs I never noticed before and how important those people are for holding fast to their positions. I can never say just how grateful I am for them, and I truly, seriously hope that they can be blessed in return for what they do.

As always, thank you to every single reader who stayed with me through this serialisation period and gave me encouragement and assistance. It is you who allowed this story to unfold in its entirety, and allowed me to continue writing what I want to write. Perhaps a lot of people will think my words are simply platitudes, but they really aren’t. Every day, no matter how busy I am, I would read the comments after 9pm. They gave the strength to continue writing the next chapter. Here, I give everyone a bow — it’s been hard on you to chase after updates.