Chapter 60
The green glow of the QR code stood out sharply against the snow’s reflected light.
Jiang Linyue paused for two seconds. Morning light fell across her trembling lashes as she weighed the moment, hesitant and uncertain.
After a while, she lifted her hand, took her phone from the inside pocket of her windbreaker, and opened the scanner.
With a soft ding, the sound rang out crisp and bright in the clear air.
Ye Jianlan took back her phone and curved her lips. “All right.”
Her voice was gentle, carrying a light, relaxed smile. “From now on, when I come across a good hiking route, I’ll finally have someone to share it with.”
“I’ve had my eye on that glacier route in the northern borderlands for a long time. I’ve looked up a ton of guides, but I never found the right travel companion. Looks like I can go exploring with Dr. Jiang from now on.”
She said “travel companion,” not “friend,” or “partner.”
The word carried just the right amount of ease and restraint; it wasn’t nearly so intrusive.
Jiang Linyue nodded. When she put her phone away, her fingertips lingered for a moment on the cold screen.
She looked up at Ye Jianlan, a faint smile rising in those always-deep, always-calm eyes. “Sure.”
“Though I already led a team along that route last autumn, and I put together a very detailed guidebook. It includes a few easy-to-miss forks in the path and the best places to camp.”
“Even if we probably can’t go together, I’ll send you the guide later.”
Ye Jianlan wasn’t put off by the gentle refusal; she only smiled. “That would be wonderful.”
“Looks like adding you on WeChat was very much worth it. Then I’ll be troubling you, Dr. Jiang.”
She arched her brows, and in the snowy forest her fox-like gaze looked especially sly.
Jiang Linyue lowered her chin in acknowledgment and said, “Mm.”
“Let’s go; they’re about to turn around the bend up ahead.”
With that, Ye Jianlan turned and naturally walked half a step to the outside of Jiang Linyue, shielding her from the occasional side gusts of wind carrying snow grains along the mountain path.
The two of them followed the group side by side.
Ye Jianlan controlled her pace perfectly, always matching Jiang Linyue’s rhythm; she neither went ahead in a way that felt impatient, nor lagged behind in a way that felt distant.
They didn’t speak much.
Only when they encountered a particularly slick patch of ice or an exposed tree root did Jiang Linyue naturally shift slightly to the side, lifting her arm in a loose block or reminding her in a low voice, “Careful here.”
Her movements were quick and light, making contact only briefly before retreating; they were careful and considerate, never overbearing.
Ye Jianlan lifted a brow and drawled teasingly, “Ah... Dr. Jiang really is a good older sister.”
The mountain path grew narrower and narrower. The crust of ice formed by melting snow refreezing in the low temperatures made every step uncertain.
Jin Ziyu was used to sitting in an office all year and wasn’t familiar with this kind of terrain. Gradually, she moved slower and slower, more and more cautiously.
She stepped carefully, testing the ground before moving forward.
Seeing this, Wen Yan stayed right beside her, her eyes never leaving her. She kept close to Jin Ziyu’s figure, afraid she might slip and fall if she wasn’t careful.
Amid the pure white snowfield, Jin Ziyu’s bright red windbreaker was like a flickering flame, leaping through the snowy woods and looking especially vivid and eye-catching.
Walking in front, Chi Chunxin turned back with her camera in hand and called out, “Seriously, Jin Ziyu, we’ve only walked a few steps and you’re already done for?”
“You’ve spent way too much time sitting in an office; you’re practically hollow!”
Jin Ziyu looked up and instinctively shot back, “What do you mean I’m hollow? Look at this terrain—”
Before she could finish, her foot suddenly landed on a patch of slick ice. The sole skidded; her body lurched forward uncontrollably.
“Watch out!”
Wen Yan cried out. Almost like a flash of lightning, she reached out, seized Jin Ziyu’s forearm, and yanked her back with sudden force.
The powerful pull threw Jin Ziyu completely off balance; she cried out and fell backward into Wen Yan’s arms.
The momentum also made Wen Yan stagger half a step back. Her shoes scraped across the path with a grating, ear-piercing screech, but her core tightened; she braced hard and planted herself, firmly steadying Jin Ziyu.
Everyone heard the alarmed cry and quickly turned to look, asking in concern if anything was wrong.
Half of Jin Ziyu’s body was pressed against Wen Yan’s chest. She forced a smile and shook her head. “I’m fine. Wen Yan caught me.”
Chi Chunxin immediately gave Wen Yan a thumbs-up. “As expected of Dr. Wen.”
“Someone who’s trained really is different; your hands are so steady!”
She grinned at once, her camera already instinctively lifted in front of her. “President Jin, that pose of yours for falling into someone’s arms was pretty standard too, huh? You must have practiced privately quite a bit, right?”
As soon as she finished, she raised the camera and clicked. “No need to thank me.”
“Guaranteed to get a good shot!”
Jin Ziyu struggled out of Wen Yan’s arms, her cheeks and the tips of her ears so red they looked ready to burn. She huffed, “Keep taking pictures!”
“Go on, take more! This stretch of road is so hard to walk; watch out, you’ll be the next one.”
Chi Chunxin stuck out her tongue, camera still raised. “I’m not afraid. I’m short, my center of gravity is low, I can’t fall~”
The two of them started bickering again.
Wen Yan ignored their back-and-forth.
She didn’t let go of Jin Ziyu’s hand. Her brows were faintly drawn together as her gaze moved back and forth between Jin Ziyu’s somewhat pale face and the increasingly slippery, winding mountain path ahead.
After thinking for a moment, Wen Yan said to Jin Ziyu, “The road ahead is probably going to be difficult. Ziyu, you should ride a horse.”
It was a statement.
There was no room for discussion.
Jin Ziyu had originally wanted to object, but seeing Wen Yan’s serious expression, all that came out was a quiet, “Okay.”
Wen Yan looked at the others and asked gently, “The road ahead is a bit difficult. If anyone wants to switch to a horse, you can do that now.”
Everyone said they didn’t really need to. Wen Yan took out her phone and called the estate staff.
Before long, Stardust, who had been at the front, was led back over.
Its hooves struck the snow-covered and ice-gritted ground with a muted, reassuring tap-tap-tap, steady and solid in the silence of the mountain woods.
Stardust stopped in front of Jin Ziyu. Jin Ziyu swung herself up onto the horse and took up the reins.
At that moment, Wen Yan beside her naturally reached out, took hold of the reins, and led her and Stardust forward again with a steady clip-clop.
Sitting atop the horse, Jin Ziyu stared at Wen Yan calmly leading it beside her and froze for a moment.
This scene... somehow felt a little off?
“Ah, isn’t this like Sun Wukong leading his master’s horse?” Chi Chunxin cried out. Then she touched her chin, frowned, and said, “No, wait, that’s not quite right either.”
“For Jin Ziyu’s personality, she’s the one who should be the unruly monkey!”
Chi Chunxin slapped her thigh and suddenly pointed at Jin Ziyu as though enlightenment had struck. “You little monkey! This is blatant reversal of heaven and earth! How dare you make the master lead your horse?”
“Chi Chunxin!” The blush on Jin Ziyu’s ears spread all the way to her neck. Still mounted on the horse, she pointed at her in embarrassment and rage. “You’re the monkey! Your whole family are monkeys jumping all over the place!”
“I don’t know whether I’m a monkey,” Chi Chunxin said with a grin, “but right now, besides looking like a monkey, you also look like Zhu Bajie!”
“Lazy and gluttonous, unable to walk a few more steps without shirking so Tang Sanzang has to beg for alms for you, and then you still have to make Sha Wujing carry the luggage!”
“You—!”
The two of them started chattering and arguing again, like ten thousand larks talking at once.
Wen Yan shook her head helplessly and led the horse onward.
Ye Jianlan and Jiang Linyue walked a little behind them, taking in the rather “classical” scene before them.
In front, Chi Chunxin was gesturing wildly with her camera, talking nonstop.
Wen Yan followed behind her, tall and elegant, calmly leading the spirited steed.
Jin Ziyu, who usually exuded such overwhelming presence, was riding the horse in a blazing red jacket like a moving flame, her face full of unruly defiance.
Ye Jianlan couldn’t help lowering her head with a soft laugh. She shook her head and said to Jiang Linyue in a voice only the two of them could hear, “It really does have a bit of an ‘all four disciples on the western journey’ feel to it.”
“Only this ‘Sun Wukong’ seems to be a little off today; the ‘Tang Sanzang’ has to step in and provide protection.”
Jiang Linyue’s gaze had long been fixed on Wen Yan. Hearing this, she turned back and looked at Ye Jianlan. “Then what is Miss Ye?”
“Sha Wujing?”
Ye Jianlan tilted her head to look at her, her expression warm and clear.
She blinked. “Monks have to fast and keep the precepts; I’m not a monk.”
Jiang Linyue looked at her but didn’t take up the thread. She turned her head and naturally shifted the subject to what was ahead of them. “I hear water up front from the sound of it? We should be nearly there.”
——————
After about another quarter of an hour, the end of the mountain path suddenly opened wide.
A huge ice lake lay quietly embedded in the encircling snowy valley.
The lake surface was smooth as a mirror, reflecting the surrounding snow-dusted pines and a sky blue enough to feel unreal.
Heaven and earth seemed to turn over and merge here.
A few brightly colored tent supplies were piled on a flat, wind-sheltered stretch by the lake. Beside them, several other horses were tied to simple wooden posts, lazily swishing their tails and lowering their heads to eat the fodder the staff had prepared in advance.
“We’re here!” Even Jin Ziyu, who rarely spoke, let out a breath of relief at the destination and smiled as she pointed toward the lakeside. “Looks like the campsite view tonight is going to be especially good.”
Everyone perked up and quickened their pace toward the lake.
Chi Chunxin charged ahead in the lead, cheering as she rushed toward the tempting, polished ice surface. “This ice is perfect! Watch me—”
She tried to imitate the stance of a skating athlete, but the moment she rushed onto the lake, her foot slipped.
Her legs split outward without warning on the mirror-smooth ice; her center of gravity pitched backward, and with a heavy thud she landed squarely on her backside.
Before she fell, Chi Chunxin had thrown both hands up high, firmly protecting her camera.
The moment her butt hit the ice, she went completely dazed.
She sat on the freezing lake surface, stunned for two whole seconds, as if she still hadn’t recovered from the sudden blow.
Everyone hurried over carefully. Wen Yan and Jiang Linyue almost arrived at the same time, asking her with concern whether she was all right and where she had fallen.
Was it serious?
Chi Chunxin stood among the crowd, blank for a long while.
Then she sucked in a sharp hiss of breath; her features scrunched up instantly, and she hurriedly rubbed the obviously injured spot.
“Seems like I didn’t hit my tailbone, but my butt cheek really hurts.”
Wen Yan and Jiang Linyue both let out a breath of relief.
Jin Ziyu, who had rushed over in a hurry, heard that and immediately laughed out loud without restraint. “Pfft—hahahahaha!”
She laughed so hard she bent at the waist, tears nearly springing out: “Look! Look at that! Who was it that was bouncing around all smug and full of themselves, only to end up face-first in the snow? There you are, your true form revealed, Chi Chunxin! Who was laughing at me just now, huh?”
Chi Chunxin clenched her teeth and rubbed her backside, trying to get up, but her foot slipped again in that hateful way and she nearly reenacted a classic flat-fall onto the ground.
Fortunately, Wen Yan and Jiang Linyue, who had been keeping an eye on her the whole time, quickly stepped in and steadied her arms.
“Oh dear... this ice surface has developed a spirit..."
Borrowing the strength of both their hands, Chi Chunxin finally managed to stand with some difficulty. She turned and glared at the laughing, breathless Jin Ziyu, puffing up in protest, “What are you laughing at! If you’ve got guts, come up here and walk a couple of steps too! You’ll fall just the same!”
“That kind of provocation doesn’t work on me.” Jin Ziyu finally stopped laughing and lifted her chin in triumph. “I listen to my wife. I’ll walk slowly; unlike some monkey, I’m not reckless and impulsive.”
Chi Chunxin rubbed her backside and shot her a glare. “Get lost!”
After the joking passed, the campsite work began in an orderly fashion.
Jin Ziyu and Wen Yan were responsible for putting up the main sleeping tent, while Ye Jianlan and Jiang Linyue tacitly moved off to one side to start the fire.
There was a fixed, focused grace to the work.
Soon, a charcoal brazier was lit in the center of camp, spreading a soft and warming heat.
After that was done, Jiang Linyue used the portable metal stand she had brought to build a small fire a little farther from the tents, along the outer edge of the ice lake.
Ye Jianlan was curious. “Why?”
Jiang Linyue explained, “There may be curious little animals approaching the camp at night. A fire on the perimeter can serve as a warning and provide some defense.”
The raising of the campfire felt like a warm signal; the atmosphere in camp immediately became more lively and reassuring.
Ye Jianlan and Jiang Linyue brushed the wood ash from their hands and walked together toward the tent area, ready to help.
Just then, Wen Yan hammered the last ground peg into the frozen hard soil with force and straightened up, letting out a small breath.
When she looked up and saw the two of them walking side by side, her eyes curved; there was still a thin layer of sweat on her forehead. “Senior, Jianlan-jie, you lit the fire so quickly.”
“Perfect timing. I’m having a little trouble getting the wind skirt on this two-person tent settled properly by myself. Senior, could you help me?”
Jiang Linyue’s steps almost imperceptibly paused.
She instinctively lifted her eyes, glancing toward the distance.
Jin Ziyu was clustered with Chi Chunxin, gesturing and arguing over the ice auger and the tackle box, full of energy.
A moment later, her gaze returned to Wen Yan’s face. She nodded. “Sure.”
The two of them crouched down in front of the bright yellow tent.
Wen Yan was in charge of straightening and propping up the inner tent, while Jiang Linyue skillfully took the headlamp and checked every connection clip in the frame, fastening them one by one.
They worked with high efficiency and perfect tacit understanding; they didn’t need much explanation. A glance could indicate direction, and a small motion could adjust an angle, with the other instantly understanding.
The tent frame gradually took shape and stood firm through their silent, efficient cooperation.
Cold wind swept over the tent fabric, making it billow softly.
The breeze came from behind, blurring the sounds of laughter and chatter.
Looking at Wen Yan’s earnest profile, Jiang Linyue hesitated for a moment before suddenly asking, “Your marriage... came pretty suddenly.”
She seemed to be saying it casually, but there was a slight tension in her voice. “Before this... I hadn’t heard even a hint of it. The professor and a few classmates who stayed in the city all talked about it, and they were all very surprised.”
Wen Yan was carefully aligning the zipper teeth of the outer tent. Hearing that, her fingers paused slightly.
She looked up at Jiang Linyue.
Under the dim light inside the tent, Jiang Linyue’s face was half in shadow, half in light; her expression was impossible to read clearly.
Wen Yan gave a shy little smile, a bit apologetic. “Mm... it was pretty sudden.”
“Actually, my marriage with Ziyu is a little special.” She paused, as if choosing her words, her fingertips unconsciously rubbing the cold zipper tab.
Jiang Linyue saw her hesitation and, gathering her courage, asked, “Oh? How so?”
After a moment of thought, Wen Yan said, “Senior, I won’t hide it from you.”
“Ziyu... was originally supposed to marry my brother.”
“Only, my brother had a sudden problem before the wedding and left. So it became me instead.”
Jiang Linyue’s hands, which were fastening the final crossbar clasp, paused almost imperceptibly.
She lifted her eyes and fixed them on Wen Yan’s face, trying to read more emotion from that calm explanation.
She was silent for a long time before speaking again, her voice rough. “So that’s how it was.”
No wonder there had been no news at all; so this marriage had started in such a ridiculous way.
“Mm.” Wen Yan nodded, still pulling at the outer tent’s edge, trying to smooth it more neatly over the inner layer.
After a while, she smiled, her tone turning soft yet firm. “But I really like Ziyu.”
“It was because I like her that I agreed to marry.”
“Though the beginning was a little... dramatic, even absurd, for me,” she paused and curved her lips, “it counts as a twist of fate, a blessing in disguise. I’m very glad the person standing beside her now is me.”
Jiang Linyue lowered her head, avoiding Wen Yan’s eyes, which had grown especially bright and soft when speaking of Jin Ziyu.
She continued fastening the tent ropes in her hands, driving the pegs into the frozen earth with force; her movements were standard but somewhat hurried.
The dull thuds of “thunk, thunk, thunk” echoed between the two of them.
After a while, Jiang Linyue gave a very quiet “Mm.”
The sound was muffled, as if squeezed up from deep in her chest, blocked by something heavy.
For the moment, only the rustle of fabric, the light clink of metal buckles, and the dull sound of stakes entering the soil remained in the tent.
From the ice field in the distance, Chi Chunxin’s loud cries and Jin Ziyu’s sharp retorts could faintly be heard, their playful noise making this little corner’s silence feel even more still.
Quite a while later, so long that Wen Yan thought the conversation was over and had started focusing on checking the seal of the tent flap, Jiang Linyue spoke again.
Her voice was lower and drier than before, as though every word had to be rubbed through sandpaper: “Wen Yan...”
“Mm?” Wen Yan turned, her clear eyes questioning.
But Jiang Linyue didn’t look at her right away.
She tightly wound the last tent rope around the ground peg and tied it off; her knuckles were faintly white from the force she used.
Only after finishing all that did she seem to finally gather enough strength to raise her eyes, her gaze landing on the tent’s orange-yellow fabric.
Her voice was pressed very low, as if afraid to disturb some fragile balance in the air, or afraid it would be swallowed by the laughter not far away. “When... did you realize you liked girls?”
Wen Yan froze.
She blinked, and the long, thick lashes cast a small shadow under her eyelids. Her clear eyes were full of confusion, as if she had never deeply considered the question.
She looked at the tight line of Jiang Linyue’s side profile and jawline, then asked in uncertain bewilderment, “Like... girls? Senior, why are you suddenly asking this?”
She tilted her head slightly, trying to understand the meaning behind the question.
Jiang Linyue’s fingers, clenched around the hammer handle, tightened. She tugged at the corner of her mouth, trying to force a relaxed, natural smile.
But it was far too strained; it almost disappeared the moment it formed. “Nothing much. Just chatting.”
“I see that you and President Jin get along very well, and your dynamic is also pretty special, so I was a little curious why you were able to accept a woman as your partner.”
She spoke the word “curious” very lightly, her gaze drifting toward the flickering firelight outside the tent.
“Oh...” Wen Yan tilted her head and thought seriously for a moment. “I never especially ‘discovered’ anything.”
“I always felt that liking someone means liking that person as they are; their personality, the way they look, the feeling you get when you’re with them. Whether they’re male or female... is that important?”
She looked at Jiang Linyue. Her gaze was clear, without a trace of shadow, sincere and straightforward. “As long as it’s someone you truly like and want to be with, isn’t that enough? The rest doesn’t seem all that important.”
A buzzing sound went off in Jiang Linyue’s head.
It was as if a heavy gate that had been building pressure for a very long time had been gently pushed open by those words; surging cold mixed with belated realization flooded her all at once.
Her limbs and bones went slightly numb.
So that was it.
It had never been some postnatal “discovery” or “change.”
It wasn’t “becoming” someone who liked girls.
It was always like this.
From the time she was still too young to know the shape of first love, from the moment her clear and open worldview first took form, the direction of her affection, the standards for her heartbeat, had never been tied to the label of gender.
It was her own fault; she, Jiang Linyue, had misjudged the premise from the beginning and asked the wrong question.
With her secretive glances and uneasy thoughts, she had put a nonexistent shackle onto Wen Yan.
A huge lump of cotton soaked through with ice water seemed to suddenly block her throat; it was cold and astringent, hanging there heavily.
She couldn’t swallow it, couldn’t spit it out; the suffocating feeling spread slowly, sharply.
She opened her mouth. After a few tries, she finally managed to speak.
Her voice was rough and hoarse, as though rusted through, and it sounded especially clear in the tent’s sealed space: “But... when we were in graduate school, that senior Li Li in your group was always showing interest in you, wasn’t she?”
“When you rejected her back then, you said very clearly... you said you didn’t like girls.”
At that, Wen Yan’s face showed understanding, and she even smiled a little awkwardly.
“Oh, that.” Her tone was easy, as if she were talking about something trivial. “Because... I really didn’t like her. That was just... a line for refusing her, wasn’t it?”
She looked at Jiang Linyue, her eyes clean and clear, without a trace of impurity. “Wasn’t that what you taught me? Back then, you told me that when refusing someone’s feelings, I should be as tactful as possible, watch my wording, and reduce the hurt to the other person as much as I could.”
“I thought about it, and figured saying ‘I don’t like girls’ would sound a little easier for the other person to accept than directly saying ‘I don’t like you as a person.’”
“At the very least, it wouldn’t mean she wasn’t good enough; it would just be that her gender was wrong?”
“I remember you even nodded at the time and said that was more appropriate.”
Jiang Linyue froze instantly.
She sat motionless there, her body as stiff as a stone left forgotten on the ice field.
The hand gripping the hammer handle hung in midair, the knuckles turning a frightening blue-white from how hard she was clenching.
The piercing mountain wind swept across the camp over the frozen lake, violently tugging at the tent fabric with a rattling protest, yet it could not at all scatter the naive words echoing over and over in her ears.
Not because of gender.
It had never been because of gender.
It had simply been a matter of not liking that person.
And that “tactful” excuse she had once taught her, believing herself considerate and protective.
That sentence she had chewed over countless times in secret, one that had first brought hope and then ultimately led to despair, had turned out to be the cruelest, most absurd misunderstanding standing between them.
An invisible wall she herself had built, and then strengthened for years with her own gaze.
Slowly, Jiang Linyue lowered her head.
Her gaze locked onto the small patch of compacted snow beneath her feet, onto the cold, hard ground peg that she had previously driven into the snow with all her strength.
The peg was embedded so deeply, so firmly, as though it had also pierced her own heart, bringing with it a cold, suffocating ache.
For a long, long time, she moved her lips almost imperceptibly and let out a single sound: “...Mm.”
The sound was as light as a snowflake finally unable to bear its own weight, slipping from a branch.
Yet it was as heavy as the unspoken hopes and pains of her entire youth, all falling together into this bottomless ice pit.
It wasn’t that she had missed her chance.
It was that Wen Yan... from the very beginning, had never treated her as someone she could date.
She didn’t like her.
Not ever.
————————
Senior sister: Getting hit with emotional damage all day long [cracks open]
I should’ve known better than to come!!! [laughing and crying]