Chapter 507: The Sacred Snow Mountain

Poker-face stood on the snow mountain, his expression extremely solemn; I didn't know what kind of mood this was, but I knew that these snow mountains held special significance for him.

It was easy to imagine that at this moment his mind could not be blank—everything here must have a considerable connection with him, but I didn't even have a direction for guessing.

Poker-face stood like this for a long time.

That night we didn't continue forward; instead we dug a snow cave in the snow, spread out a waterproof tarp, lit a smokeless stove, and spent the night.

The next day, we set off again with our luggage, continuing deeper into the mountains.

Along the way, I was the only one who kept talking—about the beauty of this world, about the places he had never been, about the places with incredibly tempting food. He never spoke, nor did he show any sign of annoyance.

Actually, I didn't know what he was interested in; I ransacked all the memories of my time with him, searching for anything he seemed to like. For example, he always stared out the window.

I felt that he might have a particular fondness for travel.

At first, my persuasion was fairly frequent, but later, as the road grew harder and my energy dwindled, I could only trudge on in silence. After walking for several days straight, we entered the snowcap zone of the snowy mountains, where there was no exposed ground at all, only snow cover. Standing at a high place and looking back, I could no longer see any of the villages we had passed.

Looking out, I saw the Changbai Mountains stretching endlessly, containing thousands of peaks and valleys, many untouched by human feet. I could no longer tell whether our current route matched the one we took into the mountains last time.

I remembered that when Shunzi brought us here, he once told me the names of some peaks—Three Sacred Snow Mountain, Sparrow Hawk Snow Mountain. The appearance of those peaks back then seemed different from what I saw now. I recalled that Panzi had all kinds of jokes back then; now both the mountains and the people had become a completely different scene.

On the third night, we set up a tent to spend the night. This was very close to the line I had previously set for our separation, probably only one day's journey away.

That night, we found a relatively dry spot, built a fire, and sat in front of it. For the first time, he silently turned his gaze toward me.

I stared at him for a long time, and he just kept looking at me like that. I started to wonder if the focus of his gaze was actually me. But when I realized he really was looking at me, I found it very strange. I said, "Is there something wrong with me? Is there a monster behind me?" I asked several times, and he showed no reaction. I thought, this guy isn't exactly normal at the best of times, so in this situation I definitely couldn't understand and didn't need to. But after a while, he suddenly asked me for a cigarette.

I handed it to him, thinking he was going to chew it straight like before. Unexpectedly, he lit it in the fire and then actually smoked it.

"Damn, he actually knows how to smoke," I thought in shock.

In the glow of the fire, he suddenly said, "How long are you going to follow me?"

I was taken aback and said, "It's none of your business. This is my own affair."

He said, "If you keep following me, I'll knock you out tomorrow."

I looked at his expression and knew he absolutely wasn't joking. I was at a loss and stammered, "What, what are you trying to do? Don't mess around."

He said, "You'll be fine."

I was both exasperated and amused, and said, "I won't let you knock me out." He said flatly, "Then you can run away now, or from now on, keep a very far distance from me."

I said, "How far?"

Poker-face said, "As long as you're not more than a hundred meters from me, I can hit you with a stone. I'll carry you to a safe place, and when you wake up, you won't be able to find me."

At that moment, I was stunned. I suddenly realized that although this conversation was amusing, the meaning behind it was very clear: he didn't want me to see him off any further. He obviously didn't believe my claim that I'd give up at that line. He was following his own rhythm; he felt that now was the time to part.

I said, "Can't you give it some serious thought? Does what you're doing now have any meaning?"

"Does something like 'meaning' have meaning?" Poker-face showed rare concern for the word "meaning." He stared at the blazing campfire and said, "The word 'meaning' itself has no meaning."

I looked at him for three full minutes, said nothing more, then turned and walked into the tent. I gave up. I really had nothing left to say. If I could, I would have gone up and slapped him a few times. I felt the odds of him immediately flipping over and crushing my head were low. But I probably couldn't hit him—he was too fast. If I cursed him, it would be like cursing a stone, no satisfaction at all. I had already said all the reasoning I could. I knew that nothing I did now would make a difference.

It was only one day's journey away anyway. Rather than when I reached the line I had set for myself, continuing to struggle helplessly until I collapsed and was knocked out by him, it was better to just give up here. I could still stay here and watch him disappear into the snowfield.

By then I had decided: as soon as it was light, I would go back. I would make a mark here, and in the future come here every year to pay respects and sweep the grave.

I lay down in my sleeping bag, feeling all kinds of depressed and unable to sleep. After lying there for ten minutes or so, Poker-face also came in and started organizing his things. After a while, he said, "Goodbye."

I said, "We've been friends. Leave tomorrow. I won't follow you anymore." He nodded, took his night-watch gear, and left the tent. My heart was full of despair.

You have a very good friend who is determined to die. You watch him, but you can't stop him. There is something between you that cannot be broken through with any tool. You can touch this thing in any way, but you can't find an opening to breach it.

After I made my decision, I was very sad, but I also felt that maybe I should understand—understand Poker-face's words: "The word 'meaning' itself has no meaning."

I turned my face away, slowly calmed down, ignored the person outside, and focused on closing my eyes and resting.

I fell asleep without realizing it. Then, I don't know how long I slept, but I was awakened by a strange sound. In my dream, that sound seemed like a group of strange people singing. The singing was melodious and seemed to come from a large number of people. Hearing it in a place like this felt very odd. After I woke up and opened my eyes, I realized it was the sound of the wind.

My tent was swaying left and right. The storm lantern used for lighting inside seemed like it might fall at any moment, the light flickering. I got up and went outside, and found that a strong wind had picked up, with gale-force winds whipping up snow dust and blowing it into the valley. Poker-face was nowhere around, and his luggage was gone.

Damn it, he left without even saying goodbye. I touched my head to see if he had knocked me out while I was sleeping. There was nothing wrong with my head. It seemed that after seeing me fall asleep, he didn't even bother to knock me out.

I looked at the sky again and knew things were going to turn bad. If I hesitated any longer in this weather, I would definitely be in big trouble. The first big snow of the year in the Changbai Mountains would surely come today.

If I went further into the mountains, it would basically be a one-in-a-thousand chance of survival. I saw that Poker-face hadn't even taken any food with him, and I was filled with mixed emotions, knowing that everything was already settled.

The wind grew stronger, nearly lifting the tent off the ground. I checked the time—if I headed back, in three days I'd reach a place with supplies. The earlier I left, the less chance the blizzard would catch up, so I started packing everything. When I had everything loaded, I saw the snow on the slopes around me being blown into strands dancing in the air; everything seemed on the verge of collapsing.

Before this, I thought Poker-face still had a chance to survive. Even after I returned to the tourist area, if I told them someone was missing in the mountains, they might send people to search, and with enough people maybe they could drag Poker-face out. But with the weather like this, I was afraid that even if they sent a regiment or a division in to search, Poker-face would have no chance of survival.

The good thing was, he had no family, no attachments.

There's an old saying in China: "Once you've eaten a steelyard weight, your heart becomes as hard as iron." Once Poker-face decided something, no one could change it. I had come this far, and I had done all I could. I suppressed the various sorrows in my heart and started heading back.

The wind grew stronger. I had only taken a few steps when suddenly large patches of snow slid down the slope ahead, making the road increasingly difficult.

After walking a few hundred meters, I went around a mountain pass and realized the situation was bad. The mountain ahead had completely collapsed, and I saw snow mounds I hadn't seen before.

I climbed a few meters up and was immediately disoriented—the snow mounds had completely messed up the route I had taken before, and I couldn't tell which way I should go back.

I lit a cigarette, took a few drags, and pondered what to do. After all, this place was still relatively close to the tourist area—no matter what, I had a way out. I was just afraid that if I went the wrong direction, it would be trouble. Even though I was very sad about Poker-face's fate, thinking that I might die before him was still quite frustrating.

It's like someone is critically ill and on the verge of death—basically, you go expecting to attend his memorial service. But when you arrive, the dying man is holding a submachine gun waiting for you. As you get there, he rattles off a burst, you fall into a pool of blood, and only then does he fall into his coffin and die. You lie on the ground, watching your own blood spurt out. How complicated would your emotions be?

That's exactly how I felt.

After finishing my cigarette, I continued climbing up. Suddenly, I noticed many fist-sized snowballs falling from above.

The snowballs varied in size, clearly formed naturally. I looked up and saw that the snow above was sliding heavily, with patches of slope breaking off and sliding down one after another. I carefully climbed up, and when I reached the top, I immediately found the route forward.

I calmed down. I went down from the summit and reached the other side of the mountain, which was sunny. I looked up and saw the sun rising from behind the mountain. The snow slope opposite was like a huge mirror. I felt a surge of warmth all over, and then I suddenly noticed that everything around had turned pink and very blurry. I was stunned, wondering what was happening. Then I realized it was snow blindness. I immediately closed my eyes. I knew I absolutely could not use my eyes anymore—if I used them even once more, everything would go completely black, and I would see nothing.