Chapter 58

Because it was her first time camping at such a high altitude, Shang Mingbao did not sleep well; her temples and the back of her head ached dully. She felt like she had slept for a long time, but when she opened her eyes, she saw that the moon was still high in the sky—it was only midnight.

She kept drifting in and out of sleep until she was awakened by Tashi’s distant call in the early morning.

Shang Mingbao took off her earplugs and eye mask and noticed that her sleeping bag was already empty. After lying there for a while, she turned over, sat up, and put on her clothes piece by piece.

The inner tent door had been rolled up by Xiang Feiran, and Shang Mingbao unzipped the outer tent, poking her head out. The unprotected view of the world startled her.

The morning sun had not yet climbed over the mountain shoulders to reach here. The vast valley was painted with the bright colors of the sky, the unique morning blue spreading across the mountain slopes, and white frost covered the tips of the grass and the jagged rocks. The first breath of air was extremely sharp, almost freezing her delicate nasal passages. Amid the damp smell of grass, the aroma of firewood from the cabin was like the undertone in a perfume.

The bright yellow tent door swayed in the breeze before Shang Mingbao’s unblinking eyes.

There were no bird songs here; the only sounds were Tashi’s long calls in Tibetan, which Shang Mingbao could not understand. She knelt at the tent door like a gopher peeking out and asked Tashi, “What are you singing?”

Tashi made a noise, thinking the little girl mistook him for singing mountain songs.

“Dalu is lost, I’m calling for it!” Tashi shouted back.

Shang Mingbao was startled and became worried about the little mule, quickly putting on her mountaineering boots and walking while fastening them, asking, “Has it been taken away by a wild animal?”

“Oh, no,” Tashi explained seriously. “It ran off because it’s greedy.”

Shang Mingbao: “…”

Inside the work tent, the hum of the heater warmed the specimen cases. She went in and saw Xiang Feiran writing something on the egg roll desk, glasses perched on his nose.

“Awake?” After writing a couple more lines, Xiang Feiran put down his pen and looked up at her.

The morning wind was cold, making it easy to get a headache, so he put his cold hat on Shang Mingbao. “How did you sleep last night?”

Shang Mingbao shook her head. “I woke up several times, and my head hurts a lot.”

After speaking, she lay down, wrapped her arms around Xiang Feiran’s neck from behind, and kissed his cheek without having brushed her teeth.

Xiang Feiran stiffened for a moment, his hand that had just been writing now curled in his lap, unsure of what to do.

He had never imagined that a morning in the wild would start in such a way.

After a while, he placed his palm on Shang Mingbao’s arm and said somewhat indifferently, “Come here, I’ll give you a massage.”

Shang Mingbao sat down on the outdoor folding chair beside him, her hands in her pockets, facing away from him. As Xiang Feiran’s fingers massaged the points on her neck, she felt a tingling sensation in her scalp and made a soft, cat-like sound. As he continued, Xiang Feiran wrapped one arm around her waist and the other around her shoulders, pulling her into his embrace.

He buried his face in the crook of Shang Mingbao’s neck. He should have said “I love you,” but he remained silent, holding her quietly for a long time, until the sound of Dalu’s bell returned through the wilderness.

Today’s journey was short, only three kilometers, but the collection tasks were heavy, mostly on wild paths—or rather, there were no paths at all.

Shang Mingbao became increasingly adept at photographing, with much improved efficiency and image quality compared to yesterday. She not only recorded the plants Xiang Feiran asked her to photograph but also those she was interested in.

That evening, while organizing specimens next to Xiang Feiran, she wrote in her notebook about the plants of the day: Aster, high mountain euphorbia, high mountain bean, round-spike smartweed, thorny high mountain oak, gray-backed rhododendron, small-leaf barberry, glandular hairy pinegrass, star-shaped snow hare, small-leaf golden dew, ribbed columnar flower.

So many.

She matched each photo with its corresponding plant, not aiming to remember everything she saw but only to record the plants she liked.

“Finally saw the first Gentianaceae plant, with a strange name: ribbed columnar flower, though March is not its flowering season. From Xiang Feiran’s album, I saw its blooming appearance—low-saturation blue-purple, deep blue veins smoother than a painter’s lines.”

“Glandular hairy pinegrass has a lovely, elegant demeanor, each plant growing seriously on rocks and slopes.”

“Star-shaped Snow Rabbit (unflowered), known from Feiran-gege’s album as the purple-red ground lotus, beautiful, scrappy, and fierce in the meadow.

“Little Leaf Juniper (unflowered), with its vigorous branches complementing the small leaves and rocks. I had seen it in the courtyard long ago.

“Little Leaf Gold Dew Plum (unflowered), yellow, five-petaled round flowers, so standard, as standard as the first flower every child would draw in their life.”

These plants growing on the high mountains are often low or ground-hugging. To record their details accurately, Shang Mingbao, holding a macro lens, shifts from standing to squatting, from squatting to crawling, from crawling to lying down.

A little closer, even closer.

Seeing the fuzz on the petals, the serrations on the leaf edges, the fluffiness or stickiness of the pollen.

Because of a headache, she once felt dizzy and had to lie down on the spot, viewing the sky, trees, and flying birds from the perspective of a ten-centimeter-tall dwarf pine.

A lifetime of being small and yet so earnest. Did she ever envy the towering firs and pines above her? But the view accompanied by lichens, moss, and fungi was clearer to her than the firs.

After a day of shooting, Shang Mingbao’s black jacket and pants were covered in grayish-yellow. Her chest, knees, and elbows were stained with sand and mud, and even after washing at the campsite, the stains wouldn’t come out.

Before sunset, Xiang Feiran took her through the wild paths and over the slopes to the high mountain lake.

It was the dry season, and the lake had shrunk significantly, exposing silt and rocks. Walking over rocks of various sizes, they reached the lake shore and saw a hidden canoe.

They rowed on the lake under the dusk’s glow, the sky blue and clouds white, with the mountain shadows casting onto the lake’s center. The sound of the oars stirring the water was so serene, and when they reached the deepest part of the lake, the oar sound stopped, and they lay back in the canoe, falling into a short nap in the warm breeze.

In Xiang Feiran’s arms, she wasn’t afraid of the boat tipping over.

In her later reading, expanded by these experiences, Shang Mingbao found a sentence:
“In those seasons I grew up, just like corn grows at night.”

This was a sentence from “Walden”, which Shang Mingbao copied and wrote on the front page of her increasingly thick notebook. If you open her notebook, you will see the traces of her growth from a girl accompanying her boyfriend to a field researcher with her own convictions and goals. Those are the years etched on paper by handwriting, drawing, corrections, frost, dew, and soil.

Shang Mingbao paired every plant with hand-drawn sketches. Initially, she treated it as a pre-sleep activity, sketching casually and immaturely, without focus or dissection. Later, after Xiang Feiran taught her scientific drawing techniques, she integrated them and gradually developed her own style.

She paid particular attention to the patterns on flowers and leaves, their alternating shades and graceful curves, and the unique textures on tree trunks due to varying bark, and the leaf scars left on branches after the leaf stalks fell off.

Of course, in the subsequent field surveys with Xiang Feiran on biodiversity, she also carefully recorded the different ways plant communities are composed, the intertwining of vines and leaves, the decoration of flowers and branches.

The drawing she learned in her childhood, which she did lazily with wide yawns, became Shang Mingbao’s tool for recording. She never sought to make the drawings exquisite but only to capture the details that inspired her.

These became the source of her later aesthetics in jewelry design and inlay work.

In those seasons with Xiang Feiran, she grew up just like corn grows at night.

On the last afternoon of the field investigation, Tashi was going to take Xiang Feiran to find the early-blooming gorgeous gentian.

Shang Mingbao, while roasting the fire, asked, “How gorgeous is it really?”

She had wanted to ask for a long time but had held back. How gorgeous could it be, for Tashi to use such a literary adjective!

Xiang Feiran was taken aback by her question and chuckled, shaking his head slightly, “It’s called Gorgeous Gentian in scientific terms, not referring to a truly gorgeous gentian.”

Shang Mingbao: “…”

She suddenly had an idea, “So, could there be a plant called Mingbao Gentian?”

Mingbao Gentian… it sounded like a super potion in a game that could resurrect someone.

“Theoretically, no, because plant naming must strictly follow the rules of binomial nomenclature.”

Shang Mingbao knew about binomial nomenclature, but she sensed he had more to say and eagerly asked, “But?”

“But, first, it might become a horticultural name for some gentian, which you can think of as an artistic name. For example, after a gentian species is successfully cultivated and widely planted, people might give it a pleasing horticultural name, like the poppy, which was originally a weed but, after domestication, got different flower colors and names, such as Victoria, Peggy, or Shirley.”

This was new knowledge; not only Shang Mingbao listened intently, but even Tashi was intrigued.

“And the second way?” Shang Mingbao asked.

“If you really want it to become a scientific name, there are two ways. You can be the author of a new species, and then your name can be a suffix after the species epithet, but this will only appear in the full Latin name and not in the Chinese description.”

Shang Mingbao raised her hand: “But Feiran-gege, you have published so many new species?”

Xiang Feiran nodded affirmatively: “You can see my name’s pinyin suffix in those new Latin names.”

Shang Mingbao was surprised: “I never heard you mention it!”

She thought it was an amazing thing! Discovering a gem among the 370,000 plant species on Earth, keenly noticing its uniqueness, patiently proving its distinctiveness, and finally naming it. Whether or not a plant has a name, it naturally belongs to nature and Earth, but once named, it is recorded and etched in the scroll of human civilization.

Having a name is the beginning of having a soul. Even if it becomes extinct, people will know it once existed when they browse through the long list of species.

“Publishing a new species is just a trivial academic achievement,” Xiang Feiran smiled. “It’s nothing to mention.”

He had some species he hadn’t published yet because he was too busy. Although publishing a new species might seem minor academically, some scholars use this method to build their resumes or control the discourse in a particular genus. However, those who are truly rigorous will observe different growth periods, compare morphologies, and use molecular experiments, DNA sequencing, and phylogenetic trees to clarify genetic and genomic aspects before publishing.

Shang Mingbao tapped the edge of the table with her fingertips, looking like an anxious little seal: “What about the second method? Is there a second way?”

“The second way is to become someone of significant importance in botany. In recognition of their contributions, a new species can be named after them.”

“…” Shang Mingbao frowned and deflated. “That sounds really difficult.”

“Not impossible,” Xiang Feiran paused and said with a half-smile, “for example, by sponsoring a few million to a certain laboratory.”

“Is a few million enough?” Shang Mingbao’s eyes lit up, clearly intrigued.

Xiang Feiran had an objective understanding of the financial situation in his field and nodded. “It’s not a big deal in other fields, but in botany, especially plant taxonomy, it’s a substantial amount.”

“…”

After a brief rest, before setting off, Tashi carefully described the route to the magnificent gentian.

“First cross the lake, then go up the stone beach, and after crossing the pass, you will see the second lake right next to it.”

Upon hearing the term “stone beach,” Xiang Feiran paused in his packing. After slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he told Shang Mingbao calmly, “Don’t follow me. Stay at the camp and wait for me.”

“Why?” she asked, confused. “I can still walk.”

She had rested her feet, done sufficient stretching, and recovered her strength and muscles.

“It’s a seven-kilometer round trip with a steep climb. You won’t manage it,” Xiang Feiran said lightly, gesturing to Tashi. “You go ahead; I’ll catch up with you.”

“Seven kilometers is nothing. I can do it,” Shang Mingbao insisted, showing her watch. “It’s not even one o’clock yet.”

“I said,” Xiang Feiran looked her in the eyes and repeated succinctly, “No.”

Shang Mingbao was taken aback. This was the first time she had seen such an expression from him—unyielding and cold, shutting her out. Her lips twitched as if unsure of what expression to make. Then she lowered her eyelashes, her gaze awkward and hurt as she looked away. “If you say no, then no… no need to be so fierce…”

She turned to leave, but Xiang Feiran grabbed her wrist, his fingers firmly gripping under the dark green half-finger gloves.

“I’ll go back to the tent. Go and come back early,” Shang Mingbao said hastily and quietly.

“Shang Mingbao,” Xiang Feiran frowned. “Don’t throw a tantrum.”

In this situation, Tashi also dared not just walk away. He awkwardly intervened, saying, “Xiang Bo, the road is fine. I think Mingbao can manage it. The first day’s intensity was higher than this.”

“I’m not discussing this,” Xiang Feiran coldly shoved the satellite phone into Shang Mingbao’s arms. “I told you last night, it’s safe here. Sleep well. I promise I’ll be back before you open your eyes.”

“You promised me that you’d always take me on outdoor trips. Were you just being perfunctory?” Shang Mingbao asked coldly, clutching the walkie-talkie.

“Not at all.”

“Then why is there a reason I can’t walk this seven-kilometer round trip? If I can’t manage this, how can you take me in the future?” Shang Mingbao looked into his eyes.

She wanted to act spoiled. That was her specialty. But Xiang Feiran’s resoluteness and seriousness made it impossible for her to act spoiled.

“Shang Mingbao,” Xiang Feiran called her full name again, his rarely impatient gaze showing a hint of frustration. “There’s no reason you must walk this road. Why can’t you just wait here for me?”

“Fine,” Shang Mingbao said, deflated, and stopped arguing. “I won’t go. I know you’re doing this for my own good. After all, I’m not physically strong, don’t know about grains, can’t handle things on my own, won’t avoid dangers, can’t climb mountains or go downhill, and even stumble over tree roots. I can’t get up after falling and need someone to help me, and if I get a scratch, I need someone to blow on it to make it better.”

Xiang Feiran: “…”

Shang Mingbao bit her lip for a moment, looked at him innocently, and said, “Right, Brother Feiran, you like this kind of useless person.”

Xiang Feiran took three deep breaths, pointed a warning finger, and, annoyed, turned and walked forward.

Tashi was overjoyed and quickly pulled Shang Mingbao, whispering, “Let’s go.”

Shang Mingbao remained where she was, leaving Tashi anxious and watching Xiang Feiran’s figure grow smaller.

It seemed he lit a cigarette. After a while, Shang Mingbao’s satellite phone rang, and Xiang Feiran’s voice, mixed with the wind through the mountains, said, “If you don’t catch up before I finish this cigarette, it means you really can’t make it.”

Shang Mingbao dropped Tashi and ran.

“Don’t run, don’t run! Hey! You can make it!” Tashi, holding her trekking poles, had to jog to keep up.

Shang Mingbao reached Xiang Feiran’s side while the cigarette still had more than half left, panting and heart racing. “I’m angry!”

Xiang Feiran glanced at her. “I’m angry too.”

Shang Mingbao paused, biting her lips on both sides, and said coquettishly, “I just want to see how magnificent that gentian really is.”

Xiang Feiran did not correct her misconception that it was just a scientific name. Instead, he asked, “Do you have the emergency blanket and headlamp with you?”

“Yes,” Shang Mingbao patted the side pocket of her backpack. “They’re both here.”

“Remember not to fall behind when crossing the stone beach, okay?”

Shang Mingbao’s expression was influenced by his seriousness, and she nodded, “Got it.”

Xiang Feiran’s intense focus on the stone beach made Shang Mingbao think the terrain was extremely dangerous. However, it was just a rocky beach at high altitude. The gray and white rock fragments spread down the ridge, and all she could see was stones and snow.

It wasn’t as nerve-wracking as the cliff from three years ago.

She followed Xiang Feiran obediently, staying within ten steps behind him, without any deviation or disregard for the rules, which allowed Xiang Feiran to relax his tense nerves.

The flowering period of the magnificent gentian is at least in May. Although there are earlier-blooming species in the gentian family, such as the trailing gentian and the butterfly gentian, they thrive at lower altitudes and generally bloom in December. Besides, Tashi wouldn’t confuse them.

As he was deep in thought, a sudden sharp realization hit him—he noticed the sound of Shang Mingbao’s breathing had stopped. His heart suddenly felt empty, his body freezing as if in an ice cellar, only his fingers twitching nervously.

He turned around abruptly, his chest tightening—there was no one behind him.

“Shang Mingbao?” He opened his mouth, but his voice struggled to come out.

Call out. Call out!

“Shang Mingbao?!” He tried again, finally hearing his own voice—faint and insignificant in the face of the desolate natural surroundings.

“Xiang Bo?” Tashi, who was ahead, heard his call, stopped, and turned back, trying to call him. From his higher vantage point, he saw Shang Mingbao lying on the ground, seemingly photographing something.

The piercing buzzing in his ears was like a sharp blade stabbing his brain. Aside from the wind, he couldn’t hear anything else, and his vision was unfocused, his gaze sweeping frantically.

“Shang Mingbao!”

He called out for the third time with a strained and trembling voice, then ran recklessly back the way they came.

“Xiang Bo!” Tashi’s eyes widened in alarm, calling out in distress. Despite his extensive experience and physical fitness, descending at such speed was almost like courting death.

The wind on the stone beach was so loud that even though Shang Mingbao vaguely heard her name being called, she was too absorbed in her discovery to notice. The early green shoots and life in the barren land excited her as she eagerly pried open the rock crevices, kneeling down and photographing for a long time.

When the voice finally reached her ears, she was just finishing up and stood up, joyfully calling out, “Feiran Gege—”

Her voice and joy abruptly stopped, her eyes wide open.

Xiang Feiran’s face before her was indescribably pale, his pupils unfocused and shattered. It wasn’t until he saw the color of her clothing that he seemed to regain focus and his soul returned to his body.

Gray rock fragments, cut and washed by melting snow, slid into his mountaineering boots—

Xiang Feiran took a few steps forward and pulled Shang Mingbao back into his embrace with all his strength.

The force he used made Shang Mingbao feel as though she was coming back to life.

She didn’t know that the wind on the stone beach had been silently howling from his sixteenth year to this moment, without stopping for a single day.