Losing Meaning

Gu Deng almost immediately stood up. Long before Zhang Li spoke, he had already thought countless times about escaping. 

But as soon as he stood up, he regretted it because Ali was coming out from backstage, looking up and searching for him in the crowd. Not seeing Gu Deng, Ali’s eyes gradually dimmed.

Gu Deng’s breathing became a bit rapid. The anxious and hopeful Ali on stage overlapped with a part of his past self. Back then, he was just a little older than Ali, performing on stage for the first time, full of expectations, only to be let down by adults.

This incident had happened a long time ago. His foster parents had explained the reason for their absence and had made it up to him in other ways. Gu Deng understood them and held no resentment. But somehow, he suddenly and inappropriately remembered it here.

On stage, a teammate patted Ali on the shoulder, reminding her that the performance was about to start. Ali nodded but was still reluctant to look away.

It wasn’t really a big deal, just a minor missed appointment. A child might think a performance is important, but adults have their own matters to attend to.

But why, why hadn’t he forgotten today…

Gu Deng let out a gentle sigh, raised his right hand, and waved it in the air. Ali spotted him, her expression changing from gloomy to bright, and she jumped up on stage. A man beside her blew a bone flute, and the performance began.

Gu Deng sat back down and said to Zhang Li: “Sorry, I’m fine. Thank you for earlier.”

“No problem.” Zhang Li sat across from Gu Deng and looked up at the stage.

Ali began to sing in a unique ethnic style, rough, primitive, with an ancient divine quality. Gu Deng couldn’t understand the lyrics, but he could feel the emotions within.

Zhang Li told Gu Deng that it was in Inuit, and the lyrics were a tribute to nature and the ancestral polar bears. Many Inuit people believe in Shamanism, thinking that all things have spirits. In various tribal myths and legends, polar bears, whales, and ravens were once their ancestors.

This shouldn’t be in a bar, Gu Deng thought. Such singing should echo in the wilderness, soaring into the sky.

When the second song started, Smith came over and asked Zhang Li: “When are you leaving?”

“A week later.”

“Are you really going to follow the whole way? That’s nearly a thousand miles, it’s too dangerous. I’m worried about you.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“…Sigh, forget it. You’re the kind of person who won’t easily change your mind once you’ve decided. Take care, I hope we can meet again this summer.”

The music on stage became the background to their conversation. Even the closest people couldn’t fully receive the emotions Ali was conveying.

Gu Deng pulled down the brim of his hat and downed the drink in his cup. Smith got up to mix him a new drink, but Zhang Li shook his head and said to just give Gu Deng sparkling water.

“I want to drink,” Gu Deng said, looking up.

Smith looked at Zhang Li, who said, “He’s drunk, just give him sparkling water.”

Gu Deng glanced at Zhang Li but didn’t say anything more.

Smith returned with sparkling water and started talking to Zhang Li about the latest news on the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge oil field development plan. Both of them were quite pessimistic. Oil field development would change the surrounding ecological environment, destroying the habitats of wildlife.

From their conversation, Gu Deng gradually learned what Zhang Li was about to do. Every spring, the Alaskan caribou herd migrates from the southern slopes of the Brooks Mountain Range to the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. Year after year, this migration has existed for tens of thousands of years. If not interfered with by external forces, it might continue indefinitely.

But now, this caribou migration route that has existed for tens of thousands of years is about to disappear completely due to oil field development. Zhang Li plans to document the final migration path of this herd, which was what Smith and Zhang Li had been discussing earlier.

Gu Deng looked up at Zhang Li, trying to find emotions on his indifferent face. But his expression remained calm, and compared to the emotionally charged Smith, he seemed excessively composed.

But Zhang Li was going to document the caribou migration.

This job doesn’t make money; it even requires immense financial and personal effort. Not to mention the arduous journey, where a slight mistake could cost one’s life.

What kind of person would come up with such an idea and be able to carry it out? Gu Deng looked at Zhang Li with some curiosity.

“What’s wrong?” Zhang Li asked.

“Did you take this?” Gu Deng looked at the poster of the mother polar bear and cub stained with oil.

Smith was curious, “How did you know?”

Gu Deng: “Just a hunch.”

Smith talked again about the Arctic oil field development plan. This man, built like a bear, had a sensitive nature and a low threshold for tears. He rambled on about how if it weren’t for work and family, he would also want to join Zhang Li in witnessing this last great migration.

Zhang Li clinked glasses with him and downed his water.

Smith cried for a while before his brother called him away, leaving only Gu Deng and Zhang Li.

The band switched to another song, and by the third song, the band’s true level finally showed. Except for the first song, which was somewhat listenable, the rest were poorly arranged, chaotic, and indescribable.

But Ali kept singing, and the other band members were earnest, even if not many truly appreciated their work.

“Is it meaningful?” Gu Deng suddenly said.

Zhang Li: “What?”

“Documenting the caribou migration route, does it have any meaning?” Gu Deng looked up at Zhang Li, a sudden fierceness in his lifeless eyes. “Even if you document it, can you change the situation and stop it from happening?”

This was almost deliberately picking a fight. Anyone with a worse temper might have already started arguing with Gu Deng.

But Zhang Li lowered his gaze and seriously thought about it.

“I don’t know either,” Zhang Li said. “Maybe not, which is why I want to document it.”

Gu Deng was just venting, but Zhang Li seriously discussed the meaning with him.

Gu Deng suddenly couldn’t continue. He opened his mouth, then lowered his head, burying his face in his hands. “Sorry, I just…”

Clearly, Zhang Li had done nothing wrong, yet Gu Deng had indiscriminately provoked him, making him bear his bad mood.

Zhang Li shook his head, saying it was okay, but Gu Deng didn’t look away.

He watched Zhang Li, vaguely sensing a rare capacity for tolerance in him. Zhang Li didn’t talk much, but he knew a lot and could handle tricky situations. He wasn’t prying, nor did he speak superficially. Being with him, Gu Deng felt understood.

Gu Deng apologized again, then took his water glass and moved to the table farthest from Zhang Li.

Smith came over with a large plate of grilled sausages and smoked salmon, curious to see Gu Deng sitting at the farthest corner. “Why is he sitting over there?”

Zhang Li looked up, seeing Gu Deng pull down his hat brim as if to completely distance himself from them.

“Should we call him over to eat?” Smith asked again.

“No need.”

“Then should I bring him a portion?”

“Also no need.”

In his current state, Gu Deng probably didn’t want to eat here.

Gu Deng indeed couldn’t eat. He didn’t even want to look at Zhang Li again. He didn’t like being around people like Zhang Li, who were high-energy, high-efficiency, like warriors with clear goals, making him feel even more gloomy, crawling.

Gu Deng tilted his head back, finished his water, and placed two bills under the glass, preparing to leave. But suddenly, someone sat down in front of him, “Excuse me, are you Gu Deng?”

A very pretty girl, young, polite, full of life.

“No,” Gu Deng said. “I’m Gu Deng’s brother, Gu Huo.”

“Huh?” The girl was a bit dazed. “Really?”

“Just kidding,” Gu Deng laughed. “Do you want a signature or a photo? You can have both.”

“Ahhhh, then I want both!” The girl fumbled to open her front camera and took a selfie with Gu Deng.

After taking the photo, she started rummaging through her bag but couldn’t find a piece of paper.

Gu Deng picked up a band poster and asked, “Can I sign here?”

“Yes, yes,” the girl nodded repeatedly. “Can you write ‘To Shan Shan’?”

“Which Shan?”

“The Shan in coral.”

Gu Deng wrote it down and added a smiley face.

The girl was so excited she couldn’t sit still, immediately wanting to share the photo with friends. Before sending it, she hesitated and asked, “By the way, I saw your previous Weibo post… so being here, should I keep it a secret for you?”

Gu Deng: “If you could, thank you.”

“Of course, you don’t have to be so polite.” The girl quickly pressed the screen off and added, “I’ll post it after I return to China, I promise not to reveal any of your whereabouts!”

“Mm, thank you.”

The girl sat for a while, unable to resist asking, “Are you really retiring?”

Gu Deng didn’t answer.

The girl wanted to ask more, but her phone rang. After answering, she bid farewell to Gu Deng and hurried out.

Gu Deng also got up to say goodbye to Ali, returned the baseball cap to Zhang Li, and left the bar with his hood up.

The outside air was cold. At the street corner, a few teenagers surrounded two girls, one of whom had just asked Gu Deng for a signature.

Gu Deng zipped his jacket to the top and walked into the crowd. “What’s going on?”

One of the boys looked up and glared at him, speaking aggressively, “Get lost, it’s none of your business.”

The girl showed a pleading look.

Gu Deng looked at the girl, speaking impatiently, “Are you coming or not? Everyone’s waiting for you.”

The girl understood immediately and nodded, “We’ll be right there with you!”

Her friend looked confused, but the girl gently shook her head, pulling her behind Gu Deng.

Gu Deng stepped aside to let the two girls go first, ensuring the group of teenagers didn’t follow before turning back into the bar.

“Thank you so much,” the girl spoke first. “Those guys were trying to force us to buy weed. Luckily, we ran into you.”

Gu Deng: “Security abroad isn’t like back home. Be careful when you’re out.”

The two girls nodded repeatedly, thanking him again.

Gu Deng turned to leave, and as he reached the door, the long-haired girl caught up, slipping a piece of paper into his hand, telling him to be sure to read it.

The bar’s dim lighting, Gu Deng held the note as he returned to his car and opened it—

[I don’t know what you’ve been through, but no matter what, Little Night Lights will always support you! Even if you don’t make music, take care of yourself, don’t put too much pressure on yourself!]

Little Night Lights was what his fans called themselves, forming a sea of stars at every concert. Gu Deng loved the moments when, with the lights off, he and the fans would sing together.

It felt like standing in the dark universe, alone on stage, watching the stars light up one by one, each star representing a passionate, beating heart.

Gu Deng loved concerts, loved connecting emotionally with fans face-to-face. For him, concerts were a romantic affair, where tens of thousands of strangers resonated because of a single concert, experiencing the same sadness and joy in those brief three hours.

At his peak, Gu Deng held nearly 100 concerts in a year. His concerts were not only numerous but also high-quality, recognized as industry benchmarks.

Peers advised him not to overwork, and some Little Night Lights worried he was being exploited by his agency, prematurely exhausting himself. But they later realized Gu Deng genuinely enjoyed it. He wasn’t forced; he truly loved it. The most exciting time, Gu Deng performed an impromptu show for 2 hours, responding to every fan’s encore.

That concert was highly praised but also caused a series of subsequent issues, not to mention the subway delay, and it placed a huge burden on security. Gu Deng himself was physically exhausted, suffering from a high fever. His manager nagged him for days, strictly forbidding him from extending shows on his own in the future.

But back then, he was genuinely happy. He loved music, loved creating, loved facing the Little Night Lights. Only then did he feel alive, truly living.

But at some point, that feeling gradually became distant. Fans still had expectations for him, but Gu Deng almost couldn’t recall the feeling back then. So he began to avoid it, even deliberately not thinking about those scenes.

He hadn’t produced any work for four years, thinking everyone had long forgotten him, until he met his fan again…

A short line, Gu Deng read it several times. Then he put away the note, grabbed two beer bottles from the bar, stuffed them in his pocket, and took a mask from the car, following the group of teenagers into an alley.

It was said to be a group, but there were only four of them, each thin, looking haggard, causing trouble before they even grew up.

“I should’ve known not to waste time talking to them. Those two Chinese girls are so rich, both carrying Hermès. I think there’s no need to sell anything, just snatch the bags.”

“You’re right. Should we go back and try?”

Glug, glug…

Glass beer bottles rolled into the alley, followed by a man in a jacket.

“What do you want?” One of the boys stood up, aggressively walking toward the man.

Gu Deng pulled out a beer bottle—

Two minutes later, the four teenagers fled the alley, cursing under their breath.

Gu Deng threw the beer bottle into the trash can, feeling utterly pointless.

It was all so meaningless. Standing on a foreign street in a foreign land, Gu Deng was suddenly struck by a huge sense of desolation.

He had left everything behind to come to Alaska, seen whales, gone to the Arctic, even witnessed the aurora dancing in the night sky—he had gained absolute freedom.

But why, why was he still unhappy?

Gu Deng returned to the parking spot, finding a familiar figure by the car. Zhang Li, wearing a black jacket, stood there quietly.

Gu Deng walked around Zhang Li to get into the car, but the latter held the door, “You’ve been drinking, you can’t drive.”

“You saw everything?” Gu Deng asked, not answering the question.

“I saw,” Zhang Li said.

“You saw and didn’t leave, aren’t you afraid I’ll hit you too?”

“Get out of the car first.”

Gu Deng was too lazy to argue, compromising, “I’ll call a driver, okay?”

As he pulled out his phone, Zhang Li had already sat in the driver’s seat.

“Hey!” Gu Deng protested.

“Where are you going?” Zhang Li asked, buckling his seatbelt and looking back at him. “I’ll take you there.”

Gu Deng rolled his eyes, reluctantly sat in the passenger seat, and returned to his listless demeanor. He leaned against the window with one hand, turning his face outside, “I don’t know, just drive anywhere.”

Zhang Li: “Name a place.”

“I told you, just drive anywhere,” Gu Deng’s tone was cold and hard, almost losing patience.

But Zhang Li asked again, “What do you want to do now?”

“Can’t you understand human language?” Gu Deng sat up, raising his voice, “I told you to drive anywhere, if not, get out!”

Zhang Li didn’t say anything more, but he didn’t drive either.

Gu Deng reached to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Zhang Li had locked it.

Gu Deng threw himself back into the seat, covering his eyes with his jacket hood, “Get lost.”

The seat next to him remained still. Gu Deng’s patience was gone. He grabbed the man’s collar, almost fiercely asking, “Zhang Li, what exactly do you want?”

To mock him, expose him, laugh at him?

Gu Deng prepared for the worst, but when he looked down, he saw a pair of clear eyes.

Gu Deng had seen many eyes, but none as pure as Zhang Li’s. This purity wasn’t the innocence of a child, but a wild straightforwardness, like an animal in the wilderness—frank, straightforward, and pure.

With just one look, Gu Deng understood that his previous assumptions were baseless. This person simply wanted to know where he was going, and he intended to drive him there, nothing more.

Someone was kindly helping, and Gu Deng should have just let it go, honestly giving a hotel address. But a malicious sense of revenge rose within him. Why should Zhang Li play the saint, meddling in others’ affairs?

Gu Deng: “You’ll take me wherever I want to go?”

Zhang Li: “Yes.”

“Then I want to see whales,” Gu Deng said. “The kind swimming in the ocean, not parasitized, free and unrestrained whales.”