Shanghai Polar Center Wharf.
The striking red-and-white Snowfield Ship icebreaker let out a long, resonant whistle as it pulled away from the base dock, majestic and imposing, bound for the northernmost reaches of the Earth to carry out this year’s Arctic scientific expedition.
From the conference room window, they could see the port receding into the distance, its five-starred red flag growing blurrier until it was just a faint splash of crimson against the endless expanse of sea beyond.
This was their first full-crew meeting since boarding, mainly to emphasize the safety protocols aboard the Snowfield Ship.
There were about a hundred members on board in total. Half were the captain, navigators, crew, cooks, and other support staff. The other half consisted of professors and researchers from universities and institutes across the country.
With half an hour still to go before the meeting started, the expedition team members from various fields had all arrived and were chatting in small groups about the topics they would be studying this time—meteorology, Arctic geology, water quality, plankton, and more.
Song Yu sat in a corner of the conference room, feeling distinctly out of place among this crowd of intellectuals.
“Excuse me, could you help us take a couple of photos?” A young man wearing black-rimmed glasses waved her over.
Song Yu blinked, momentarily caught off guard. She figured she must have been mistaken for the photographer.
With a DSLR camera slung over her shoulder and nothing much to do in the conference room, she certainly looked the part of an official photographer.
And among all these people whose heads were full of research, few followed the entertainment world, so no one recognized who she was.
She was idle anyway, so Song Yu stood up and walked over.
The young man had a clean, handsome face and was quite tall. He wore a simple blue striped shirt that gave him an air of sincerity and approachability.
He stood beside an elderly professor with white hair, his every gesture brimming with respect for the older man.
Song Yu took several photos of the two of them, handling the task with utmost seriousness.
The old professor tilted his head back, squinting through his reading glasses at the camera’s screen. “This one’s excellent—even the sea view outside is captured in it,” he praised.
He turned to Song Yu with polite courtesy. “When the photos are developed back home, I’d be much obliged if you could send me a copy.” It was all very old-school.
Song Yu smiled. “No need for that. I can transfer them to your phone right now—it’s much more convenient.”
“Oh? And how would that work?”
Just then, someone called out from across the room, “Professor Xu.”
He Fu pulled out his own phone. “Teacher, I’ll handle it. You go take care of whatever you need to.”
Professor Xu nodded. “Alright. Xiao He, just remember to send it to me later.”
Once Professor Xu had left, after a bit of fiddling, Song Yu transferred all the photos to He Fu’s phone.
He Fu scrolled through them. “You’re really good at this. I didn’t expect the expedition team to be so thoughtful this year—hiring a dedicated photographer to come along.” And such a beautiful one at that, he thought, stealing a quick glance at Song Yu but keeping it to himself.
Song Yu stowed the camera lens and explained, “It’s not entirely photography work. I’m here to scout locations in the Arctic for a documentary I’m planning.”
Ever since her new movie came out last year, Song Yu’s reputation had skyrocketed. Earlier this year, she’d even received an invitation from CCTV to shoot a documentary.
Documentaries definitely didn’t pay as well as feature films, of course.
But over the past couple of years, Song Yu had grown fascinated with natural and primal themes. This happened to coincide with the Snowfield Ship’s Arctic expedition—a rare opportunity, as few people ever got to venture deep into the polar regions.
Since this trip was just for initial scouting to pin down the content, and spots for non-essential personnel on the expedition team were limited, Song Yu was the only one tagging along.
Hearing this, He Fu immediately realized his mistake. He scratched his head sheepishly. “Oh, I see. No wonder your photography skills are so impressive. Sorry for making you take pictures for us.”
“By the way, which group are you with?” he asked.
Song Yu thought for a moment. “I suppose I’m with the Jingbei University research group.”
With so many researchers aboard working on the expedition, they were organized into groups based on their primary projects.
Song Yu had previously joined a trial voyage of the Snowfield Ship with Jingbei University’s graduate students and PhD candidates. Per the Snowfield Ship’s rules, anyone who hadn’t sailed on her before had to participate in a trial run before the official departure.
He Fu nodded, a hint of regret on his face. “I was hoping if you didn’t have a group, you’d join ours. We focus mainly on marine biology and ecology.”
“But Jingbei University has been involved in Arctic expeditions since the very first one. Especially this time—the team leader, Pei Zhi, has multiple Arctic expeditions under his belt. He’s got tons of experience.”
“And this is the Snowfield Ship’s first winter Arctic scientific expedition. If it weren’t for Professor Pei leading us, I wouldn’t feel nearly so confident.”
As He Fu spoke, his eyes sparkled with admiration.
He was just finishing his master’s this year, while Pei Zhi had already earned his PhD and become an associate professor by the same age. In a few years, when He Fu reached Pei Zhi’s current age, he probably still wouldn’t measure up.
Since boarding, Song Yu had heard the name Pei Zhi over and over—whether in academic papers she’d seen in journals and magazines or in casual mentions from others.
While she and He Fu chatted idly, the room filled up completely, and the meeting finally got underway.
Before the main presentation, representatives from each project group—usually the chief scientists—introduced their topics, followed by self-introductions from the team members.
Everyone spoke and carried themselves with the refined air of scholars—modest and unassuming, a far cry from the so-called elites Song Yu had encountered before.
As the professors up front finished introducing their projects—global atmospheric meteorology, sea ice ecosystems, and the like—Song Yu started feeling too embarrassed to say much. Blending into the Jingbei University team, she planned to keep her own introduction brief and simple.
Two Jingbei University students nearby were muttering to each other.
Wu Yue craned her neck. “Captain Pei still not here?”
Outside of school, Wu Yue and the others generally avoided calling Pei Zhi “professor” or anything formal like that.
Zhang Cheng glanced at his phone and let out a soft “Mm.” “He’s discussing the winter route to the Arctic with the captain. He’ll be a bit late—I’ll cover for him.”
Winter wasn’t an ideal season for Arctic expeditions. The temperatures were brutally low, the ice layers thick, presenting a major challenge even for the Snowfield Ship. Planning the route was critical.
Wu Yue raised a fist in solidarity, her face full of sympathy. “Hang in there, Senior Brother.”
She paused, thinking. “Wait, isn’t the route supposed to be finalized before departure?”
Her tone faltered as she leaned in to whisper, “I kinda feel like our advisor’s doing this on purpose. Does he just not want to present the PPT…?”
Zhang Cheng shot Wu Yue a look—how could she be so blunt? He didn’t respond, just kept his head down, swiping through his phone to review the slides and silently rehearsing his talking points.
Getting no reply, Wu Yue pouted and turned to Song Yu, muttering under her breath. “I was really hoping you’d get to meet our mentor today.”
Song Yu had met Wu Yue during the Snowfield Ship’s trial voyage. Wu Yue was in her early twenties, a second-year grad student—full of youthful energy and an endless chatterbox, always gabbing on, especially when it came to her idolized advisor.
“I’m not exaggerating—Captain Pei is ridiculously handsome!” Wu Yue’s eyes went wide as she gave a big thumbs-up. “Once you see him, you’ll definitely want to cast him as the male lead in your movie!”
Song Yu couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm.
By now, Zhang Cheng had taken the stage to begin his introduction. Jingbei University’s group had the most topics of any, including the only one on humanities and geography: studying human social activities around the Arctic Circle.
“You know, Arctic expeditions never used to have social science projects,” Wu Yue explained to Song Yu from the audience.
“Everyone’s always prioritized practical stuff like oceanography, meteorology, physical environments—those are the core focuses. Hardly anyone pays attention to the culture and society of the Arctic regions.”
“Researching Arctic social civilizations can make our expeditions smoother overall. For instance, it helps with international negotiations at conferences, since understanding what the local Arctic people value removes barriers to communication.”
Wu Yue pouted. “But a lot of people don’t see it that way. They don’t get it—anthropology isn’t a field that yields quick results. It’s about looking back over long historical cycles, analyzing different stages of civilizational development to build models that guide the progress of modern society.”
Zhang Cheng finished his presentation and came back down just in time to overhear Wu Yue holding forth. He smacked the back of her head. “Quit using Captain Pei’s own words to bamboozle people. Aren’t you embarrassed?”
Wu Yue rubbed her head and grinned. “Hey, I’m just putting what I learned into practice.”
She turned back to Song Yu. “That’s why having Captain Pei as the expedition leader gives us all so much confidence.”
Song Yu gazed at Wu Yue. The young woman’s eyes shone brightly.
She had always believed that people with genuine passion for something seemed to glow. In Wu Yue, she saw something strikingly familiar.
It was like the searing heat of flames. Song Yu’s eyelashes fluttered, and she looked away.
For some reason, it felt like a piece of her heart was missing, leaving her with a quiet ache.
The main speaker was the Snowfield Ship’s organizational coordinator, who went over the rules in meticulous detail, one by one.
Because the ship was equipped with experimental devices from bow to stern, including the world’s most advanced surface seawater sampling and analysis system, and there were numerous laboratories inside the cabins, many lab rules and safety protocols needed to be emphasized.
Although the people sitting in the conference room were all veteran researchers, no one showed any impatience while listening to the safety rules.
Song Yu, however, couldn’t quite follow, and soon grew restless. The stuffy heat in the conference room made it hard for her to breathe, her chest tight and oppressed.
Finally, when everyone began discussing the experimental instruments and lab rotation schedules, Song Yu quietly slipped out the back door for some air.
As she opened the door, a biting cold wind drilled straight into her neck. It was even colder at sea than on land.
The Snowfield Ship had set out at noon and had been sailing for several hours. The sky was a gloomy gray-white, and fine drizzle had started falling at some point.
The Snowfield Ship was 160 meters long and 23 meters wide, with seven decks in total. The conference room was on the first deck, and following the corridor out led to the bow deck.
At dusk, the sea waves grew larger and more undulating, causing the ship to rock gently, but not enough to affect walking.
Song Yu stood on the deck with an unobstructed view; in the distance was a hazy horizon.
The continent was long out of sight, replaced by an endless expanse of ocean.
The raindrops fell slowly at sea. Song Yu could even see tiny droplets drifting upward with the wind, as if time in this vast ocean was flowing backward at a languid pace.
She took a deep breath, exchanging the long-stifled stuffiness in her chest, letting the sea wind tousle her hair and obscure her vision.
The fine rain grew heavier, reminiscent of the plant and wood ash dancing through the skies over São Paulo.
The Amazon fires had burned for months, the ashes drifting far and wide, turning even São Paulo’s skies pitch-black, indistinguishable between day and night.
By the time Song Yu returned to the rainforest, Takwar’s tribe had long vanished, leaving only scorched black earth behind.
The sea wind carried the salty, damp scent of seawater—a smell utterly different from the grassy, earthy aroma of the rainforest.
Song Yu shoved her hands into the pockets of her windbreaker, grasping the wooden doll she had kept warm. Over the past year, the once sharp edges of the doll had been smoothed by her touch.
The hysterical emotions were long gone, replaced by a sense of helpless regret without alternatives.
She leaned against the railing, selecting a cigarette from her pack and lighting it.
The minty tobacco filled her lungs, diluting the emotions in her chest, gradually numbing them. It had been so long that she could barely recall the man’s face.
Song Yu’s eyelashes drooped as she gazed at the waves crashing against the hull again and again, splashing up white foam. The glow of the cigarette tip flickered dimly, insignificant in the deepening night.
Suddenly, amid the sea wind and waves, a man’s voice came from behind.
“No smoking on the Snowfield Ship.”
The man’s voice was clear and cool, enunciated perfectly, pure and clean—utterly pleasing to the ear.
Raindrops fell onto Song Yu’s dense lashes, cool and icy. She stared blankly at the surging waves, letting the droplets roll into her pupils, her eyes growing wet.
Her heart, encased in cold and frozen, inexplicably skipped a beat.
Song Yu slowly turned around and spotted the man standing not far away.
He stood tall and straight in a bright red jacket, with a blue “China Arctic Scientific Expedition” badge on his left shoulder.
The biting sea wind scattered the black hair at his temple, revealing a pair of clear, profound eyes.
Familiar yet strange.