The Snowfield Ship had set out from Shanghai via the Northwest Passage of the Arctic route—a shorter path than the Northeast Passage, which skirted Siberia under thick ice cover and was only navigable for a brief window in summer.
The entire expedition voyage would last a total of ninety-seven days, an exceedingly long journey.
In the beginning, while the thrill of being on board hadn’t worn off, everyone found novelty everywhere they looked. But after just a few days, once the ship had been thoroughly explored, the endless monotony set in. People were practically growing mold with boredom.
Wu Yue and Zhang Cheng’s research differed from the other project groups. They couldn’t start their experiments on the ship by sampling seawater or the atmosphere. Their work required entering the Arctic Circle and making contact with locals before it could begin.
Thus, they were among the few on the entire vessel with nothing to do, cooped up in their cabins.
Wu Yue sprawled on the bed and let out a long sigh. “If I’d known beforehand, we should’ve just flown straight to Ny-Ålesund. Why bother with the expedition ship?”
Ny-Ålesund was the site of Arctic research stations established by various countries.
China’s sole Arctic scientific outpost, the Yellow River Station, was located there.
“So boooring—” Wu Yue rolled around on the bed, complaining.
Song Yu pulled on a sweater and drew back the curtains. A thick layer of frost coated the glass outside. As the icebreaker pressed further north, the temperature plunged lower.
“If you can’t stand it, find something to do.” Song Yu checked her watch; she was running late. She rummaged in the closet for a thick down jacket, shrugged it on, slung her camera gear over her shoulder, and headed out.
To Song Yu, the research vessel was a vast treasure trove of footage. She was too busy capturing material every day to worry about Wu Yue.
Today, she had arranged to film He Fu’s project group at work.
He Fu’s team studied marine organisms. Today, they were trawling for plankton and seabed sediment.
The sea conditions were rough that day, with the deck pitching wildly.
The four- or five-meter-long plankton net dangled and swayed in the gale as it was lowered into the water, descending to depths of several hundred meters.
Song Yu arrived late. Even a short blast of wind left her chilled and nauseous.
He Fu and his team had been at it far longer, their white cotton gloves etched with deep grooves from the steel cables.
“How about it? Interesting?” He Fu had been directing the deployment and operating the winch. He finally had a free moment.
Song Yu squinted into her camera lens, snapping shots of the staff maneuvering the sediment sampler to scoop a small clump of mud from the seafloor.
“Very interesting.” As she spoke, she checked the display screen to verify focus. The deck’s motion often blurred her photos.
He Fu scratched his head, looking a little sheepish. “Good to hear. I was afraid you’d find it dull. It’s all heavy labor day in and day out—we end up covered in mud and filthy.”
Song Yu gazed at his wind-tousled hair and dusty clothes. When they hauled up that handful of seabed mud, the entire team erupted in cheers, as if they’d unearthed buried treasure.
At a loss for words, she reached out and brushed the dust from He Fu’s clothes.
He Fu smiled. “Don’t bother. The plankton net will get us dirty all over again soon enough.”
His eyes fell on Song Yu’s hands, reddened from gripping the camera in the cold for so long.
He Fu tugged off his gloves and offered them to her. “Here, wear these.”
Song Yu blinked in surprise, about to refuse.
“I’ve had them on too long—they’re too hot now.” He draped the gloves over the back of her hand and turned back to direct the hauling.
Up in the captain’s quarters on the sixth floor.
The captain, crisp in his white uniform, traced a finger across the map on the desk. “Extreme cold air mass on tomorrow’s route, and big waves too. I want to duck into a nearby bay for a few days.”
After a long pause with no reply, he glanced up at the man standing by the window. “What do you think?”
Pei Zhi held a compact pair of binoculars, exquisitely crafted.
Through the eyepiece, the distant sea stretched out clearly, and the deck below was in sharp focus.
His pitch-black eyes fixed on the view, taking in Song Yu and He Fu’s entire exchange.
Facing the sea wind, Song Yu lowered her camera and slipped on the oversized, dirty gloves one finger at a time.
The deck heaved violently. She braced against the mast to stay upright. When a wave crashed over her, her first instinct was to shield the camera. Seawater drenched her shoulder and hair; she shivered uncontrollably, her lips gone pale.
“…”
Silence stretched on.
The captain frowned and raised his voice. “Captain Pei—”
Pei Zhi came back to himself and lowered the binoculars. “What?”
“What’re you woolgathering about?” the captain grumbled. “Didn’t you hear me?”
Pei Zhi dropped his gaze and murmured, “Sorry.” He turned away from the deck.
He handed the binoculars to his assistant nearby. “Tell them: wind and waves too strong today. Suspend deck operations.”
Owing to the weather, the afternoon’s expedition work was halted, leaving a large swath of the team idle once more.
Back in her room, Song Yu sorted through the photos she’d taken that morning.
Wu Yue lay sprawled on the bed, glued to her phone and chatting with someone, punctuated by occasional giggles.
To evade the cold front, the Snowfield Ship deviated from its original course and anchored in a nearby bay.
There had been no signal out at sea, but now they had coverage—and Wu Yue’s boredom vanished.
Suddenly, she set her phone aside and turned to Song Yu with bright eyes. “Signal’s back—wanna game?”
“What game?” Song Yu finished backing up her photos and reinserted the memory card into her camera.
“You play League of Legends?”
“A little, but it’s been ages.” Back in high school, Xu Zhouxu had dragged her to all-night sessions at internet cafes; they’d gone pretty wild then. But after starting work, life got too hectic.
“No worries, just casual.” With that, Wu Yue rolled off the bed and fished her long-neglected laptop out of her luggage. “I roped in Zhang Cheng. With you, that’s three—we need two more for a five-stack.”
Wu Yue messaged Zhang Cheng on WeChat to grab more players, but he didn’t reply for ages. Impatient, she huffed, “I’ll go ask him in person.”
Zhang Cheng’s room was at the other end of the corridor. Wu Yue pounded on the door.
“Senior Brother, quit dawdling—how do you vanish after two messages?”
It took a while before the door finally opened.
Zhang Cheng peered out, his expression awkward as he kept his voice low. “What is it?”
“Game time, what else?” Wu Yue stared blankly.
“I’ve been dying of boredom these past few days—nothing to do. Oh, right, what are you putting in your report for Monday’s meeting? Can I copy yours—”
She pushed inside as she spoke, only to freeze at the sight of the other person in the room. She instantly regretted every word.
The expedition team held full-staff weekly meetings so each research group could report progress.
Arctic expeditions were rare opportunities: to share findings in their fields and troubleshoot bottlenecks collaboratively. But their group’s topic—local indigenous people—couldn’t advance until they reached the Arctic. They had nothing to report.
Wu Yue choked on her own spit and coughed hard twice, instantly sobering up. “C-Captain Pei.”
Pei Zhi lounged in an armchair, legs crossed, eyes lowered as his index finger slid across the trackpad of the laptop on the tea table—Zhang Cheng’s project report.
Wu Yue hadn’t written a single word of hers; his wasn’t much better, barely a page.
Pei Zhi scrolled through it in moments and reached the end, his brow knitting tightly.
After a pause, he said, “Why not study the social structure aboard the Snowfield Ship? That way, you’ll have something for the weekly.”
Any gathering of people formed social groups, and with eighty-odd souls on the Snowfield Ship, it counted as a substantial one.
Otherwise, while other teams sampled seabed mud and plankton daily, the students under him lounged around idly. It was embarrassing.
Wu Yue’s eyes lit up. “Like, individual case studies?”
“Whatever.”
Wu Yue pondered, then asked cautiously, “Does that include you as a research subject, Captain Pei?”
Pei Zhi glanced at her and closed the laptop. “So long as it doesn’t get in my way.” He rose to leave.
Wu Yue cocked her head and blinked. “Oh, right—Captain Pei, wanna join our five-stack? We’re short two people.”
She counted on her fingers. “Me, Senior Brother, and Song Yu.”
Fearing he might not recall, she added, “The director who came with our school—we’re roommates. She’s famous; she directed The Boundary. Super pretty, total down-to-earth.”
“I know.” Pei Zhi cut in evenly. “You all go ahead and play. I’ve got things to do.”
Wu Yue deflated a bit. Mentors were tough to wrangle, after all.
Just then, her phone pinged. She checked it and nudged Zhang Cheng with her elbow. “Song Yu got He Fu on board. Pei won’t join—you grab one more?”
Pei Zhi had the door half-open. He paused there, lips pressed thin. “Where are you playing?”
Wu Yue thought for a second. “My room.” Nowhere else could fit them all, and the cafeteria was closed by now.
Pei Zhi’s index finger tapped irregularly on the door handle, betraying a thread of irritation.
He pulled his work badge from the pocket of his coat and tossed it to Wu Yue. “Head to the café. I’ll grab my laptop and meet you there.”
The café on the Snowfield Ship was small and not yet open to the general crew. It was reserved for the chief scientist, the captain, and a select few others like them. A work badge was required to make any purchases.
Wu Yue caught the badge, the blue lanyard with its ID card swinging back and forth. She exchanged a glance with Zhang Cheng, spotting the surprise mirrored in each other’s eyes.
It was a rare sight, seeing Captain Pei willing to join them for some downtime.
The door to the room closed behind him, leaving Wu Yue and Zhang Cheng alone.
Wu Yue rubbed her chin thoughtfully, narrowing her eyes with a shrewd, almost otherworldly gleam.
“I’ve got to study Captain Pei more closely,” she said. “Something about him just feels off.”
“…” Zhang Cheng rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Give it a rest. You’re the one with the guts—want to go poking around at Captain Pei now?”
“What do you mean?” Wu Yue shot back. “Where’s that sharp instinct of yours as an anthropologist? Don’t you think it’s strange? When has Captain Pei ever cared about our research reports before?”
He had always taken a hands-off approach with them in the past—especially with weekly reports, which he’d never bothered with. Yet now he seemed worried they might run out of things to talk about, even assigning them tasks as if he were putting on a deliberate show for someone.
The more Wu Yue thought about it, the stranger it all seemed.
Zhang Cheng picked up his laptop, no longer indulging Wu Yue’s speculation about their mentor. “Come on, let’s go. The café first.”
Wu Yue twirled the work badge in her hand. “Then I’ll call Song Yu to come straight over.”