72° N, 170° E.
After more than ten days of sailing, the Snowfield Ship finally reached the far northern seas.
The Arctic Ocean’s temperature remained below freezing year-round, cold and gloomy.
In October, daylight in the polar regions grew ever shorter, down to just a few hours a day. Before long, the waters of the Arctic Ocean would enter months of polar night, lasting until March of the following year.
This was the Chinese Expedition Team’s first Arctic survey during polar night, so all preparations had to be completed before it set in.
When the Snowfield Ship arrived at the designated site, an unexpected problem arose. Winter had arrived, but no large expanses of stable ice had formed. Farther north, the sea ice was thick enough, but the icebreaker ship’s ice-breaking capacity was limited. With temperatures continuing to drop, they risked being trapped there for the entire winter.
Song Yu stood on the deck as the sea wind relentlessly whipped her face. Each breath of frigid air stabbed painfully into her lungs.
In the vast white expanse, the red uniforms of the expedition team stood out sharply.
The man in the lead cut a tall, upright figure as he approached through the wind and snow from afar. The gales tore at their uniforms, billowing them into hill-like mounds.
Pei Zhi returned to the ship with a thick layer of snow accumulated on his shoulders. His dark bangs hung in disarray across his forehead, and his expression was grave.
He spotted Song Yu leaning against the mast, clutching her camera, and frowned. Why was she out in such bitter cold?
“Get inside,” he said.
Song Yu said nothing and followed them in, closing the cabin door to block out the wind and snow.
The captain stood waiting at the door. “How does it look? Can we still establish the station?”
Pei Zhi pulled off his gloves and shook his head. “The sea ice is too thin. It wouldn’t be safe for a long-term ice station.”
“When will the blizzard stop?” he asked.
“It should stop tomorrow,” the meteorologist nearby replied.
Pei Zhi’s thin lips pressed into a line. “Then have the helicopter crew on standby tomorrow for ice reconnaissance. We need to check for other suitable ice for the station.”
The captain nodded. “Understood.”
His gaze shifted to Song Yu, and he made a circling gesture toward her with his hand. “Perfect. It’s a rare chance for aerial observation. Take Director Song up with you tomorrow.”
Song Yu blinked in surprise, raising her eyes to meet Pei Zhi’s gaze. She quickly looked away, pouting to herself.
The next day, the blizzard did indeed stop, and a rare sun peeked out over the Arctic Ocean. Amid the gray-white frozen desolation, it resembled the light inside a refrigerator—no warmth at all.
On the helipad at the stern of the Snowfield Ship, the red helicopter stood ready, the words “Chinese Arctic Expedition” emblazoned on the fuselage below. The rotors unfurled, whipping up a powerful gust.
As they boarded the helicopter, Pei Zhi went ahead and took two noise-canceling headsets from the pilot.
Song Yu gazed at his back. Wind-tossed hair plastered across her face, blurring her vision, but the scene felt strangely familiar, as if it had happened before.
Pei Zhi boarded the cabin deftly and leaned out, extending one hand with his broad palm open.
“Come on up,” he said.
The roar of the engines was deafening, so Song Yu had to read his lips.
Her eyes fell on that hand of his—clean and slender, with well-defined knuckles and a callus on the side of his middle finger.
Back in the rainforest, she hadn’t given much thought to why the callus was there. Now, it clicked instantly: the mark of years spent holding a pen.
Song Yu glanced at him but didn’t take his hand. Instead, she gripped the handrail and clambered aboard the helicopter with some effort.
“…”
Pei Zhi’s hand grasped at empty air before he silently withdrew it.
He shook his head helplessly, aware that Song Yu was still upset.
Making peace with a kid like her wasn’t going to be easy.
The sea ice monitoring wasn’t going smoothly. Pei Zhi sat with his arms crossed, his index fingertip resting against his lips and his brow faintly furrowed as he stared at the infrared device scanning ice thickness.
Song Yu couldn’t make sense of the images on the display screen, but peering out the window, she saw only scattered chunks of drift ice below them at 72° N, bobbing up and down on the ocean surface.
Her attention wasn’t on the ice, though. Song Yu cradled her camera and snapped photos of distant icebergs.
She hadn’t noticed from the ship, but from the air, she saw that a vast glacier stretched out behind that expanse—one glacier after another, endless as if it were a massive continent, with sheer cliffs ten meters high at the edges.
Pei Zhi directed the flight path via the headset, surveying the surrounding ice conditions. Once finished, he leaned back in his seat and rubbed his brow.
From the corner of his eye, he glanced at Song Yu on the other side. She was plastered to the window, practically leaning her whole body out, muttering something under her breath at the distant glacier.
Song Yu checked her photos and frowned, shaking her head. The distance made it impossible to get a satisfying shot.
Pei Zhi pursed his lips and leaned forward, signaling the pilot. “Take a loop around the glacier before we head back.”
The helicopter banked in the air and approached the glacier.
Song Yu arched a brow—perfect. She quickly raised her camera to capture it.
They hadn’t gotten close for long when a massive chunk broke off the outermost glacier, like a cliff collapsing.
The huge block of ice plunged into the sea, sending up enormous white waves.
It fell so fast that Song Yu only managed a couple of fragmented photos.
Seeing the scene, the pilot let out a light chuckle. “Ice calving even in winter.”
Pei Zhi’s gaze fixed on the newly formed floe, saying nothing.
After the helicopter returned, the ship’s crew and the expedition team’s leadership immediately convened a meeting to plan pushing farther north to establish the station.
Song Yu spent the afternoon sorting the photos from the flight and missed dinner. Having stayed hunched over the computer too long, her back and waist ached. Around six-thirty, she decided to try her luck at the gym.
The Snowfield Ship’s gym was always busiest around dinnertime, so Song Yu usually waited until eight or nine in the evening when it emptied out before working out.
Sure enough, when she arrived, both treadmills were occupied. By their backs, she recognized He Fu and Pei Zhi.
She remembered the first time she’d run into the two of them here—it had been around this time too.
With limited equipment in the gym, the regulars had all figured out each other’s habits. They stuck to relatively fixed times to avoid overlapping and wasting time waiting.
She was already here, though. Song Yu checked her watch—nothing else to do anyway. She simply leaned against the wall behind the two treadmills, head down, deliberately avoiding looking at the runners.
Mid-stride, Pei Zhi’s eyelids lifted slightly. Through the glass window in front of him, he noticed the person standing behind.
His fringe swayed lightly, blocking his view as clear sweat trickled from his temple. He grabbed the white towel draped over the treadmill rack, wiped his face casually, and hit the pause button.
The treadmill beeped, and the belt gradually slowed to a stop.
Song Yu heard the sound and looked up just as the man stepped off the treadmill.
She shifted her gaze away without a word, brushing past him to mount the machine.
Pei Zhi watched her back. Her high ponytail swayed with each step, her posture rigidly straight—like a sulky white swan.
He tugged at the corner of his mouth and shook his head helplessly.
Song Yu stepped onto the treadmill. Her eyes fell on the display screen, which was still on the end screen. The workout time read nineteen minutes.
She tsked softly to herself. Nineteen minutes and he was done? What lousy stamina.
He Fu on the neighboring treadmill sensed the change and glanced over. Seeing it was Song Yu, he blinked in surprise.
Song Yu set the treadmill to a walking speed to warm up.
He Fu was nearly finished too. He reached out to slow his speed to match hers.
“Whew—rare to catch you in the gym,” He Fu said, his voice unsteady and his breathing ragged, his face flushed red.
He turned to glance behind him but saw no one. Puzzled, he asked, “Captain Pei already done?”
Song Yu gave a faint “Mm,” offering no further reaction.
He Fu remarked casually, “That’s weird. He usually runs for over an hour every day. Today it was just a few minutes.”
At that, Song Yu’s steps stuttered to a halt.
He Fu thought for a moment and came up with a reasonable explanation. “Probably exhausted from meetings all day. Decided to slack off.”
Song Yu stared at the floor-to-ceiling window in front of her. In one corner of the glass, she caught the reflection of the man leaving the gym.
After a long pause, she replied, “Maybe.”
“By the way, how’d the morning ice recon go?” He Fu asked. “Any suitable ice nearby for the station?”
Song Yu answered, “No, mostly drift ice.”
“I remember two summers ago when I came here with the expedition team—there was a huge slab of thick, solid ice.”
He Fu sighed, worry etching his expression. “You don’t feel it on land. Only here in the Arctic do you truly grasp the real changes global warming is bringing to the planet.”
“Our research group has been doing quantitative analysis of plankton in the Arctic waters these past few days. The levels of mixotrophic algae are rising too.”
After saying that, as if afraid Song Yu wouldn’t understand, He Fu explained, “With the sea ice melting, sunlight is penetrating straight to the ocean floor. That speeds up the reproduction of these photosynthetic algae through photosynthesis. But those algae produce toxins, which end up harming the entire Arctic food chain.”
Hearing this, Song Yu slowed her pace on the treadmill. She gazed at him, momentarily at a loss for words.
She recalled the glacier calving she’d witnessed earlier that day, and how the Snowfield Ship had sailed with scarcely any animals in sight. It had almost made her think desolation and barrenness were the norm in this world, causing her to overlook that it was originally meant to be a vibrant realm of ice and snow.
He Fu scratched his head. “Ah, enough of that. It’s not something we can change anyway.”
At that moment, the gym door swung open. Zhang Cheng poked his head in, glancing around before walking toward them. “Have you seen Captain Pei?”
“He just left,” He Fu replied. “What’s up?”
“The captain wants him for a meeting to discuss changing the route,” Zhang Cheng said. Unable to find him, he had no intention of lingering. “I’ll check his room then.”
Once Zhang Cheng had gone, He Fu clucked his tongue in admiration. “Captain Pei is always so busy. Never a moment’s rest.”
Song Yu pressed her lips together and asked casually, “Isn’t he a human anthropologist? Why is he handling all this too?”
Things like ice monitoring and route planning had nothing to do with human anthropology.
He Fu raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t know? Captain Pei actually studied geography before. For a long time, he worked on geomorphology and geology in the polar regions, both north and south.”
“But then, for some reason, he shifted from physical geography to human geography. Eventually, he jumped fields entirely and got his PhD in anthropology.”
“Academician Fang—Captain Pei’s mentor at the Geographical Sciences Research Institute, one of the pioneers of modern geography—was so furious he nearly severed their teacher-student bond.”
“Even though he abandoned research in geography, his experience and skills in polar expeditions are beyond question. That’s why he was appointed team leader for this one.”
Speaking of Pei Zhi’s academic journey, He Fu couldn’t help marveling. “Not every researcher can switch fields on a whim and achieve such remarkable success.”
Song Yu listened intently, gradually falling behind the treadmill’s belt. She reached out and dialed the speed down to its lowest setting.
The Snowfield Ship pressed northward and finally found a stable ice floe at 78° N latitude, suitable for establishing a long-term ice station. There, they began a ten-day expedition.
Before disembarking, Pei Zhi gave all the expedition members a thorough safety briefing.