Song Yu stared blankly at the man’s profile, the light in the tent dim and indistinct.
Her memory yanked her back to the rainforest, to that rainy night.
The man’s voice had been low and husky as he held her close, calling out to her with that same intimate tenderness.
“My sweet berry.”
The words had vibrated against her eardrums, sending an itch deep inside her.
Pei Zhi seemed utterly exhausted, completely unaware of what he’d said. He buried his face into the sleeping bag and nuzzled it lightly before drifting off again.
Song Yu sat there in a daze for a long while, her ears turning faintly pink. The sound of her heartbeat stood out sharply in the quiet night.
The sun rose from some unseen spot, its faint rays scattering weakly across the vast white expanse.
The ever-shorter days made everyone cherish their time even more.
The changing light outside filtered through the tent fabric. Without Song Yu needing to call him, Pei Zhi woke on his own.
He had good sleeping habits—motionless and silent. Even getting up, he moved with quiet care.
Pei Zhi sat up from the sleeping bag and stayed there in a stupor for a bit, his eyelids drooping. He looked like a computer rebooting before startup, the usual sharpness gone, replaced by a soft, unguarded haze. His hair was tousled and messy, falling casually over his forehead.
Song Yu unzipped the tent just a crack, and cold air rushed in immediately, a reminder of the temperature difference outside. It was already cold enough inside, but the white world of ice and snow beyond was even more barren and harsh.
Pei Zhi lifted his gaze, finally coming fully awake. He checked the time and realized he’d slept far longer than expected.
“Why didn’t you wake me last night?” His voice was hoarse, like it held tiny grains of sand, rich with magnetism.
Song Yu pulled the tent zipper all the way open. “I did call you, but you looked so wiped out, so I let you keep sleeping.”
She turned her head abruptly. “Who am I?”
Pei Zhi blinked, pausing for a few seconds before replying, “Song Yu.”
Song Yu stared into his clear eyes. After a moment, she pursed her lips and crawled out of the tent.
The night had passed, but the glacier across from them remained calm, unchanged.
She powered up the equipment again, the drone on standby.
Pei Zhi, like the day before, stayed busy with geological analysis around the area.
For Song Yu, the wait dragged on endlessly. Her thoughts wandered far away, back to that green rainforest for a moment. Compared to the barren landscape here, life in the jungle had felt relaxed and pleasant.
North of the Arctic Circle, the interval between dawn and dusk was heartbreakingly brief.
Pei Zhi returned with the sampling gear and glanced at his watch. “One more hour, and we have to pull out. We need to be back at the ice station before dark.”
Song Yu gazed at the glacier, her heart full of disappointment, but there was nothing to be done. Capturing a natural wonder like this was all about luck. At least she’d tried.
Pei Zhi started breaking down the tent, sorting all the trash into bags to take with them.
Song Yu pitched in to help.
In under an hour, everything was packed up, leaving only the camera equipment standing firm on the cliff edge.
The wide-angle lens waited silently and patiently. The distant glacier did the same, stubbornly resisting the cold.
Snow began to drift down from the sky, slanted by the wind, stinging faces and slipping into collars.
Song Yu gave the glacier one last look. “Oh well, let’s head back.”
Pei Zhi shoved his hands into the pockets of his red Scientific Expedition Team jacket and stared at the glacier, narrowing his eyes slightly.
He pulled out a compact pair of binoculars and peered toward the glacier, studying something for a long time before speaking. “Just a bit longer.”
Song Yu saw the snow picking up, from flurries to something heavier. She shook her head. “It’s too cold today. No chance.”
Pei Zhi lowered the binoculars and turned to her. Her eyes were fixed straight on the glacier.
She might have said they should give up, but he could see the reluctance in her expression.
Pei Zhi’s gaze dropped. He pushed up his sleeve to check his watch. The final hour was up.
He pressed his lips together. “Ten more minutes.”
Song Yu turned to meet his eyes. There was a quiet determination in the man’s dark pupils.
Snowflakes landed on her lashes, cool and crisp. Song Yu stared at him, letting them melt and trickle into her eyes.
After a moment, she murmured softly, “Thank you.”
The snow grew heavier, falling slowly but whipped upward by the wind, dancing without settling.
Time seemed to freeze.
They stood side by side by the camera, dwarfed by the vast plain and the glacier, like two specks of dust in the world.
Somehow, one’s shoulder brushed the other’s, and the specks pressed together, huddling for warmth.
From the cliffside platform on the small island, they had a commanding view of the opposite glacier, stretching endlessly inward without end.
Then, deep within the glacier, a crack split open.
The gap widened steadily.
It wasn’t sudden. The massive glacier gave warning, tilting and collapsing slowly.
Finally, it crashed into the sea with a thunderous roar, like a limb torn from the body.
No one spoke during the glacier’s death throes. They simply watched until the ocean swallowed the broken pieces.
“That glacier dates back ten thousand years,” Pei Zhi said quietly.
His gaze shifted to the sea beyond. He remembered his first time here—the area that was now water had once been glacier too.
In the Ice Age, beneath the frigid glaciers, traces of mammoths still lay buried.
Song Yu said nothing.
Witnessing the calving from such close range left her too stunned to speak.
She stared at the floating ice on the distant sea.
What had once been glacier now drifted as pack ice across the endless ocean, destined to merge with the waves.
Ice that had survived ten thousand years died today.
The wind and snow intensified.
Song Yu checked the footage on the camera.
She sped through the video over and over, unable to shake the thought that maybe it would have been better if she hadn’t captured the glacier’s demise.
On the way back, dusk fell quickly, the blizzard raging fiercer by the minute.
To reach the ice station before nightfall, Pei Zhi pushed the snowmobile hard.
They rode against the storm, icy pellets pelting them like rain.
Song Yu pressed her forehead to the man’s back. It was broad and solid, shielding her from most of the wind and snow.
Pei Zhi’s voice carried back through the gale, teasing. “You sure know how to find cover.”
Song Yu’s lips curved involuntarily. She hummed softly in response.
The snowmobile slowed abruptly, jolting up and down. Whether by force or choice, her arms wrapped around the man’s waist and stayed there.
Pei Zhi felt the woman’s warmth press against his back. His grip tightened on the handlebars, his index finger tapping the brake.
“Stick your hands in my pockets. Warmer that way.”
Song Yu didn’t hesitate, slipping her hands into his pockets. The expedition jacket looked sleek and slim on him, but it was surprisingly cozy.
The pockets were toasty, and through the fabric, she could feel the heat radiating from his abdomen, chasing the chill from her fingers in an instant.
Something occupied the left pocket. Song Yu’s hand brushed it and paused—she knew exactly what it was.
Smooth, warm wood, every edge familiar.
Because of the heavy snow, the return took longer than the trip out, but to Song Yu, it flew by. It felt like no time at all before they arrived.
Song Yu clenched her hand into a small fist, a thin sheen of sweat in her palm. She reluctantly withdrew it from his pocket and slid off the snowmobile.
By now, night had fully fallen. The station’s personnel had all evacuated to the ship not long ago.
Only the ice station’s main lights still glowed, the place like a forsaken corner of the world, all its equipment blanketed in thick snow.
Pei Zhi leaned lazily against the snowmobile, arms crossed, his gaze lowered to Song Yu’s face.
She tilted her head up to meet his eyes, hers sparkling brightly. Her ever-present camera hung around her neck—the same one that had poked his back the whole way.
“Happy now?” He raised a brow.
Song Yu nodded vigorously, her eyes curving into crescents like little moons.
“Thanks for coming with me.” she said.
Pei Zhi chuckled lightly, straightening up. He brushed the snow from her hat.
“Enough already—you’ve said it. Let’s get back.”
Fluffy white snow drifted down before Song Yu’s eyes, refracting the light into tiny sparkles.
Pei Zhi strolled slowly toward the icebreaker with one hand in his pants pocket.
Song Yu blinked, watching that splash of red in the storm, then hurried after him.
That evening, back in her room on the Snowfield Ship, Song Yu found Wu Yue already there.
The girl was sitting cross-legged on the narrow bed less than a meter wide. Spotting Song Yu, she bounced up excitedly.
“You finally made it back! I was so bored with this all-day blizzard.”
Song Yu spotted her and looked surprised. “You’re back so early? Weren’t you supposed to stay for ten days?”
Wu Yue shrugged. “No choice. The latest weather report from the meteorological team predicts nonstop blizzards and freezing temps ahead. The captain’s worried that if we stick to the original schedule, the ice will get too thick and trap the icebreaker. So he called us back to rendezvous right away. Word is, we’re pulling out for Yellow River Station in the next few days.”
Hearing this, Song Yu felt even more relieved that she’d captured the footage she wanted before leaving.
As soon as Wu Yue got back, she dragged Song Yu into a chat about her adventures on the island. Song Yu listened eagerly, and the two of them kept talking until the early hours of the morning before finally turning off the lights and going to sleep.
Outside the window, the wind and snow battered the glass like it was tearing itself apart.
The Snowfield Ship felt like the only safe haven in this brutal world of ice and snow.
Song Yu’s mind had been buzzing with excitement since daytime. She huddled under the covers, clutching her camera and scrolling through photos, staying up far too late.
The room filled with Wu Yue’s soft snores—she must have been exhausted from those days on the island.
Suddenly, the corridor echoed with a flurry of rapid footsteps, urgent and overlapping. A lot of people were rushing past.
Song Yu guessed something must have gone wrong. She threw off the covers and sat up without disturbing Wu Yue, then slipped out into the dark and quietly closed the door behind her.
The captain was pounding on the door next to hers, a steady rhythm of dull thuds that made the whole door shake. “Get up, now.”
He finished with that one and moved straight to the next, waking everyone.
“What’s going on?” Song Yu asked, falling in behind him with a frown.
The corridor was narrow. People kept brushing past them half-dressed, bumping Song Yu’s shoulder without apology. She pressed herself against the wall to stay out of the way.
The captain’s face was etched with anxiety. He let out a breathless sigh. “The extreme blizzard hit harder than expected. The ice around the Snowfield Ship is at the icebreaker’s limit already. We have to turn back tonight, so everyone’s going down onto the ice to salvage the equipment.”
Song Yu’s expression grew grave. “I’ll help too.”
The captain waved her off. Despite mobilizing the whole ship, he still took a moment to reassure her. “No need. Go back to sleep—you’d just get in the way down there.”
Song Yu considered it. With her skills and stamina, not being a burden would be the best she could do. She didn’t push.
The walkie-talkie in the captain’s chest pocket crackled with static, followed by a man’s voice.
“We need more hands at the meteorological station.”
The transmission distorted the sound a little, but Song Yu recognized Pei Zhi right away. His low, pleasant tone carried an uncharacteristic edge of urgency.
The captain grabbed the walkie-talkie and keyed it. “Roger,” he replied crisply.
He kept rousing people down the corridor, this time switching to heavy thumps on the doors.
Song Yu leaned against the wall and glanced out through the round porthole. Outside was pitch-black night.
The window was completely frosted over, ice creeping from the frame to the center like a thick layer of sandblasted glass. Beyond that, nothing but endless darkness.
She pressed her lips together as a vague unease stirred in her chest.
After knocking on a few more doors, the captain keyed the walkie-talkie again. “Support’s on the way. What’s the situation now?”
Static hissed back.
Before anyone could respond, a massive crash echoed—like something enormous hitting the ground. Even the earth trembled, and they felt the vibration inside the ship.
The walkie-talkie went dead.
The captain’s face hardened. He kept hailing them repeatedly.
After a while, still no answer.
His brows furrowed, his expression darkening as he clutched the walkie-talkie without letting go.
“Roger,” he repeated.
Song Yu’s heart clenched, gripped like a vise. She fixed her gaze on the captain, waiting for a reply from the other end.
Those one or two minutes dragged on unbearably.
Finally, static crackled again—from another channel.
A stranger’s voice came through, frantic and rushed. “The meteorological station collapsed.”
The ice station’s meteorological station towered over thirty meters high. The danger of it coming down didn’t bear thinking about.
The captain fired back immediately. “Anyone hurt? What about Captain Pei?”
“No idea—the snowstorm’s too fierce—”
The voice strained to shout over the howling gale.
“Captain Pei’s at the meteorological station. Can’t see a thing.”