Sana ran a modest ranch not far from the wooden cabin where they were staying.
Since they were guests in someone else’s home, Song Yu rummaged through her scant luggage before heading out. She selected a brand-new linen shawl she had never worn and presented it to Sana’s wife, Lilya.
They set off before nightfall. Long before they reached the wooden cabin where Sana’s family lived, Song Yu caught the tantalizing aroma of food wafting from outside, trailing up from the chimney along with wisps of white smoke.
Sana had been waiting at the window early on. Spotting the two figures approaching from afar, he stepped out the door to greet them.
Originally home to a family of five, Sana’s cabin was considerably larger than theirs, boasting three extra rooms. Two of those stood empty now, as Sana’s two eldest children had moved out to live in the city.
His youngest son, Jay, was ten years old this year and attended the village’s only primary school.
The school let out at two in winter, but the little guy was a playful sort. He didn’t head home until dusk, which left Lilya fuming. She scolded him relentlessly until Pei Zhi and the others arrived.
Spotting a chance to escape his mother’s nagging, Jay perked up at once. The head he had been drooping in feigned remorse lifted high, his young face lighting up with visible delight.
At dinner, the four adults sat at the table with one child in tow.
Lilya’s cooking was exceptional, and Song Yu hadn’t had a proper meal in days. She tucked in with gusto, her head down and focused solely on her plate.
Pei Zhi, by contrast, had little appetite for the food. It felt no different from his usual bread. Once he reached about seventy percent full, he set down his chopsticks and chatted idly with Sana.
Song Yu couldn’t follow their conversation or join in, but Lilya was thoughtful. She kept serving her dishes and communicating through gestures and expressions, ensuring Song Yu didn’t feel out of place.
Perhaps because they had guests, the usual little rascal Jay behaved himself at the table for once. He picked a seat next to Song Yu and quietly shoveled his rice.
“Eat a little less,” Pei Zhi said as he finished his meal. Jay tugged him toward the living room to play, but Pei Zhi issued the reminder before leaving.
Song Yu’s mouth was stuffed full. She mumbled softly, “Got it.” Even as she said so, she speared another slice of frozen fish with her fork—her actions speaking louder than her words.
It wasn’t the best etiquette to keep eating nonstop at someone else’s house, but with the thought of returning to daily bread, she lingered at the table far longer than usual.
It wasn’t a lack of ingredients; neither she nor Pei Zhi knew how to cook. Pei Zhi simply wasn’t picky—he ate anything just to fill his stomach.
Lilya, as the gracious hostess, was delighted instead. Seeing how much Song Yu enjoyed her cooking, she sliced even more frozen fish for her.
Frozen fish slices were a specialty of Oymyakon: thin cuts of freshly caught frozen fish eaten raw, bursting with fresh flavor.
Little Jay dragged a gun out from Sana’s room.
The gun was heavy, and dragging it took effort. The stock bumped the floor repeatedly.
Sana lounged lazily on the sofa, glancing at it from the corner of his eye. He had already removed the bullets, so he paid it little mind. He only drawled casually, “Be careful. Don’t scratch the floor.”
He had no desire to deal with Lilya in a rage over her son.
“Uncle Pei Zhi, let’s race to disassemble and reassemble the gun.”
In the village, the sooner a child learned to handle a gun, the sooner they could join their father on hunting trips.
Jay was still young, but hunter’s blood ran in his veins, filling him with an innate longing for the hunt.
The school playroom had a toy gun for the kids, and Jay was the fastest at taking it apart and putting it back together.
Sana usually played with him, but they were both tired of it. Happy for the break, Sana volunteered, “You two compete. I’ll time you.”
Pei Zhi rose from the sofa, skirted the coffee table, and joined Jay on the rug.
“How do we do it?” he asked.
Jay explained, “Time for disassembling and reassembling added together. Shortest time wins.”
No need to take it too seriously against a kid. Pei Zhi took his time disassembling the gun, unhurried and without any urgency. He even seemed to dawdle, as if deliberately going easy.
“One minute fifteen seconds,” Sana announced.
Jay’s face lit up at the number. He was sure he had it in the bag.
The little guy knelt on the floor, scooting his knees forward a bit. His smallish hands rested on the stock.
While Jay worked on disassembling, Pei Zhi settled back onto the sofa.
Sana nudged him with an elbow, teasing, “You seem to enjoy humoring kids. Not thinking of having one of your own?” As he spoke, Sana glanced toward the dining room.
Pei Zhi followed his gaze to Song Yu, still head down over her meal, her cheeks puffed out like a little hamster’s—as if she hadn’t eaten in days.
He shook his head with a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Dealing with her is enough of a handful.”
Sana shrugged, not taking it too seriously. “You’ll want one naturally after you get married.”
In the tone of someone who had been there, he added, “Lilya and I were the same before we married. We just wanted to enjoy ourselves together.”
Pei Zhi withdrew his gaze and pressed his lips together lightly.
A moment passed.
Only then did he speak softly, “We might not get married.”
Sana blinked in surprise. “Why not?”
Pei Zhi’s eyes lowered slightly, his dark pupils unfocused, as if lost in thought.
Back on the plane, Song Yu’s words had hung between them. Though they had tacitly avoided the topic and let it drop, Pei Zhi knew better. Song Yu was someone who chased immediate gratification.
From savoring her favorite dishes first at meals to impulsively flying across the world to Oymyakon on a whim—she did everything for the thrill of the moment. Whether that thrill would last, though, was anyone’s guess.
At first, Pei Zhi had been angry because her words showed a lack of trust in their relationship.
But in their days alone in Oymyakon, he had ample time to reflect. In the end, he realized it was his own lack of confidence.
He wasn’t particularly fun or patient, his temper only so-so, and he spent most of the year drifting from place to place.
When Song Yu said she lacked confidence in her ability to keep liking him forever, she wasn’t entirely wrong.
Pei Zhi’s mouth quirked faintly, and he let out a quiet sigh. “I’ve come to terms with it.”
Whatever came later could wait.
If Song Yu only wanted to live in the moment, he would see it through. When the kid grew bored, he would leave cleanly.
“How’d I do? How’d I do?”
By the time they finished talking, Jay had already disassembled the gun.
Sana snapped back to attention, realizing he had forgotten to time it amid their chat. He cleared his throat lightly and threw out a number shorter than Pei Zhi’s: “One minute five seconds.”
Jay whooped and bounced up from the floor, ecstatic.
His face full of smug triumph, the little guy sprawled across the coffee table, butt in the air as he leaned in close to the two adults.
“Lucky Sis is so pretty. If Uncle Pei doesn’t marry her, I’ll do it when I grow up.”
Jay had apparently overheard their adult conversation at some point.
Pei Zhi leaned in and flicked the boy’s forehead with his thumb and forefinger.
“In your dreams.”
Jay yelped in pain, clutching the back of his head with both hands. Indignantly, he huffed, “Hmph, I’m better at disassembling guns than you!”
“We aren’t done yet,” Pei Zhi said, returning to the rug.
“Sana, time me.”
Sana shook his head with a faint smile. His youngest was really asking for it.
He checked his watch. “On your mark.”
Though Pei Zhi had gone easy on Jay earlier, his total time for disassembly and reassembly still beat Jay’s by a wide margin. He won without question.
Jay was a sore loser. The moment he heard he’d lost, his mouth puckered like a duck’s bill, and he burst into loud wails.
The noise gave Sana a throbbing headache. He scolded, “Crying after losing? Serves you right for picking a fight!”
Even as Song Yu and Pei Zhi left, tears still clung to Jay’s eyes. He sniffled and grumbled the whole time.
Pei Zhi, however, acted as if nothing had happened—calm and guilt-free.
Back at the cabin that evening, the room had grown chilly after their full day out. Even rekindling the firewood didn’t warm it up right away.
It was still early, and Song Yu had no desire to turn in yet. She dragged the blanket out, wrapped herself in it, and sprawled lazily on the sofa.
Pei Zhi boiled some hot water and poured her a cup.
Song Yu took it with a thank you.
Her laptop rested on her knees as she imported the day’s photos.
“Make some room,” Pei Zhi said.
The cabin’s sofa was small, just big enough for two. Song Yu was stretched out horizontally, hogging space for both.
She shifted slightly, freeing up a spot.
Once Pei Zhi sat down, Song Yu naturally leaned against him.
His chest was broad and warm. He wrapped one arm around her waist while reaching with the other for a book on the side table. He read quietly on his own.
Even without talking, each absorbed in their own task, the atmosphere felt perfectly harmonious.
Song Yu flipped through the day’s photos one by one. Plenty were duds, but she couldn’t bear to delete any and kept them all.
She scrolled to the end, and the album looped back to the first image.
On the screen, the vast white expanse had given way to lush green rainforest, thick and verdant.
Song Yu paused, then nudged Pei Zhi with her elbow. “Want to see some earlier photos?”
Pei Zhi’s gaze fell on the screen, the dense jungle evoking a sense of another lifetime.
He closed his book. “Go ahead.”
Song Yu’s finger tapped the keyboard rhythmically, cycling through the images.
The photos captured many places.
One showed the farm where the film crew had stayed, nestled amid towering groves of dense palm trees.
That was a photo Song Yu had taken when she first arrived in the rainforest. To her, everything there felt fresh and new, so she had snapped pictures of countless scenes.
The next photo showed a view from the second floor of the farm, looking out into the pitch-black rainforest, illuminated only by a ring of red firelight.
The one after that captured an arrow embedded in the wall.
The wooden arrowhead had been sharpened to a deadly point and was buried deep in the wood, its fletching adorned with feathers.