Leaving Zige's company, I went to the supermarket and bought a dozen refrigerant boxes, instant noodles, canned food, mineral water, medicine, biscuits, and chewing gum. After tidying everything up, I drove back home. I placed the refrigerant into the fridge and took out all the ice cubes from the freezer, packing them into individual Ziploc bags, sealing them carefully. It was the early summer of July, and the weather felt stiflingly humid. I didn’t turn off the car engine; the air conditioning stayed on the entire time. Concerned that Xiahe's body might decay more quickly in the heat, I hopelessly carried those ice packs to the car, opened the yellow bag, and placed the ice packs as much as possible around Xiahe's body. Her face had already taken on a waxen tone, and small coin-sized brownish livor mortis had started appearing on her calves. <br><br>I fetched a basin of water and gently wiped her body clean with a soft towel, carefully touching her beautiful form one last time. I then turned the car’s air conditioning to its coldest setting. The car had been running all this time to keep cooling. Thankfully, the house was a standalone villa, with a private garage accessible only to me. This way, I wouldn't alarm or disturb anyone else. <br><br>I placed the refrigerant in position and wrapped Xiahe's bag with a thick quilt, hoping the lower temperature might slow the air’s erosion of her body. <br><br>I spoke to the car, “Xiahe, once I’ve arranged everything, we’ll go. Just wait a little.” <br><br>I returned to the house and sat in the tearoom on the second floor. Outside the window, the river roared with surging water, a clear sign of heavy rain upstream. My mind vaguely recalled the inexplicably flashing car lights in the parking lot earlier this afternoon. Taking out my phone, I instinctively searched “Where is Sichuan License Plate V from?” Several results appeared on Baidu: Sichuan License Plate V – Ganzi Tibetan Autonomous Prefecture. A small headline caught my attention: “Sichuan License Plate V XXXX took me to Seda Sky Burial Platform.” <br><br>Seda has a Sky Burial Platform. My first thought was: Should I go to Seda? When I saw these vaguely searched words, I seemed to hear Xiahe’s voice in my ear: “Yichuan, I am a stolen Happiness Flower. Take me back.” <br><br>Why did the lights flash? Was it you, Xiahe, telling me you wanted to return to your Shangri-La? Okay, where is Seda? I’ll take you back there. <br><br>I opened navigation on my phone, input “Seda.” Distance: 980 kilometers. Alright, alright, we’ll go to Seda. No need to overthink it now. Once we’re there, a way forward will surely present itself. <br><br>Exhaustion overwhelmed me. In my heart, I thought: Magician, I’ll set out to sea with you on Monday! <br><br>Closing my eyes, I slouched against the red linen sofa. This tearoom had a classical nanmu tea table paired with Mediterranean-style fabric couches. Two walls of the room were adorned with six-meter-tall floor-to-ceiling glass windows, draped with white linen curtains. Next to the tea table were three tree stumps, each half a meter in diameter, stacked with over a thousand CDs and various books. The sound system was on the left side of the tea table. I pulled out a Debussy piano piece and placed it into the CD player. I needed a brief rest for the long journey ahead. <br><br>This day felt unbearably long. If time were a line and each day a notch, could I theoretically derive infinite moments by microscopically dividing each notch? Could I? <br><br>I was so tired. Learning how to handle problems like an adult is exhausting. I truly felt drained! Slowly, I fell asleep to the music. <br><br>At 12:25, I checked the clock again. Only five minutes had passed since I woke up, yet it felt like I had relived an entire lifetime. Time and memory are such contradictory concepts. Sometimes, I can’t distinguish how the rigid rationality of time is perceived as either long or short, while fragmented, chaotic memories detail my experiences more lucidly. Which one truly holds my yesterday? <br><br>Turning off the music, I went to the bathroom and took off all my clothes. I turned on the hot water. Standing under the shower, the hot water stimulated my cold, numbed heart. I scrubbed my body vigorously with laundry soap, feeling as though the grime had seeped so deep that my skin couldn’t breathe. That stench of death—I scrubbed it all away. I had to survive; I must survive! <br><br>I put on a pair of jeans, a white short-sleeve T-shirt, and a thin blue hooded jacket. I packed a thermal jacket, a scarf, and other essentials into my black backpack: long pants, long-sleeve T-shirts, a scarf, a hat, sunglasses, tea, a Sichuan map, various medicines, CDs, and Xiahe’s silk handkerchief embroidered with a Happiness Flower. Taking my small square cloth, I carefully wrapped it and placed everything neatly into the bag. <br><br>I gazed outside the window at the drizzling rain. This kind of invisible rain always felt tender and unending. I wondered how long this journey would take and whether I’d be able to return to this home. Who would be the next person to open this room? <br><br>This was a standalone villa by the Jialing River, a three-story house with a basement, a 200-square-meter garden, and a 6-meter-high living room with panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows. I looked at the verdant green of the garden outside. Earlier this year, Xiahe and I planted Huangjiao Trees in the yard, which were untimely turning yellow and shedding leaves. Xiahe had once told me that Huangjiao Trees were peculiar—they would treat their transplanting time as their spring. They would sprout then, as if their seasons were dictated by their own will. They lived in their own world, indifferent to everything else. Their yellow leaves, in the heat of summer, appeared abrupt, just like how I seemed out of place amidst the bustling world. <br><br>I closed all the windows and doors of the house and drew the fine white linen curtains. Sitting by the tea altar, I lit The Aroma of Nature incense in the censer. The unique scent, imbued with the crispness of the highlands, boldly swept through my senses. I hoped that one day, when I or someone else reopened this room, we’d be greeted by this comforting smell. <br><br>Grabbing the car keys, I turned off all the lights in the house. In the darkness, I silently closed the door. Entering the garage, I got into the car. Being alone, the spacious car felt empty. I turned on the headlights, inserted my favorite The Maestro Paganini CD, shifted into drive, and slowly drove out of the deserted house. <br><br>The journey begins, Xiahe! )
