SA | Chapter 30

Snow Mountain Cabin

In an instant, the whole world fell silent. Gu Deng could hear his heart pounding loudly in his chest.

“I…” he hesitated to speak.

“Shh,” Zhang Li pressed a finger to his lips and said, “You don’t have to answer me right away. Just listen to me first.”

Gu Deng licked his dry lips and nodded in agreement.

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk about personal stuff with you; I’m just not used to discussing it with others.” Zhang Li lowered his gaze, closed his eyes, and said, “If it weren’t for me, my brother wouldn’t have had an accident.”

Zhang Li told Gu Deng, “Five years ago, my brother and his friends planned to climb Mount McKinley. They prepared for half a year and planned to reach the summit in three weeks. When I found out, I decided to join them. But at that time, I had just returned from filming in Africa and had external injuries.”

Gu Deng frowned, “But you still went?”

“I did,” Zhang Li said, “but I couldn’t reach the summit. I misjudged my physical condition, thinking the injuries wouldn’t affect my climbing. I didn’t expect to develop a fever during the climb, and I had to stop at Camp Three.”

“My brother and his friends continued to the summit. They encountered a snowstorm, and my brother, exhausted, decided to retreat. But I…” Zhang Li took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and said, “I fell asleep and missed his call for help.”

Gu Deng was stunned for a moment, then felt something was off, “You were already feverish and fainted. Why did your brother’s friends expect you to rescue him? Why didn’t they take him down?”

Zhang Li shook his head, “They weren’t a commercial climbing team, just a group of climbing enthusiasts. Everyone had their own goals, and it’s normal for others to continue to the summit when a teammate retreats.”

In short, everyone is an adult, and extreme sports can never be 100% safe. Ultimately, the only person responsible for your life is yourself.

Zhang Li was silent for a while before continuing, “When I woke up and saw the message, it was already four hours later. By the time I found him with the rescue team, ten hours had passed. My brother was lying in the tent, no longer breathing.”

Zhang Li wasn’t good at complaining, and his naturally cold face didn’t show much sadness even at the end. But Gu Deng could sense his sorrow from his tense body and the unusually heavy expression on his face.

No wonder from the first meeting, Zhang Li gave Gu Deng a sense of closeness. Because death had taken away someone important to both of them.

He confided in Zhang Li things even his therapist didn’t know, because he sensed that Zhang Li could understand him.

Gu Deng’s nose felt a bit sour, and he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t bring himself to say things like “It’s okay, everything will get better” because they both knew some things would never truly pass.

Maybe sometimes they could forget and enjoy simple happiness. But in the quiet of the night, the pain would rise like cold air, invading their bodies inch by inch.

But what could they do? What’s done is done, and there’s no turning back. Words are powerless, unable to fully convey his feelings.

Gu Deng didn’t know what to do either. He once pretended everything was fine until he broke down crying by the sea, realizing some things would never go away.

He thought of Zhang Li’s embrace, the night of celebration in the Inuit village, Ali’s chubby cheeks, the eternally shining snow mountains… He thought, maybe the pain wouldn’t completely go away, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t feel happiness again.

Gu Deng gave Zhang Li a strong hug, just like Zhang Li had done for him before.

With the embrace came warmth and breath, and Zhang Li’s body visibly tensed. He had never been held like this—as an absolute weakling.

He was used to helping others but had never sought comfort as a weakling. Zhang Li rested his forehead against Gu Deng’s warm chest, his muscles tense, not daring to reach out. He was like a cornered beast, caught in a fierce struggle.

“It’s not your fault,” Gu Deng soothed, stroking the back of his head, “Zhang Li, don’t blame yourself.”

In the silent void, something collapsed. Zhang Li reached out, hugging Gu Deng’s waist, burying his face in Gu Deng’s chest.

Zhang Li’s actions were fierce and sudden, pushing Gu Deng against the table, even hurting his bones. But Gu Deng said nothing, enduring the pain and patiently accepting Zhang Li’s emotions.

The hug was unbelievably long, and in this moment, Gu Deng thought, even if they weren’t together, even if they eventually parted, he would always remember this scene—under the Alaskan snow mountains, he and Zhang Li had faced their pain and embraced without barriers.

When Zhang Li let go, Gu Deng handed him a handkerchief, but Zhang Li shook his head, saying he didn’t need it.

There were no traces of tears on his face; from beginning to end, Zhang Li hadn’t cried. Being vulnerable in someone else’s arms was all he could do.

Everyone has their way of dealing with emotions, and Gu Deng didn’t say much more.

“I just don’t understand,” Zhang Li suddenly said, “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“What?” Gu Deng asked.

“My brother never told me he was going to climb Mount McKinley.”

Gu Deng immediately understood what Zhang Li was concerned about, or rather, what made him sad. He didn’t have the trust of someone close to him.

From Zhang Li’s perspective, he had been involved in outdoor activities early on, but when his brother had such needs, he didn’t seek his help or even inform him.

“Did you not get along?” Gu Deng could only guess.

Surprisingly, Zhang Li said, “In our family, we got along the best.”

Gu Deng didn’t know what to say either. He pessimistically thought they might never know why he did it.

Humans naturally crave closeness with others, but the paradox is that even the closest people have barriers. Couples, siblings, parents, best friends… Perhaps, a person can never meet someone they can completely resonate with in their lifetime.

Just like him with Zhang Li, even if there were feelings, he had his concerns and worries, hesitant to move forward.

Gu Deng wanted to say something, but when emotions were most complex and intense, words were often the most lacking, often failing to convey the meaning.

The sun gradually moved west, and the cabin fell into knife-like shadows. Gu Deng sat by the window, playing the bone flute given by Sharman.

The mournful flute sound flowed like water, spreading over the glaciers and snow mountains in the evening.

When it ended, Zhang Li made a cup of hot tea and handed it to him. Gu Deng held the titanium cup, took a sip, and heard Zhang Li ask, “So what about you? Why are you unhappy?”

Gu Deng was taken aback, instinctively shaking his head, “I’m not unhappy.”

“After Ali’s grandmother passed away, your mood wasn’t right,” Zhang Li said, “At first, I thought you were sad about your own grandmother, but later I felt it wasn’t just that.”

“I don’t know either,” Gu Deng put down the cup, saying somewhat bewildered, “Honestly, even I don’t fully understand the reasons for my mood changes. I just have this feeling that something’s not right.”

Zhang Li: “What’s not right?”

“It started with Carly’s passing,” Gu Deng frowned, continuing, “Carly had woken up, and we were all happy, including her. But the next day, she was gone. Sharman’s teachings believe in the cycle of life, but I was taught materialism, that when you’re dead, you’re just dead.”

Zhang Li nodded, signaling him to continue.

“I keep wondering, why? Why does it just come and go as it pleases? Taking whoever it wants?”

Gu Deng didn’t explain, but Zhang Li understood that the “it” referred to death.

Gu Deng continued, “And it’s not just Carly, but also my grandmother, and your brother’s passing. These things make me angry. But I can’t find anyone to be angry at. This anger is baseless, more like throwing a tantrum. And then I think, if we’re all going to die anyway, what’s the point of writing songs? Of course, I know that’s not right, but I can’t stop myself from thinking that way.”

“You…” Zhang Li’s throat tightened, reaching out to grab Gu Deng’s wrist, “Don’t think about it.”

“Don’t misunderstand,” Gu Deng shook his head, his gaze becoming firm, “Although I did have similar thoughts before, and I still feel bad sometimes, I’ve decided I won’t commit suicide.”

Zhang Li was stunned, and under his gaze, Gu Deng continued, “Honestly, the passing of these people makes me angry, like I’ve been played. Even though dying might seem like an end to it all, I refuse to die.”

In a way, he was fighting against this annoying feeling. And he would continue to fight.

From the moment Gu Deng started speaking, Zhang Li hadn’t looked away for a second. His eyes held not only relief that Gu Deng chose to live, but also some other, hidden and complex emotions.

Gu Deng had seen similar eyes in his fans, moved by his songs, feeling touched. This was the kind of emotion Gu Deng was most proud of and what most inspired his creativity.

“Speaking of which, I have to thank you,” Gu Deng told Zhang Li, “You made me realize that death isn’t reconciliation; living is resistance.”

Zhang Li closed his eyes, shaking his head, “I should be thanking you.”

Gu Deng smiled, “At times like this, let’s not be polite.”

“It’s not politeness,” Zhang Li looked up at Gu Deng, not hiding his respect, “In my heart, you’ve always been amazing.”

“Then I’ll reluctantly accept that.” Gu Deng chuckled, reaching out to ruffle Zhang Li’s hair.

Zhang Li had recently cut his hair in the village, and it was stiff as hell, poking Gu Deng’s palm like soft thorns. The prickling was a bit painful, but Gu Deng didn’t pull back. Instead, he traced from Zhang Li’s head to his cheek, then pinched Zhang Li’s chiseled chin, leaning down slightly and saying, “Let’s not talk about heavy topics anymore. How about we do something practical?”

Zhang Li raised his eyes, his body a bit tense, “Like what?”

“Like satisfying our physical desires…” Gu Deng leaned in, his nose almost touching Zhang Li’s.

“You…” Zhang Li’s Adam’s apple bobbed heavily, yet he maintained his composure, seriously saying, “Getting intimate at high altitudes can cause altitude sickness. Hold on for now.”

“What are you thinking?” Gu Deng laughed heartily, releasing Zhang Li’s face, “I meant, let’s think about what to eat tonight, satisfy our hunger.”

Zhang Li: “…”

Ten minutes later, Zhang Li returned to the cabin with a bag from the aircraft, placing it on the table in front of Gu Deng, asking, “Braised beef, mushroom chicken stew, soup ribs, or pickled cabbage? Which one do you want?”

The fancy dish names made Gu Deng automatically ignore the oddity of the last one. He was craving, not hungry, just crazily wanting Chinese food. Hearing Zhang Li, he almost drooled.

But he had to maintain his image, pretending to be reserved, “Can I have them all? They’ll spoil by tomorrow, right?”

Zhang Li gave him a look that said, “What are you talking about?” and laid out several plastic bags on the table, “Instant noodles don’t spoil.”

Gu Deng: “…”

“It proves that stingy men are no good,” Gu Deng said with a straight face, pretending to be angry, “Not even together yet, and you’re only feeding me instant noodles.”

Zhang Li thought for two seconds, then stood up, “Should we go back then?”

“No, I want to stay and watch the stars.” Gu Deng said, turning away with a deliberately cold expression.

Gu Deng left the room in one breath, thinking he was acting very convincingly. But he didn’t notice the glass reflection, his hidden smile when he turned away was all caught by Zhang Li.

Gu Deng pretended to wander outside for a bit, calculating the time for Zhang Li to cook the noodles, then wordlessly returned. Inside, a camping lamp was lit, casting warm yellow light, turning the simple cabin into a house from a fairy tale.

In this fairy tale-like atmosphere, Zhang Li turned off the stove and looked up at Gu Deng, “Pickled cabbage noodles, want some?”

“I don’t…” Gu Deng instinctively retorted.

Zhang Li: “I added sausages and beef balls.”

Gu Deng craned his neck to look at the luxurious instant noodle cup, resisting the urge to swallow, “Since you’re insisting, I’ll reluctantly accept.”