Four days prior. The afternoon of January 18th.
After burying Ling Yechen’s body and scattering the final scoop of earth, Jing Lan cast aside the shovel. He then collapsed onto the disordered mound of soil, his body wracked with silent sobs.
Under normal circumstances, the sudden demise of a companion, and the profound shock and sorrow stemming from life’s fragility, would undoubtedly be enough to plunge one into unbearable grief, leaving them unable to find peace for a long time.
Yet, the cruel, heart-searing agony that consumed Jing Lan at this moment had another origin entirely. It was an old wound, one he had tried to bury for years, now resurfacing with renewed intensity.
Jing Lan would never forget that summer vacation during his first year of high school, when he spoke to his mother for the very last time on the phone, informing her of his decision to pursue a humanities track. Shortly thereafter, she vanished into a deep cavern at a research site.
Even now, Jing Lan vividly remembered that final call.
“Even with how good you are at biology, you still don’t want to follow in Mommy’s footsteps? Ah, well, never mind. I hear it’s tough to find a job in biology these days, and Lanlan probably isn’t as clever as Mommy…”
“Is there truly a mother in this world who thinks her son is dumber than she is?”
“Hahaha, just kidding! Mommy knows what you’re really interested in. You want to research anime girls, right? Just follow your heart. After all, Grandpa and Grandma really wanted Mommy to become a doctor back then, and Grandpa’s favorite saying was…”
“Ah, don’t say it every single time!”
His mother, a moderately renowned outdoor scholar in academic circles, specialized in researching rare and uncommon creatures found in every corner of the world.
She had even discovered two new species during her career: a new type of mushroom and a small fish.
Whenever the topic arose, his mother would invariably say, “What’s so impressive about that? Nabokov, your favorite author, studied butterflies as an amateur and even discovered the ‘Nabokov’s Blue.’ See, a great writer’s hobby projects are half as significant as my professional work. *Those* are the true geniuses.”
“I never said I liked Nabokov, did I?” Jing Lan replied.
“But you like petite, cute girls, don’t you? Nabokov was, in fact, the earliest coiner of the term ‘loli’…” His mother beamed with pride. She had once discovered Jing Lan looking at some rather suggestive small art pieces. After all, she was an ancient otaku, having fallen into the rabbit hole around 2002.
“Huh?”
…In any case, recalling his past with his mother now, all that came to mind were humorous and heartwarming scenes. Back then, Jing Lan would never have even considered what might happen if his mother were to leave him one day.
Perhaps, deep down in their hearts, mother and son shared an unspoken understanding.
His mother’s work frequently took her deep into the wilderness, scaling snowy mountains, venturing into swamps, and exploring the most perilous deep caverns. The southern regions of their homeland boasted numerous deep caves worthy of exploration, and his mother harbored a particular fondness for studying them. On one occasion, for Jing Lan’s birthday, her gift was a complete set of the manga *Made in Abyss*.
His mother had expressed her admiration for the manga’s protagonist, Riko. To walk towards the gaping maw of the abyss with the purest of motivations—she believed that was an incredibly romantic notion.
Reflecting on it now, perhaps his mother had, consciously or unconsciously, been preparing for a tragic end in the subtle nuances of her life.
For an entire summer after his mother vanished into the deep cavern, Jing Lan waited for her return—not with the desperate hope of a slim chance, but with an unwavering, absolute conviction.
Though his mother appeared a somewhat delicate woman, even shorter than Keke, her colleagues consistently described her as an experienced scientific researcher. Her wilderness survival skills and physical endurance for long treks were both exceptional. Jing Lan simply couldn’t believe his mother would truly abandon him.
More crucially, should the worst-case scenario truly come to pass, Jing Lan felt he could never accept it. The mere contemplation of such a possibility filled him with overwhelming dread. He simply chose not to entertain the thought.
It wasn’t until almost the end of that year that Jing Lan finally accepted the fact of his mother’s sacrifice.
As a scientific researcher, his mother had often emphasized the importance of companions to Jing Lan. While his reserved nature meant he didn’t have many friends, he had always striven to embody the attitude his mother demanded towards his comrades.
Sincerity, responsibility, and, when necessary, even pledging one’s life.
His mother had also spoken of Mr. Oates from Scott’s Antarctic Expedition—a figure commemorated in *Departure Songs*, the instrumental rock album Ling Yechen cherished.
“This is the spirit a true explorer should possess.” His mother had remarked on Mr. Oates, “People nowadays often believe that those who maintain rationality and adhere to realism will inevitably become more selfish. In fact, the opposite is true: rationality can foster genuine courage and selflessness.”
Jing Lan vaguely recalled his mother perhaps having said something to the effect: ‘Parents will eventually leave you; you must find those who are truly important to you yourself.’
And now, beneath the mound of earth before him, lay buried a companion he had once held in such immense regard.
A sudden panic seized Jing Lan. He abruptly realized that Ling Yechen might never have understood the profound significance she held for him, not even in death.
Perhaps Ling Yechen believed those countless nights spent gaming and chatting with Jing Lan were merely a form of mutual comfort and recreation. She might have, time and again, silently thanked her seniors for accompanying a fellow who suffered from depression.
Yet, Ling Yechen’s punctual morning greetings in the band’s small group chat likely served as an immensely crucial source of motivation for Jing Lan. He was far less resilient than Ling Yechen had ever imagined.
Even if Ling Yechen’s companionship and daily greetings over the past two years were merely a small gesture, they absolutely warranted a thank you from him. Now, however, Jing Lan had lost that chance.
Why did everyone who was kind to him have to leave him this way? His mother, Lui Si, whose fate now seemed grim, and this companion who had died by his own hand…
Now, only Keke remained. That wild girl wouldn’t die so easily; he *had* to save her.
If Keke were to also… A shiver ran through Jing Lan.
Leaving Ling Yechen’s humble grave, Jing Lan proceeded on foot—the car had run out of fuel.
A question surfaced in his mind.
‘Why do I always rely on others to live?’
‘I can clearly live perfectly well on my own, so why do I always, uncontrollably, deem others so important? Why do I constantly yearn for someone to be by my side? Why am I so afraid of solitude? Even when I arm myself with knowledge and physical prowess, gazing upon an empty wilderness, dwelling within it alone, I am always, inevitably, buried by a profound fear.’
Such profound reflections would not linger, even if these questions might resurface repeatedly in the future.
Jing Lan knew he was nearing his destination.
The Bailu Reservoir. Situated in the suburbs of Mingshui City, the autonomous prefecture’s capital, this reservoir had seen the development of tourist attractions in recent years. While not yet a bustling hotspot, it had already captured the attention of numerous seasoned travelers.
Crucially, popular tourist spots were precisely where one couldn’t go now. During winter, southern attractions, though popular, were undoubtedly swarming with mutated zombie tourists.
Of course, Jing Lan’s true objective, one he had planned long ago, was the seaplane equipped for the Bailu Reservoir’s seaplane sightseeing tour.