At first light, Mr. Egg was off the heated brick bed and out of the dilapidated temple before me. It didn't take a genius to figure out he was checking the traps he'd set the night before. Unfortunately for him, it was a fool's errand. In less than half a minute, he was back, dragging his feet and looking utterly defeated.

　　Stretching, I asked the question I already knew the answer to: "Well? Any luck?"

　　"Don't even ask! That crafty little pheasant didn't go near the traps, but the bait's all gone!"

　　"Hahaha! I told you not to mess with it! Serves you right! Hahaha!"

　　"What's so funny? How does my failure benefit you?"

　　"At least we're not breaking any laws! Hah!"

　　"Hmph!" Mr. Egg curled his lip in disdain, shot me a "No spine" comment, and turned away to change his clothes.

　　Still amused, I walked outside, intending to examine his trap setup. To my surprise, I found the little pheasant had left a complete circle of footprints around the temple, as if in direct mockery. For a moment, I could almost hear its jeering call on the wind: "Heh! Foolish humans!"

　　With our gear mostly packed, I noticed a good amount of firewood still stacked by the wall. I decided to boil the remaining cold water—to prepare a hot breakfast and replenish our drinking supply.

　　"Hinson, what are you doing?" Mr. Egg hurried over, stopping me as I was shoving a large armful of wood into the stove.

　　"Boiling water. What's wrong?"

　　"That little water isn't worth all that fuel! Leave some for others!" With that, he pulled more than half the sticks back out of the fire and neatly restacked them against the wall. "Hinson, fuel is precious. If someone gets lost and needs shelter here, that wood could save a life. Don't be so wasteful again."

　　"Oh... right." Thoroughly chastised, my face burning with shame, I went back to fixing breakfast without another word.

　　When we finally set off, the sun was just cradled by the eastern ridge. We moved slowly up towards the mountain crest, massaging our sore backs and legs. A bitter wind swept through, startling vast flocks of birds from the forest and injecting a surge of vitality into the stark, silent wilderness.

　　Our luck held. The sky was brilliantly clear, offering superb visibility, even if the wind on the ridge was strong. For the Qinling Mountains in winter, this was as perfect a day as one could hope for.

　　"Look! The Qinling!" Mr. Egg threw his arms wide, his shout a embrace of the layered, overlapping peaks.

　　I smiled into the radiant dawn, turning to gaze in every direction. Majestic mountains stretched across the horizon, vast, cloud-filled valleys shimmered with color. Everything was white—snow clung to the pines and clung to the cliffs, a hawk's wings cried against the wind, and the sky was an endless, perfect blue.

　　"Mr. Egg, I have a feeling. We'll find something today!"

　　"Funny, I was just thinking the same!" His voice was thick with joy and anticipation. "Better put your snow goggles on now, unless you want to be struck snow-blind."

　　"Alright."

　　On the broad ridge, we moved side by side in our snow goggles, keeping a sharp eye out for any possible place mushrooms might grow.

　　"Mr. Egg, this ridge is as flat as a pancake. There's not a single tree. How could anything grow here?"

　　"I'm stumped too! But the ranger insisted he saw it right up on the ridge. Can't figure out the science behind it."

　　"With this much snow, wouldn't it be buried?"

　　"Logically, yes." Mr. Egg adjusted his goggles. "But the ranger made a point of telling me the area around the mushroom stays clear of snow."

　　"Huh? It melts the snow?"

　　"Not necessarily. Might be growing near a geothermal spot or something."

　　Geothermal? On the Qinling ridge line? I continued searching, puzzled, when the path ahead suddenly opened up.

　　"Why is this ridge so wide?" I stood in the center of the nearly hundred-meter-wide expanse, feeling like I was on a giant platform.

　　"Most Qinling ridges are like this. Masterpiece of the Quaternary glaciation."

　　"Quaternary glaciation? Glacial erosion landforms?"

　　"Exactly! That glacial event planed off a huge chunk of the mountains. The spot you're standing on now would have been deep inside the mountain tens of thousands of years ago. Oh, you know those alpine lakes on Taibai Mountain? They're glacial leftovers too."

　　"Taibai Mountain... you mean Daye Lake?"

　　"Right on!" Mr. Egg exhaled heavily, a large plume of white vapor forming around his mouth. "And Erye Lake, Sanye Lake, Jade Emperor Pool... all glacial lakes. One summer, Taibai got hit with days of torrential rain. All the lakes merged into one massive body of water—a true 'sea' on the mountain!"

　　"My God... If someone had been hiking the Aotai traverse then, they'd have been in deep trouble, wouldn't they?"

　　"You bet! And as it happened, there weretwo guys on the Aotai during that storm. One of them died in his tent—hypothermia. When the rescue team found him, all his gear was soaked through. He had no way to retain body heat."

　　"Froze to death... in summer?"

　　"Hypothermia! Doesn't have to be winter. The 5 to 15°C range is the real danger zone outdoors. At those temps, people get careless about staying dry and warm. That guy was on an exposed ridge, over 3,000 meters up. Night temps there in summer are brutally low, and with wet gear... well." He sighed. "A tragic, avoidable mistake."

　　"What about the other guy? You said there were two."

　　"He was the deceased's teammate. He stopped and set up camp as soon as the heavy rain started. But the other guy wouldn't listen, insisted on pushing forward... paid for it with his life. I always say, in the outdoors, the cowardly live longer!"

　　"Two went in, one came out... I bet the survivor quit for good."

　　"Yeah," Mr. Egg sighed heavily. "I heard from the rescuers that the survivor burned all his gear outside the park's rescue station. Swore he'd never touch the outdoors again."

　　"Mr. Egg... you've got to stay safe, okay? I don't want to burn my gear—this stuff's expensive!" I put on an exaggeratedly mournful face, purely to mess with him.

　　Mr. Egg turned to me, vapor puffing angrily from his mouth and nostrils like he was about to combust. Finally, he hissed a single, icy word through clenched teeth: "Screw you!"

　　"Fine, fine! I'm screwing off right now... Whoa! Pheasant!" A casual glance over my shoulder happened to catch a small, white-feathered pheasant casually strolling across the snow.

　　"Holy crap, it's the one from last night! I'd recognize that bird in my grave!" Mr. Egg's shout startled the pheasant, sending it scrambling for escape.

　　Seeing it run, Mr. Egg immediately gave chase. But the thing could fly! Laden with heavy snowshoes and a massive backpack, there was no way he could catch it. The little bird was downright malicious, leading him in circles on the snow, clearly mocking him.

　　"You sneaky little devil! Take this!" Mr. Egg hurled his trekking pole like a javelin. The throw had power, but his aim was hopeless. The pole tip landed in the snow a country mile away from its intended target.

　　"Hinson, don't just stand there watching, help!"

　　"Coming!" I called back, picking up his trekking pole for him.

　　"I meant help me catch the bird!" Mr. Egg's face was purple with frustration.

　　"Give it up! You'll never catch it!"

　　"I won't!" Once Mr. Egg's stubbornness kicked in, not even ten mules could hold him back. He was determined to get that pheasant.

　　"You're going to sweat soon, and then you'll risk hypothermia! I don't want to have to go burn my gear, it's expensive!"

　　The moment Mr. Egg heard "hypothermia," he froze. I thought the farce was finally over, but then he murmured darkly, "Then just don't burn your gear."

　　"Ugh!" I spat in his direction, disgusted. "Everyone who goes out comes back. That's a creed I've strictly followed since I started exploring the outdoors. Don't you dare mess with that!"

　　"Hahahaha! Hinson, you're too precious!" Mr. Egg doubled over, clutching his stomach with laughter.

　　I had no idea what was so funny. Honestly, it was annoying—a grown man constantly being called "precious" by him. I didn't know whether to be pleased or worried.

　　"Let's go. The professor will let it go... only because our dear Hinson's gear is so expensive!" Mr. Egg took his trekking pole back from me and swaggered off ahead.

　　Seeing we'd lost interest, the mischievous little pheasant began strutting and prancing openly on the snow. But I knew it hadn't let its guard down. It maintained a safe distance, turning its head to watch us every now and then.

　　Mr. Egg and I searched the ridge for a long time but found no trace of the mushroom. As noon approached, the sea of clouds between the mountains didn't dissipate; instead, it began to churn and surge. Its fuzzy edges occasionally swept over the peaks with the force of crashing white waves. Even the previously bold little pheasant seemed to sense something. It grew vigilant, looking around anxiously and letting out harsh, noisy calls from time to time.

　　"Big wind's coming!" Mr. Egg stopped and scanned the ridge. "We'll walk five more minutes. Found or not, we're getting off this ridgeline."

　　"Mr. Egg, look over there!"

　　I pointed to a small, snow-free patch of rocky ground. I thought I saw a faint hint of blue in the middle. Remembering what the ranger had said, we immediately hurried toward it. The little pheasant seemed to catch on to our intention and flapped its wings, flying toward the same spot. Before we could get close, we saw the bird pecking furiously at something on the ground, its head bobbing like a piston.

　　"Oh my God! It's the Luminescent Gel Mushroom!" I shouted, rushing forward, hoping to snatch the rare find from the pheasant's beak. Unexpectedly, Mr. Egg, lagging behind at first, moved with surprising speed. Dragging his snowshoes, he lunged past me in a few strides and caught the little pheasant!

　　The bird, however, seemed possessed, stubbornly refusing to let go of its "treasure." If the mushroom weren't so large, it would have been swallowed whole! While Mr. Egg restrained the struggling bird, I risked a peck and pried the half-eaten mushroom from its beak. I held it up for a closer look.

　　The mushroom was truly bizarre. Not only was it translucent, but it also had a gelatinous, jelly-like texture. Its shape resembled a common shiitake, but it was easily more than twice the size. Cupping it in my palm, I turned my back to the sun and peered through my fingers. Sure enough, a faint, pale blue luminescence clung to the cap and stem. It was a shame half the cap was now in the pheasant's stomach; it would have been much more impressive intact.

　　"Hah! Got you now, you little thief! I'll teach you a lesson you won't forget!" Mr. Egg growled, pinning the bird with one hand while forcefully spanking its rear end with the other. The poor little pheasant squawked in protest, a sound that filled me with equal parts amusement and exasperation.

　　"Had enough, you little bandit?!" Mr. Egg snarled, pointing a threatening finger at its head, spraying tiny droplets of spit.

　　The defiant bird seized its chance and pecked hard at Mr. Egg's gloved finger, making him yelp in pain. If not for the glove, it might have drawn blood. Even so, Mr. Egg held on tight—until the pheasant deposited a splatter of white droppings on his boot.

　　"God damn it! You—you—you little... you've got some nerve!"

　　"Hahahaha! Birds have a direct gut; what goes in comes right out. Don't take it personally, Mr. Egg!"

　　"Whose side are you on?!" Mr. Egg shot me a glare so fierce I could feel the murderous intent through his snow goggles.

　　"This'll teach you! And this!" Mr. Egg delivered two more smacks to the pheasant's behind, finally subduing it. Seeing the little bird's dejected, defeated look seemed to quell Mr. Egg's anger. He gave its head a rough pat and finally released it.

　　"Not having chicken tonight?" I teased with a grin.

　　"Never planned to. It's a Class II protected species, after all. A lesson was enough."

　　True to form, Mr. Egg wasn't one to break the law, even if his methods were hilariously childish for a man his age.

　　"Here, keep it safe." I walked over and handed him the mutilated Luminescent Gel Mushroom.

　　"Huh? Half of it's gone? Eaten by that little thief?"

　　"Yep." I nodded, glancing in the direction the pheasant had fled. Thankfully, it was already long gone, far beyond Mr. Egg's reach.

　　"Little thief!" Mr. Egg gnashed his teeth, probably regretting not turning the bird into soup.

　　"Just the one?" I scanned the ground but found no other mushrooms. I reached down to feel the earth; it didn't feel particularly warm or geothermal.

　　"It's enough. One is plenty." Mr. Egg set down his pack, pulled out a professional-looking small glass container, and gently placed the mushroom inside.

　　"Mission accomplished?"

　　"Mission accomplished!"

　　The wind picked up, blowing away the stray feathers stuck to Mr. Egg. We descended below the treeline and began moving quickly back the way we came, hoping to reach our starting point before dark and drive home through the night.

　　However, plans rarely survive contact with reality. Especially in the unpredictable Qinling Mountains, where any manner of misfortune could be waiting. We hadn't gone even a kilometer before a set of tracks blocked our path.

　　"Bear," Mr. Egg said, his expression grim.

　　I measured the paw print with my hand; it was nearly as wide as a bowl. For a bear to be out roaming when it should be hibernating meant only one thing: it hadn't eaten enough in the fall. From what I knew, a bear this desperate for calories in winter could be extremely aggressive. Even humans, not usually on their menu, might be seen as prey. To make matters worse, judging by the claw marks in the prints, the bear was foraging in the same direction we were heading. If we stuck to our original route, a chance encounter was likely.

　　"What do we do?" I turned to Mr. Egg for a decision.

　　"We change direction. Head for the Dawengong Temple scenic area. We'll take the cable car out first thing in the morning."

　　"Is it far?"

　　"Not terribly, but there's significant elevation gain and loss. At our pace, we probably won't arrive until nightfall."