In the days leading up to departure, my life fell into a simple loop: classes and part-time work, back and forth between the two. The required courses I’d be missing had to be self-studied in advance, and my work schedule was even more packed than usual—though Mr. Egg had kindly covered my transportation and lodging, I couldn’t very well contribute nothing at all.

　　At times I was so busy I felt like my feet barely touched the ground, rushing through each day as if skimming just above it. Even then, I still had to make time to eat with Sven—otherwise, that girl would have endless complaints.

　　The calendar pages kept flipping, and the departure date crept closer. Sven, meanwhile, grew increasingly uneasy. She said she’d been having the same nightmare over and over: me trapped in a pitch-dark, freezing place, calling out with no answer, unable to reach heaven or earth, before vanishing without a trace—my fate unknown.

　　Not wanting her to worry, I told her I was actually joining an elderly tour group and even showed her our group chat name as proof.

　　Even so, she still couldn’t put her mind at ease and insisted on dragging me to report it to my academic advisor. How could the advisor possibly approve something this dangerous? Left with no other choice, I fibbed, saying I was joining a holiday tour to Nyingchi and might do some hiking along the way. Coincidentally, the advisor was buried in paperwork at the time and didn’t have the energy to interrogate us—he merely made a perfunctory note, reminded me to stay safe, and let the matter drop.

　　On the day of departure, the flight took off right on schedule. Sunlight poured through the cabin window, and the sky was a brilliant blue. I was utterly absorbed in the sea of clouds until Young Master Feng tapped me on the shoulder on behalf of the flight attendant, snapping me back to reality. I asked for a cup of tea.

　　“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

　　“The scenery,” I said, lifting the cup. A sip of green tea moistened my throat, carrying with it a faint hint of mountain mist.

　　Young Master Feng set his drink into the cup holder and lowered his voice. “I know it might not be the best time to say this, but I have a… not very good feeling about this trip.”

　　I straightened slightly and took a breath. “No need to worry about taboos between us. Say whatever’s on your mind.”

　　“It’s not about jinxing anything. I just feel like this trip might not go very smoothly.”

　　“That’s normal,” I replied. “Isn’t the whole point of outdoor trips to keep running into problems—and then solving them? A journey where nothing happens, all calm and uneventful, would be boring.”

　　“Haha, that’s a good mindset! You’re starting to sound like a real leader.”

　　“Do you have something to say or not? If not, I’m going to sleep. I worked until midnight yesterday—dead tired.”

　　“Sleep well. Good afternoon.”

　　Part 2

　　“Hinson, wake up—we’re almost there!”

　　I woke to Young Master Feng’s voice and opened my eyes to look out the window. Beneath thin clouds, the setting sun spilled across a vast landscape of rising peaks and sprawling city blocks. Xining—the capital of Qinghai—truly lived up to its reputation as a highland metropolis. Though not large in scale, it carried the unmistakable bearing of a provincial capital on the plateau.

　　The hotel we’d booked was some distance from the airport, but fortunately Young Master Feng had arranged a car in advance, which took us and our luggage straight there. The moment I stepped out, I spotted Mr. Egg waiting at the hotel entrance from afar and charged over to give him a bear hug.

　　“Whoa! Missed me that much?”

　　“How could I not? If it weren’t for your funding, I wouldn’t even be able to afford the flight!”

　　“Hah, at least you’ve got a conscience! Hey—” Mr. Egg frowned, giving me a thorough once-over. “You’ve lost a lot of weight.”

　　“Starving,” I said half-jokingly.

　　“You! Since when do you start bargaining with your own stomach? Tonight, this professor is treating you to a proper meal!”

　　“Thank you, Mr. Egg!”

　　“Oh, give it a rest! All you do is mess with me!” Mr. Egg laughed, pushing me aside as his gaze shifted behind me.

　　“Hinson, this must be Young Master Feng?”

　　“Yep!” I said, enthusiastically making the introductions.

　　Mr. Egg shook Young Master Feng’s hand, smiling broadly. “Come on, Lao Dao is waiting in the lobby!”

　　With a hint of anticipation, Young Master Feng and I dragged our luggage into the hotel lobby. A middle-aged man—probably in his forties or fifties—was sitting on a sofa, absorbed in his phone.

　　“Brother Dao!” Young Master Feng strode forward to greet him.

　　The man looked up, puzzled. “Hello… do I know you?”

　　“Young Master Feng!” A man dressed in black suddenly popped out from behind a lobby pillar and threw an arm around Young Master Feng’s shoulders. I turned to look—medium build, square face, round ears. His open coat revealed a solid physique beneath, and his voice boomed with unmistakable force. He didn’t look a day over thirty.

　　“Ahem!” Mr. Egg cleared his throat theatrically. “Let me clarify—this gentleman in black is Lao Dao.”

　　“Oh! Sorry, sorry! Wrong person!” Young Master Feng hurriedly apologized to the middle-aged man. I stepped forward to greet Lao Dao as well.

　　“You two—go check in already!” Mr. Egg urged us nonstop. “I’m starving to death!” All so he could get to the hotpot he’d been dreaming about sooner. Unable to withstand his nagging, I hastily dragged Young Master Feng to the front desk.

　　“Yak hotpot—let’s go!”

　　By the time I dropped off my bags and returned to the lobby, Mr. Egg had already locked onto a local specialty hotpot restaurant and was impatiently herding us all toward dinner.