Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Her voice was very soft, and her beautiful eyes didn’t blink as she looked at Fu Xun, her expression calm.

From her face alone, there was no hint of emotion.

“You’re an old hand at off-roading, your gear more complete than the rescue team’s. Even if you don’t smoke, you wouldn’t show up without a windproof lighter.” Qu Yixian paused, then added with a hint of sarcasm, “At the very least, there should be a flint. Can’t I light it myself?”

She didn’t mean any harm; she was just in a terrible mood. Her words, sharp and prickly, slipped out naturally.

A little temper at this moment was normal. Fu Xun, unwilling to argue, found a lighter and handed it to her.

Qu Yixian took it and saw it really was a windproof lighter, essential for the outdoors.

She glanced at Fu Xun and, lighting her cigarette, asked, “You really don’t smoke?”

Her first impression of Fu Xun as “not an easy guy” was already set, and seeing the tattoo on his left arm reinforced her belief that he was an old hand.

In China, dining culture is inseparable from cigarettes and alcohol. If Fu Xun really didn’t smoke, it would shatter her expectation.

“I do,” Fu Xun lowered his eyes, watching her light the cigarette. “But very rarely.”

Qu Yixian’s way of lighting a cigarette was special. She liked to use the outer layer of the flame to gently heat the tip, lighting it twice.

The first time, she controlled the sparks to char the cigarette lightly, releasing the tobacco aroma.

The second time, she rotated it to heat it evenly.

It looked slow but was actually quick.

She tucked the lighter into the back pocket of her pants. Rarely showing thoughtfulness, she said to Fu Xun before turning: “If you’re uncomfortable, stay in the car. Watching this scene is new to you; by midnight, it’ll feel overwhelming.”

Though meant kindly, the words had a slightly awkward feeling.

Fu Xun almost laughed at the thought.

It was new… the first time a woman worried he might have nightmares after seeing a body.

Qu Yixian stepped forward.

Someone called out “Little Qu Ye,” and the people around the dune instinctively cleared a path.

She nodded slightly, stopping about a meter from Xun Haichao, half-squatting, and inserted the cigarette into the shifting sand.

There was no wind in the desert at this moment.

The white smoke from the cigarette curled upward, thin and light, rising straight. Halfway up, it split into three wisps, like three incense sticks, sending him off respectfully on his last journey through the desert.

Qu Yixian stood, looked around, and lifted the neatly folded handkerchief from the shirt pocket of the youngest man closest to her.

The corner of the handkerchief had gilded stitching with the words “Starshine Rescue Team,” an identifier every member carried besides their ID.

She gently placed the handkerchief over Xun Haichao’s face.

No matter what he did in life, he deserved dignity and respect in death.

Afterward, she stepped back down the dune and asked, “Who found him?”

The boy whose handkerchief she’d taken touched his nose and stepped forward: “I did.”

Qu Yixian remembered him—he was the youngest recruit, just under twenty, dropped out in his final year of high school, got his driver’s license, applied to the team last year, and passed assessment just last month.

She gestured for him to step aside to talk.

There were people nearby, and from the corner of her eye, she saw Fu Xun leaning against the G-Class. Privately, she felt he should listen too, since he’d been inadvertently dragged in.

She pivoted and walked toward Fu Xun.

When she got there, as procedure dictated, she was supposed to introduce him first. Starting, she scratched her ear and asked the boy, “What’s your full name?”

The boy looked up, face reddening: “I’m Shen Qinghai.”

Qu Yixian didn’t get a single character wrong, and wasn’t embarrassed. She was even more at ease than Shen Qinghai, introducing him to Fu Xun: “The youngest member of my team.”

Fu Xun nodded, giving only a glance.

“Xun Haichao was the one who found him and fired the signal flare.” Qu Yixian laid out the background before starting to ask for details.

For example—

“How did you find him?”

“When you found him, was he like this?”

“At the scene, besides you, who else was there? Who was the second person to arrive?”

…

Shen Qinghai, already blushing, turned even redder at the first question. He stammered, “I… I found him when I was… burying a mine.”

“Burying a mine” was off-roading slang; here, “mine” referred to human waste, and when one needed to relieve themselves, it was called “burying a mine.”

No wonder he was so red-faced—still young after all.

After saying this embarrassing line, he calmed down, recalled for a moment, and continued: “I was looking down from above and first saw his face…”

He paused, glanced at Qu Yixian, then went on: “After realizing it, because I wasn’t familiar with procedures, I didn’t dare act rashly. I pulled up my pants and went to get help. With me in the car was Mao Ge; the two of us went down the dune first, confirmed that the person lying there was who we were looking for, and immediately fired the signal flare.”

“When we found him, he was like this—buried in the sand, just uncovered by the wind.”

Qu Yixian understood the situation, waved him off, and waited for the police to arrive to take statements before leaving.

Once Shen Qinghai left, she instinctively reached for a cigarette. Finding the pocket empty, she remembered she had none left and felt deflated.

Fu Xun had cigarettes in the car, but he hadn’t given any to Qu Yixian.

No matter how prominent she was in the northwest, in his eyes, Qu Yixian was still a woman. This “woman” wasn’t derogatory—just her gender.

He didn’t want to indulge her smoking, even if she did it with charm.

“The next steps aren’t for you to interfere with.” Fu Xun leaned against the car door. His gaze fell on her: “Wait until the police finish collecting evidence and the investigation produces results. Then this matter will have closure.”

Qu Yixian dragged her toes through the fine sand, meeting his gaze: “You’re familiar with our rescue procedures, huh?”

“The team handles more than just the Dunhuang line—there’s the Sichuan-Tibet line, the Xinjiang line. Starshine doesn’t just do desert rescues; we also do mountain rescues. Even if someone’s car gets stuck, it’s under our jurisdiction. Over the years, there have been countless missing or deceased people.” She lifted her eyelids, half-smiling: “Each one panicked, frustrated, and blamed themselves. How could I manage all that?”

Her tone was lazy, with a hint of irreverent defiance.

Rescue work isn’t purely saving lives; sometimes people can’t be saved. Sometimes rescuers even risk their own lives.

She had known from the start that doing rescue work meant preparing to recover bodies—not just for strangers, but potentially for teammates or even herself.

She only felt regret that he was only twenty-five when he died, at the very start of another chapter of life. If he had returned safely to his city, he could have had a respectable job, a happy marriage; life might still have disappointments, but at least he would have had possibilities.

But because of one moment of carelessness, he was buried in the desert, never reaching the Devil City of the Yadan.

——

On the way back to camp, Qu Yixian’s mood was low.

She sat quietly for a while, then seemed to remember something and asked Fu Xun: “What’s your plan next?”

Fu Xun’s brow twitched—this question sounded familiar. Last time she asked this, she had forcibly changed his route and hitched his car into the desert to find someone.

Sure enough.

Her next sentence assigned him: “I need to go back to Dunhuang. You can rest at the same time. I’ll handle your lodging—three stars or above, comparable to a seven-star hotel in Dubai.”

Fu Xun couldn’t hold back: “You might have a misunderstanding about seven-star hotels, hmm?”

Of course, three hours later, he would realize the misunderstanding about seven-star hotels was his own.