Chapter 62

Chapter 62

Qu Yi Xian stared at the line of words for a long time.

Had she just hinted to Fu Xun that she suspected a connection between Jiang Yun and Jiang Yuan?

It didn’t seem so.

She had only, while reviewing the surveillance footage, seen Jiang Yun in the red dress and thought she looked somewhat familiar. Something she didn’t dare think much about—how could she possibly have told Fu Xun?

She spent half a minute digesting the sentence.

“You think I should have guessed this way?”

Fu Xun shook his head. He tossed the memo paper onto the dashboard, capped the pen, and returned the water pen to her. “You probably don’t realize it yourself, but every time Jiang Yuan is mentioned, your emotions become sensitive, suspicious, and easily provoked.”

“The clues you listed on the memo suggest Jiang Yun is registered in Nanjiang and speculate she’s undercover or preparing to reveal something you don’t know either. So I ask you—”

Fu Xun furrowed his brows slightly and said, “Does your convoy have any dark secrets?”

“No.” Qu Yi Xian denied it. “We follow the law. Except for that Wang Kun incident, the convoy has no shady history.”

Fu Xun asked again, “The convoy isn’t afraid of investigations, but what about the rescue team?”

Pressed step by step, Qu Yi Xian replied irritably, “Impossible. The rescue team is a nonprofit private organization. Team members receive no payment and treat all rescue subjects equally. Even the accounts for donations are clear—no one would pocket that money.”

Fu Xun seemed to smile, his tone softening. “Then what is she investigating you for? To see if you’re dedicated, kind to others, competent?”

Qu Yi Xian: “…”

She was left speechless. She had to admit, for a brief moment, she had considered that possibility.

But Jiang Yuan had no siblings; she was an only child. Her only friend in college was Qu Yi Xian, with no pen pals or online friends. Her social circle was as simple as it could be.

Her parents were strict, expecting her to excel academically and socially, and only associating with people from good families.

Qu Yi Xian was an exception in her life and the only uncontrollable presence in Jiang Yuan’s life. So it was easy to imagine how harshly Jiang Yuan’s parents would take out their anger on Qu Yi Xian when Jiang Yuan went missing. Even Jiang Yuan’s funeral was off-limits to her.

Her mood suddenly sank, and she lost interest in continuing her speculation.

She crumpled the memo in her hand and stuffed it into the back pocket of her pants.

Qu Yi Xian pushed open the car door and said briefly, “I’ll call Team Leader Peng to report.”

With Yuan Ye absent, many matters had to be handled by Qu Yi Xian herself.

After calling Peng Shen, she quickly began arranging the rescue convoy to enter Mingsha Mountain for the search.

The rescue team could mobilize around ten vehicles. The Northwest Loop’s tourism peak had long passed, leaving many free tour leaders, most of whom could spare time to join the search.

After organizing the list and required supplies, she hesitated, then personally contacted the Dunhuang police.

The officer dispatched was Gu Yan, who had previously worked with Qu Yi Xian for an extended period. After understanding the situation, he immediately arranged personnel to investigate Jiang Yun’s identity and contact her family.

With everything set, Qu Yi Xian checked the time—it was already nine at night.

She had only eaten a few skewers of roasted meat all afternoon and was famished.

She turned toward the black G-Class parked a few steps away in the shade. Its cold, angular lines in the night resembled hidden steel blades—low-key and restrained.

The massive vehicle exuded authority and dignity, revealing a subtle sense of nobility and determination, just like its owner.

Resigned, she stepped forward and tapped on the driver’s window.

The window slid down, revealing Fu Xun’s face. He glanced slightly to the side, waiting for her to speak first.

Qu Yi Xian considered for a few seconds and said, “I’ve assembled the rescue convoy and plan to search Mingsha Mountain through the night. Jiang Yun shouldn’t have gone far, so immediate rescue should find her quickly. Only… tonight, I won’t be able to have dinner with you.”

She observed his expression and added, “I just ordered takeout—shall we share it later?”

Qu Yi Xian had seen Fu Xun’s standards for living. When conditions allowed, he chose comfort. But when limited, he could compromise more than anyone.

Seeing he didn’t answer, she guessed he didn’t want takeout and rephrased, “Or… you go back to the hotel to rest first. Once Jiang Yun’s situation is resolved, I’ll go with you to Xining.”

Fu Xun finally spoke, saying, “Do you think if you’re here, I can still go back to the hotel and rest in peace?”

Qu Yi Xian: “……”

She wasn’t good at handling such blunt challenges to the relationship, froze for a few seconds, then raised her brow slightly and smiled lightly. “Alright, your kind of labor—one of you equals ten. I couldn’t ask for better.”

She deliberately painted things as peaceful, though her attempt to clarify the relationship was hardly clever.

At a time like this, Fu Xun didn’t bother arguing and nodded toward the passenger seat, signaling her to get in and wait.

The night deepened, and the sand dunes began to stir with wind.

It was already October; large-scale sandstorms were unlikely in Dunhuang. But given the July sandstorm that hit during the Xun Haichao incident, Qu Yi Xian cautiously compared weather forecasts across platforms and only relaxed when she confirmed the wind force was within a normal range.

The convoy moved quickly; it took only half an hour from assembly to departure.

As usual, Qu Yi Xian led the way, followed by the convoy leader.

She couldn’t bear to risk the G-Class in the desert sand, so she left it in the scenic area parking lot and drove the Cruiser into the dunes.

Mingsha Mountain, compared to sand ridges with just a thin layer of soft sand, demanded more driving skill.

Desert sand was fine and soft, like a sponge, swallowing everything that touched it and entangling it. In the deeper parts of the dunes, stepping down could bury half a calf in sand, giving a constant sense of imminent danger.

Before entering the dunes, the convoy reduced tire pressure to prevent vehicles from getting stuck.

Eleven off-road vehicles formed the vanguard, the first batch into the desert.

To save golden rescue time, the convoy was divided into five teams, each with two vehicles and a Mingsha Mountain staff guide. Each vehicle carried radios and all necessary supplies, keeping communication constant.

Qu Yi Xian led a solo team to scout ahead.

Her planned search route stayed near the other five teams but maintained her own direction.

No need to worry about the team.

If there was danger or a discovery, nearby vehicles could be notified for support.

The other teams followed preset directions in straight, grid-like formations. For safety, teams reported coordinates periodically.

Mingsha Mountain, as a natural scenic area, was safe for general tourists.

But once going deeper, the terrain became steep and rugged, making it difficult for both vehicles and people to reach the peaks.

The modified Cruiser had greatly improved traction on the surface.

On large terrain, the tires on sand caused an unpredictable drifting feeling. Acceleration or climbing the dunes demanded precise control of speed and the steering wheel.

Qu Yi Xian, experienced with rough terrain, was far more familiar with this surface than the average driver.

She turned on the Cruiser’s front spotlights, illuminating the sand ahead.

The convoy had just departed, still close to the desert off-road camp. The ground was covered with overlapping tracks of dune buggies, stretching densely to the dune tops.

Ahead, the tracks gradually faded.

The sand dunes and ridges seemed like a boundary between the light and shadow of the scenic area.

The cabin was too quiet, so Qu Yi Xian tried to break the silence. “Did you know that Mingsha Mountain originally referred to sand that makes a sound?”

Fu Xun didn’t answer, only glanced slightly, signaling he was listening.

“This Mingsha Mountain in Dunhuang, the Shapotou in Ningxia, the Yinkentala singing sands in Inner Mongolia’s Dalate Banner, and the Barkol Mingsha in Xinjiang are called China’s four great singing sands. Singing sand means the sand makes a humming sound.”

Qu Yi Xian drove up the sand, raising the vehicle to climb.

Fu Xun sat in the passenger seat, remotely controlling the roof spotlight, keeping the beam on the sand a few meters ahead. The focused light resembled a stage spotlight, like carrying a torch through the night—everywhere it reached was brightly illuminated.

“I’m not interested in phenomena that science can explain,” Fu Xun finally spoke, his voice cold. “Mingsha Mountain has a history of three thousand years. Records from the Eastern Han mention it. Do you want to know how humans understood this unique natural phenomenon before science could explain it?”

He adjusted the light toward the dune top, then reminded her distractedly, “Watch the road; you’ll overturn if you climb the dune top.”

“I’m not going to the top.” Qu Yi Xian turned the wheel, taking another path. “No point in climbing in the dark.” Spotlights, no matter how bright, left dead zones.

“This section of the ancient Silk Road in Dunhuang is full of legends. From ancient times, it’s been a road of endless treasure. It’s said Mingsha Mountain is the Jade Emperor’s treasury, with countless treasures buried under the yellow sand, testing human hearts. There’s also a tale of battles between Han troops and Xiongnu, when sudden winds buried the armies in sand.” Fu Xun paused and glanced at her. “Day or night, the sounds you hear are the soldiers’ shouts and horses’ cries from those battles.”

His voice fell, and the cabin went quiet for a moment.

In the desert, besides the humming of the Cruiser’s engine, there was only the rustling sound of wheels rolling over sand.

Qu Yi Xian’s eyes followed his words as she asked, “Mingsha Mountain really has treasure?”

“Supposedly.” Fu Xun seemed to smile, his tone carrying a subtle, hard-to-detect amusement. “Isn’t it said that after sending off tourists, Mingsha Mountain erases all their footprints? There was a rumor in the antique circle for a while—Tang dynasty female general Fan Lihua led troops through Mingsha Mountain, ambushed by the enemy, both sides suffered heavy losses, and finally were buried under the sand by a storm. Because of this story, Mingsha Mountain became a tourist hotspot, and many came hoping to dig for treasure.”

Sure enough, after four more years of hearing stories, the versions differed.

Qu Yi Xian continued along the gentle ridge of the sand, “And it ended up unresolved?” She hadn’t encountered it herself.

“Mm.” Fu Xun said quietly. “It was just a legend, no historical verification. Once a group failed to find treasure, those observing naturally gave up.”

Qu Yi Xian pictured a bunch of middle-aged bald men, dreaming of striking it rich, running to Mingsha Mountain in groups, digging pits for treasure, and couldn’t help but laugh. “If they went hoping to pick up scraps along the ancient Silk Road, that would be more believable.”

Fu Xun curled his lips slightly, not replying.

After a while, he casually asked in a low voice, “Are you interested in this stuff?”

Qu Yi Xian was about to nod, but he asked again, “Are you interested in this, or interested in me?”