Before boarding her flight, Shao Xue was scrolling through her social media feed and saw that Zhang Qi had shared a post about the Mayan prediction of the world ending in 2012.
She did a quick mental calculation—it was supposed to be the next day.
So she replied under his post: “You math majors really believe this stuff?”
Zhang Qi replied: “Hey, don’t laugh—it’s making me a little nervous.”
Shao Xue: “How did Princeton ever accept you?”
Zhang Qi: “Do you know that Newton turned to theology later in life?”
A woman next to her was trying to stow her luggage. Shao Xue shifted to let her reach the window seat. Not long after, the plane began taxiing down the runway. Having traveled frequently, Shao Xue had her own routine for getting comfortable—she wrapped her neck pillow around her, pulled on an eye mask, stretched out her legs, and quickly dozed off.
The familiar sensation of ear pressure set in.
Half-asleep, half-awake, the plane ascended to tens of thousands of feet. Shao Xue was in an aisle seat, and the middle-aged woman who had sat by the window hadn’t spoken a word. There was an empty seat between them, a peaceful gap.
After the plane leveled off, the woman gently tapped Shao Xue’s leg.
Shao Xue, understanding, shifted her legs to give the woman space. The flight was early, and she herself had rushed over without even washing her face. She figured the woman probably hadn’t had much more sleep than she had—after all, for European women, going without makeup was like going out without clothes. It was obvious she was heading to the restroom for a quick touch-up.
She didn’t need to. In a place where no one knew her, Shao Xue could mentally accept looking disheveled.
After a few movements, she wasn’t as sleepy anymore. She pulled out her tablet to work on a translation project she had taken on earlier, seeking some psychological comfort in the thought that, even while spending money, she was still earning some.
A young girl appeared beside her.
Her skin had a slight brown hue, making it difficult to guess her nationality. She was small, and even though Shao Xue hadn’t moved her legs, the girl easily squeezed past her.
Shao Xue thought she was going to sit in the middle seat, but to her surprise, the girl plopped down in the window seat.
No matter how good someone is at makeup, it’s impossible for a woman to transform into a young girl in less than ten minutes. Thinking the girl might have taken the wrong seat, Shao Xue kindly reminded her, “That seat is taken.”
The girl glanced at her but said nothing.
Shao Xue had this little habit: “Are you with the lady who was here earlier?”
If the girl had said "yes," Shao Xue would have let it go. But the girl hesitated, unable to speak. After years of traveling around, Shao Xue had developed a sense for these things. She glanced at the seat pocket in front of her and saw a handbag tucked inside.
The bread she had just taken out was untouched. She started eating it while keeping an eye on the girl, who didn’t turn around.
The flight attendants came through with the breakfast cart, and the woman, stuck on the other side of the cabin, couldn’t get back to her seat right away. Shao Xue propped her head on her hand and stared at the girl, maintaining the standoff.
There was a commotion at the back of the cabin. The flight attendants moved the cart aside, finally creating a gap for the woman to return. Now freshly made up and radiant, she stopped in confusion: “Miss, this is my seat?”
The girl flinched, clearly not expecting the woman to return so soon. She hurriedly stood up and left, shooting Shao Xue a cold glance as she passed.
Shao Xue casually chewed her bread, turning her face toward the window.
Once the woman sat down, she looked at Shao Xue with suspicion. “Why was she sitting in my seat?”
“I told her the seat was taken,” Shao Xue replied, recognizing the strong Italian accent in the woman’s English and switching to Italian. “I even asked if she knew you, but she wouldn’t answer.”
“What a strange person,” the woman frowned, her gaze landing on her wallet. “Do you think she was trying to steal something?”
“I don’t know. I kept an eye on her the whole time, and she didn’t do anything.”
“You’re so kind,” the woman winked at her, also switching to Italian. “I was being careless.”
The journey was long, and occasionally, the woman would chat with Shao Xue. After they finished breakfast, Shao Xue learned that the woman was a producer for a documentary crew. She was heading to Moscow to visit a friend before flying to Africa to film a documentary about human civilization.
“Have you ever been to Africa?” the woman asked Shao Xue.
“No,” Shao Xue smiled, “but I’ve always been interested in it. Maybe I’ll go one day if I get the chance.”
“This will be my first time too,” the woman said. “Our director says it’s unlike any place we’ve ever been—it’ll be an epic journey.”
“An epic is hard to compose,” Shao Xue joked, using an old European medieval saying. “I suppose you’ll need to get a lot of vaccinations?”
“You know your languages well. Most young people have never heard that phrase.”
“I make my living with languages,” Shao Xue took a sip of orange juice. “I’m a translator, so I tend to know all these odd expressions. For example, Africa. One of my professors told me its full name is ‘Africa,’ meaning ‘the land of scorching sun.’”
“Your Italian is excellent.”
“Thank you,” Shao Xue smiled, acknowledging her profession.
The two sat in silence for a while before the woman suddenly asked, “You mentioned earlier that one of your professors knew about Africa?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say he knew it well,” Shao Xue recalled the wise old professor with white hair. “I studied Amharic with him. Not many people in the country research it, but he loved it.”
“Wait a minute…” the woman’s expression shifted. “Did you say Amharic?”
“Yes, it’s the official language of Ethiopia,” Shao Xue chuckled at herself. “I was young and foolish back then. I’ll probably never go there, but I still learned the language…”
“How well do you speak it?”
The woman’s sudden eagerness surprised Shao Xue. How well did she speak it? It was a difficult question to answer, so she gave a vague reply: “During the Beijing Olympics, I worked as an interpreter for athletes from there…”
The plane shook violently due to turbulence. The woman leaned forward slightly, using the exaggerated tone only Europeans seem to have, and said, “I once heard a saying—everything we do will eventually serve a purpose.”
Shao Xue paused.
The wind howled across Siberia, singing like a mournful ballad.
The walls and windows kept the cold outside, but the howling of the wind still made one feel a chill deep within. Shao Xue reached out and took the coffee Zhang Yi Yi handed her.
She hadn’t yet adjusted to the climate and pulled the blanket tighter around her, tucking her feet up onto the chair. Zhang Yi Yi, who had majored in Russian, had gone to Moscow for graduate studies. Upon hearing that Shao Xue was coming, he eagerly picked her up from the airport and took her to his apartment.
Then, in the car, he listened to the entire saga of Shao Xue’s journey.
One of the key filming locations for the woman’s documentary was Ethiopia. There were very few people who spoke Amharic, and they had struggled to find a suitable translator. The pay for the accompanying translator wasn’t high enough to entice anyone to give up a stable job and spend several months in Africa, especially with the many unknown risks involved.
“Do you want to go?”
“Of course, I really want to go.”
How this seed was planted, Shao Xue herself wasn’t entirely sure. Perhaps it was from the impression left by the marathon runner she met during the Olympics. He loved talking to Shao Xue about his homeland, and it was from him that she first learned that Africa wasn’t just about scorching sunshine and people with dark skin.
The Great Rift Valley runs through the entire region, with volcanoes and coffee being the most famous products. Human civilization began there. Shao Xue held her coffee cup, slowly sinking into thought.
She had resigned, was in between jobs, and didn’t know what the future held.
It seemed she had no choice—or perhaps she was simply following her heart.
“Rested enough?” Zhang Yi Yi, noticing that she was lost in thought, stood up and stretched his neck. “Weren’t you the one who was so eager to see the Volga River?”
She immediately set her coffee cup down and jumped up.
“Let’s go.”
Zhang Yi Yi took his role as host very seriously. The Volga River, stretching over 3,500 kilometers, flows through forests and grasslands across Eastern Europe, winding around 100 kilometers north of Moscow, passing countless ancient Russian cities—
He didn’t hesitate to drive Shao Xue all the way to Tver.
The river was frozen for miles.
Shao Xue had many fantasies about this river—raging, calm, and bottomless.
She hadn’t expected to come during this season.
It was a pure river—no docks, no people, and no boats. There was only the vast sky, the endless white snow, and the frozen river stretching as far as the eye could see.
Shao Xue squatted down and buried her hand in the snow by the riverbank. The cold crept up through her capillaries, causing her to shiver uncontrollably.
She said, “The first time I learned about the Volga River was at Zheng Sunian’s house.”
The name of the person who had once scolded Zhang Yi Yi seemed to leave a deep impression on him. He rubbed his ears and teased her, “He likes you.”
Shao Xue fell silent.
He liked her. His affection was so obvious that even someone like Zhang Yi Yi, who had only met him once, could see it. Shao Xue looked up at the vast, frozen Volga River.
“Zhang Yi Yi, have you ever heard the song ‘Volga River, Long Flowing Water’?”
The boy’s nose had turned red from the cold, and he stood behind her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He shook his head.
It was such an obscure song.
Shao Xue turned her gaze back to the frozen river. Though snow covered everything, one could still imagine the grandeur of the river when the ice melted. She closed her eyes, pulling her cloak tighter around her as a gust of wind swept across the river.
Cold.
In the biting wind, a song seemed to break through the ages, sweeping toward her.
“The Volga River flows endlessly / Rushing from afar / It moves forward, never to return / The crops on both banks bow low / Snowflakes fill the sky / The Volga River flows on / I am now seventeen.
“The Volga River flows endlessly / Rushing from afar / It moves forward, never to return / The crops on both banks bow low / Snowflakes fill the sky / The Volga River flows on / I am already thirty.”
Time rewound to 2003, in Beijing. Birds perched on branches, and willows sprouted new buds. On the old television at Zheng Sunian’s house, a Stephen Chow movie, King of Comedy, was playing. Fifteen-year-old Shao Xue closed her eyes. In the wind and snow of Siberia, a figure cloaked in a cape gradually drifted away on the frozen river.
She now knew whose figure it was.
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