Dean’s first thought was of the muleteers who smuggled goods across the border; only this group of people had experience venturing deep into the snowy mountains. However, the parts they ventured into were all on paths carved out by the lives and time of those who came before, not places where no one had ever set foot. And now, those roads were hardly any better than if they didn’t exist at all. His other thought was that if even these people thought it was impossible, then at least, having them try to persuade Sam would be much more convincing than trying himself.

However, things developed beyond his expectations. He easily found three porters willing to accompany Sam into the snowy mountains. He didn’t know if it was because of the price Sam offered, but clearly, the offer was very tempting.

A week later, Sam, led by the three porters, set off deep into the snowy mountains. The day before departure, Sam told Dean that he would come back to find him in ten years.

When Dean watched Sam leave, he imagined the entire journey deep into the snowy mountains, the possible outcomes he might face, that beautiful, gem-like mountain lake—what exactly was he searching for in such breathtaking scenery?

Of course, ten years later, Dean was already dead, but according to the rules, a charcoal stove was still set up at the temple gate, waiting for Sam’s return. And after saying goodbye to Dean, Sam plunged headlong into the vast, unknown snowfields.

藏海花Ⅰ Chapter Twelve Entering the Snowy Mountains

The first day.

The snow was falling harder and harder. All the prayers made before departure had turned out to be in vain.

Sure enough, no matter who you are, as long as you try to go to that place, the heavens will not allow it. The black, exposed parts of the distant mountains now seemed invisible. That place, no matter when, could never be easily approached. It was never a place meant for people to go.

Would there be any living creatures on this snowfield? Someone once claimed to have seen some large birds and white-furred beasts, but thinking about it now, it all seemed like boasting. With the wind howling in your ears, and not a trace of life or warmth to be found, how could anything possibly survive here?

The only living things between heaven and earth were probably the three people trudging along. There were originally four, but one had already become one with the snowy mountain before they set out. That person was found dead drunk by the roadside in the morning, frozen solid to the rocks beneath him.

One porter was striking at every visible ice crystal ahead with his ice axe. In the wind, the sound of the blows was like that of some mysterious, slow instrument, sometimes loud, sometimes soft under the pressure of the wind. The second person was Sam, walking forward with his eyes closed, following the sound, feeling his way along. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to open his eyes, but even with his goggles on, he still couldn’t see anything—he might as well rely on his senses.

“Should we stop and rest for a bit?” called one of the porters from behind. Sam turned to look—it was Robert, the oldest of the two porters.

Robert was a Tibetan man just over forty, but he looked almost sixty. His dark face was covered in wrinkles carved by years of wind, his complexion ruddy, as if he’d been drinking. He was the leader of the original three, and one of the most experienced porters.

“Can we rest?” Sam asked.

“If we keep going like this, by nightfall we’ll have only moved a dozen meters. We might as well wait for the wind to pass. Judging by the sky, this wind won’t last much longer,” Robert said. “Otherwise, we’ll just waste our strength here for nothing.”

“Then let’s stop,” said Sam.

They stopped, pressing themselves against the mountain wall, but could only stand and wait for the wind to die down. The other porter was clearly exhausted; as soon as they stopped, he nearly slipped, but Robert caught him, speaking loudly to bring him back to his senses.

Robert breathed a sigh of relief. He knew that, in winds like this, it was actually right to keep moving, but to do so meant chasing the wind through this dangerous stretch, unable to stop, maybe walking all night before they could rest. By then, they could do many things—make a fire, get a good sleep—so the hardship was worth enduring. But he was getting old and really couldn’t take it anymore. He’d rather stand here than move another inch.

As he spoke, he was afraid the remaining porter would object, but clearly, they were all at their limits. Sam had no experience and didn’t scold them, unlike the muleteer leaders of the past who would force them onward.

In any case, things were still under his control. Standing here, he slowly felt his strength returning, which was better than pushing on through the night and risking a fatal misstep. When you’re older, it’s better to endure than to charge ahead. Accidents always come unexpectedly, and at his age, he couldn’t react as quickly as before.

Sam was very obedient, which made him feel a bit guilty. He was actually curious about this Sam. In all of Motuo, there was basically no one who would enter the snowy mountains alone, especially by this route—this must be a first. Judging by his age and manner, no one knew what his purpose was; he was truly a mystery.