The man pushed himself off the ground with both hands. He patted the dust off his shoulders and head, glancing at Song Ran. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Song Ran slowly sat up. The massive explosion had left her dazed and slow to react.

He said, "Take a moment, don't rush to get up."

"Mm." Song Ran nodded. Her heart was pounding violently, as if it would burst from her chest.

The air near the ground was scorching, burning like fire.

It was too hot.

Nearing noon, there wasn't a trace of wind.

She pulled down her mask and haphazardly wiped away the sweat covering her head and neck.

He walked to the side to inspect the bomb fragments.

Song Ran's heart hadn't yet calmed down. Her entire face was burning, and she subconsciously wiped the dust from her face again.

Another soldier walked over and asked, "Which news agency are you from?"

Song Ran said, "Liang City TV."

The other person was extremely surprised. "How could they let a woman like you operate alone on the front lines?"

Song Ran said, "I'm not here to report. I'm looking for someone."

"At a time like this, you're still heading north?"

"I'm looking for friends. They're giving me a ride to Gamma."

The other person understood. "Be careful on your way. The situation here is unstable, and there are small skirmishes outside the city."

Song Ran nodded. "I will. Thank you."

She got up and walked to her motorcycle, unconsciously glancing back at the man called "Ah Zan." He was kneeling on one knee, weighing a bomb fragment in his hand. Half of his side profile was visible above his black mask; he had a high-bridged nose and a prominent brow bone.

A trace of inexplicable melancholy touched her. She retracted her gaze, and just as she straddled the bike to start it, she heard a gentle voice, "Where are your friends?"

Song Ran turned toward the voice. It was him.

He was still squatting on the ground, looking up at her slightly. His eyes were narrowed, and his pupils were very bright.

Song Ran's gaze flew past the brim of his cap as she said, "Harris Hotel."

That was where the foreign correspondents were based.

He glanced at his watch and asked, "What time did you arrange to meet?"

"Ten-thirty."

"You won't make it," he reminded her kindly.

Song Ran took out her phone. 10:29.

She muttered to herself, "I guess I'll have to ride the motorcycle to Gamma myself."

He tossed the shrapnel in his palm and caught it, a friendly smile flashing in his eyes. "Do you know the way?"

Song Ran: "..."

Her phone had no signal, so she couldn't check the map, and she didn't recognize the foreign script on the landmarks.

She looked up at the sun's position and made a rough guess. "That way is south... I think. If I'm lucky, I might be able to follow the flow of refugee vehicles."

He tossed the fragment in his hand, dusted off his pants, stood up, and asked, "Do you have your passport?"

Song Ran patted the large pocket on the outside of her pants. "I do."

"There's a group of overseas Chinese merchants and residents evacuating the city today. You should go with them."

Half an hour later, Song Ran arrived at the Zhongfu Industrial Park in the southwestern suburbs of Surei City.

Zhongfu was the largest Chinese-funded company in the central region of Dongguo, specializing in industries like scientific research, communications, and infrastructure. Now that the situation had deteriorated and war had broken out, expatriates working and living abroad had to be evacuated back to their home country. The Zhongfu park had become the central gathering point for the evacuation in the central region. Since yesterday, Chinese employees and residents from several surrounding cities had begun to gather here.

When Song Ran arrived at the park, it was filled with buses, and the open space was crowded with what looked like one or two thousand people.

Out of professional habit, she turned on her camera, weaving through the vehicles and the crowd.

In her lens, men were busy stuffing luggage into the compartments under the buses, women and children were presenting their passports and documents to register and board, and middle-aged experts were in urgent discussion with their Dongguo colleagues on the outskirts of the crowd, holding laptops and paper documents, discussing work matters at a rapid pace. Even more Dongguo locals were helping carry luggage or embracing their Chinese colleagues in farewell. Several groups of reporters from different television stations and newspapers were all reporting to their cameras.

Song Ran's camera accidentally captured a scene: a young Chinese woman had boarded a bus and was holding hands through the window with a young Dongguo man who had a high-bridged nose and deep-set eyes. The girl said something, her expression full of reluctance, and the young man kissed the back of her hand deeply and shook his head gently.

While she was filming, someone tapped her on the shoulder. It was the soldier from before, "Ah Zan's" companion. He had taken off his mask, revealing a handsome face with the distinct heroic spirit of a soldier.

"I'll take you to register."

"Okay."

The soldier led Song Ran to a bus and explained the situation to the personnel checking people in. Song Ran passed the passport check. The soldier then helped her move her equipment case into the luggage compartment.

"Thanks," Song Ran said to him before boarding.

The man waved and disappeared into the crowd.

He came and went in a hurry. Only then did Song Ran realize she had forgotten to ask for either of their names, and she'd also forgotten to thank the one called "Ah Zan."

After getting on the bus, her view was limited. She looked around but could only see a few camouflaged figures moving on the outskirts of the crowd. The soldiers were maintaining order and urging the expatriates to board the buses.

When the dozens of full buses set off, Song Ran scanned the area intently, but all she saw were tall soldiers in uniform hats, many of them still wearing masks. It was hard for her to tell which one was him.

As the bus pulled away from the park gate, she saw several camouflaged figures standing at the entrance, clustered together and talking. One of the men was slightly taller than his companions. His belt was cinched at his waist, and his back was ramrod straight. When he saw the bus approaching, he turned slightly to the side and gave the driver a military salute. Above the mask, his eyes and brows were exceptionally striking.

His companions saluted as well.

People on the bus cheered, some shouting their thanks to them.

The view flashed past.

Song Ran's heart clenched. She pressed against the window to look, thinking it might be him, but before she could be sure, the bus had driven away.

In the blink of an eye, the figure turned into a blind spot and was gone from sight.

Song Ran stared for a long while before involuntarily letting out a breath and letting her head fall back heavily against the seat.

A military vehicle was stationed at intervals in the convoy, escorting the group of expatriates south. She didn't know if he would be coming along.

She gazed out the window the whole way, at the azure sky, the dazzling sunlight, and the dry, thorny sand. Perhaps influenced by the sweltering weather, a restless heat churned within her heart.

A little after two in the afternoon, they were halfway through their journey. The convoy arrived at a checkpoint and stopped.

The traffic was blocked.

The road was crammed with cars and people from various countries, all stopped outside the checkpoint and denied passage. Under the scorching sun, the air was filled with a cacophony of noise and more than ten different languages. Some were negotiating with the Government Army guarding the checkpoint, some were arguing and cursing loudly, others were on the phone seeking channels for mediation, and some simply had long faces and vacant stares.

Outside, the scene was one of panic and chaos, and the people on the bus craned their necks to look, feeling uneasy.

Song Ran glanced out the window and happened to see a few camouflaged figures from her own country pass by. Her gaze followed them, but she didn't see the familiar figure among them.

After some negotiation, the checkpoint began to let the Chinese convoy through. First, everyone had to get off the buses. The Government Army inspected the vehicles and luggage, and then the buses passed through. Afterwards, the passengers had their passports and identities verified one by one before getting back on the bus on the other side.

Song Ran's bus was the twelfth in line; they waited for over an hour for their turn.

Everyone got off the bus to pass through. The crowd of people from various nations surged like a tide, arguing and gesticulating with their documents. The Government Army held them back with their rifles. As Song Ran and the others were pushed and shoved, a small team of Chinese soldiers formed a circle at the checkpoint, protecting their nationals, pulling them toward the gate to prevent anyone from falling behind or getting separated in the crowd.

The crowd was so dense it was impossible to move. A soldier grabbed Song Ran's wrist and forcefully pulled her to the checkpoint. Her passport was crumpled in her hand. After the Government Army officer finished his inspection, he returned it to her and gestured for her to pass.

Song Ran finally made it through, relieved she hadn't been crushed by the crowd.

She was covered in another layer of sweat by the time she got on the bus. Just as she sat down, she heard someone on the bus say, "We'll be safe once we're past this checkpoint. It's another hour and a half to Gamma."

"I heard all the flights have been grounded, but there's a specially approved batch of planes that can fly back home."

"Will there be enough room for so many people?"

"Don't worry, I just asked an officer. He said a naval fleet is coming to pick us up."

"Really? That's great." Everyone looked excited and relieved.

Suddenly, someone said, "But that group of soldiers is only escorting us this far. They aren't going to Gamma."

"Huh? Why not?"

"They said they have other escort missions. There are still a few more groups behind us that haven't evacuated yet."

After a second of silence, someone on the bus rushed to the window and shouted outside, "Thank you!"

Everyone started shouting out the window, "Thank you!"

Outside the checkpoint, a group of soldiers was struggling to maintain order; they didn't hear. But inside, several soldiers who were discussing matters with the Dongguo Government Army while holding documents heard them. They looked back and gave a wave.

It was at that moment that Song Ran saw him.

Her heart suddenly pounded, and she almost jumped out of her seat.

He was also looking in this direction, but he didn't raise his hand to wave. He turned his head and continued his discussion with the Government Army. Soon, the few of them walked toward the convoy and gestured to the drivers of each bus, saying something. The convoy that had been allowed through began to move again.

Song Ran stared at him nervously. He wore a mask and full camouflage combat gear, his belt cinched tight at his waist. His pant legs were long and straight, the cuffs tucked tightly into his military boots.

He signaled to the drivers of several buses, made a forward gesture, gave a standard military salute, and then walked back toward the checkpoint.

Song Ran's bus started moving slowly. She watched him walk toward her, but he wasn't looking at the bus. Instead, he stared in the direction of the checkpoint, his brow slightly furrowed, beads of sweat forming. His dark eyes were bright and powerful.

In the instant the bus passed him, Song Ran suddenly shouted, "Hey!"

Her voice was drowned out by the noisy crowd and various languages at the checkpoint. Neither he nor his companions turned around.

"Hey!" she called again, but he still didn't hear.

Anxious, she stuck her head out the window and yelled.

"Ah Zan!"

This time, he turned around, looking somewhat puzzled.

As if heaven was on her side, the bus suddenly stopped for a moment. He was just a few steps away.

She quickly pulled off her mask and headscarf, reached out her hand to him, and shouted, "Ah Zan!"

He looked at her, puzzled, for two seconds, but then gave a slight smile, took two steps forward, and extended his hand toward her.

She grabbed it forcefully. He was wearing black, half-finger combat gloves. The leather was soft, and his palm was hot and sweaty.

He shook her hand briefly and then let go. At that moment, the bus suddenly started moving. Unwilling to let go, she reflexively grabbed for his wrist, but instead pulled a red string off his hand.

He froze for a moment and seemed to want to step forward to snatch the string back, but the bus had already separated them, driving past the second internal checkpoint.

Song Ran was also stunned. When she came to her senses, his figure was gone. Only a red string, meant to protect its wearer, lay quietly in her palm, still warm from his hand.

That was June third, ten minutes past three in the afternoon.

Later, when she recalled it, the day she met Li Zan was a very ordinary day.

That day seemed very normal. The weather was sultry and oppressive. At the time, she thought it was just another perfectly ordinary day in her life.