Forget, Lop Nur

I suddenly felt a bit sorry for him.

He had originally come along to accompany his wife to see a psychologist, and his wife seemed more like someone with psychological issues, but in the end, the doctor's focus landed on him—not only insisting he undergo therapy but also prescribing a pile of medication. Could those psychiatric drugs just be taken casually?

Gu Song's face was full of helplessness.

"Whether I should take the medicine or not—you don't know how many times we've argued behind closed doors about it. She should be well aware of her own problems, and I'm perfectly normal, really, believe me."

I nodded, but inside I was thinking that Eccentric Song once said every mental patient denies having a mental illness.

Including myself—many people say there's something wrong with my head, that I'm sick, but I don't see it that way. I'm just different from ordinary people; I haven't truly detached from real life, but I prefer my own world, my own space.

Yes, in reality I don't really have friends, because I feel I can't connect with those people, but I don't dislike them or do anything to them. We're just parallel lines—they live their lives, and I live mine.

"Get him to the point. It's been nearly an hour, and all he's done is ramble." Duan Hongbin yawned.

I awkwardly said to Gu Song, "Let's talk about your wife's situation."

"Oh, oh, right. Look at me, getting sidetracked and forgetting the important stuff." He was clearly a bit embarrassed.

After taking a sip of water, he continued, "I originally thought she had a psychological problem, but I never expected this outcome. We've been together for many years and hardly ever had a cross word, but this time, over whether I should take medicine, we've argued several times. I've noticed her temperament has changed—she's become stubborn and unreasonable."

I was a bit speechless—how could he not get past the medicine issue? But then he went on, "After that, her condition got worse. She'd often sit alone in a daze, with a strange expression on her face—laughing one moment, crying the next, then looking terrified. When I asked what was wrong, she'd suddenly act normal and say nothing was the matter, then ask why I kept insisting something was. She asked what my intentions were—whether I'd only be happy if something really was wrong with her. Mr. Jiang, you have no idea how bitter I felt inside!"

For some reason, hearing him call me "Mr. Jiang" made me uncomfortable all over. I really wasn't used to being called "mister," especially by someone Gu Song's age, and he was a teacher at a normal college.

I've had a fear of teachers since childhood. Growing up, teachers were always towering figures in my mind, unapproachable.

"Ahem, Mr. Gu, just call me Xiao Jiang, or Xiao Bai. To be honest, I'm not used to being called Mr. Jiang—it makes me feel so old."

"Oh, sorry. Then I'll call you Xiao Bai." Gu Song was easygoing, probably the same with his students. His temperament was very mild, yet someone like him was nearly driven mad by his own wife.

"Every night, her conversations with the air would start right on time, and gradually I got less scared. She also started sleeping a lot. At first, I wondered if something was wrong with her health, so I made her go to the hospital for a checkup. She was unhappy about it but went anyway, and the results came back normal—which left me very puzzled."

I suddenly asked, "You mentioned earlier that she doesn't think she has any problems, but before that, you said she told you she always felt someone was watching her from the shadows. After seeing the psychologist, did she still have that feeling?"

Gu Song said, "Yes, she mentioned it to me more than once after that. I didn't know how to comfort her anymore. But strangely, a week before the incident, she never brought it up again. When I asked if she still felt someone was spying on her, she looked at me like I was an idiot and asked when she had ever said someone was watching her. When I brought up the past, she didn't remember any of it."

"When you say 'the past,' do you mean the things that happened to her recently, or everything before?" I asked clearly, because I thought it was important—whether she only forgot recent events or everything from her past made a difference in nature.

Hearing me ask that, Duan Hongbin shot me an approving glance.

Just then, the door opened—Xu Qiuyan was back.

She looked a bit surprised to see Gu Song but still smiled and nodded at him before heading into the kitchen.

I didn't call her over, since she hadn't heard the long stretch of content before, and listening now wouldn't make much sense. If she was interested, I'd tell her after Gu Song left—at least my retelling would be much more concise than his.

"She forgot the things that happened to her. Of course, some things she never even knew, so there's nothing to forget."

Gu Song sighed lightly after saying that, and his expression began to look a bit desolate.

"Mr. Gu, may I ask—before your wife's problems started, did you go anywhere or meet anyone?"

This wasn't my own question; Duan Hongbin had told me to ask it.

"We've been to many places. She and I both love traveling, especially her—she loves going everywhere. She said she envied San Mao the most, being able to tread across ten thousand rivers and a thousand mountains. San Mao's book Ten Thousand Rivers and a Thousand Mountains Traversed was her bedside reading; San Mao was her idol. Let me tell you, when I first met her, she was obsessed with San Mao—her room was almost entirely filled with San Mao's books and posters. Actually, San Mao wasn't pretty at all, far less so than my wife. I don't know what was so worth idolizing..."

I was about to collapse—he was going off-topic again.

"Where did you go last?" I cut off his reminiscing about San Mao, or else he might not emerge from that shadow until evening.

"Oh, we went to Lop Nur. It was our fourth time there—she suggested it. She has a special attachment to that place, but I think she's an adventurer at heart, curious about all sorts of strange things. Do you know why she likes going to Lop Nur? Have you heard the story of Peng Jiamu, or the Twin Fish Jade Pendant?"

I nodded. I'd read about it in some book, but I thought those legends were unreliable—especially Peng Jiamu's case, which the authorities had already explained. As for the Twin Fish Jade Pendant, I believed it was something that couldn't possibly exist.

"Was this trip the same as usual? Or was there some kind of extraordinary encounter?"

I was starting to get curious too, because I understood why Duan Hongbin had me ask that question. He thought the changes in Gu Song's wife might stem from some special experience or meeting someone unusual.

"This time, we went with a group of travel buddies—all experienced people. Two of them were old acquaintances from the last time we entered Lop Nur. There were eight of us in total, and we had plenty of food and water prepared."

He paused here, squinting his eyes. "At first, nothing strange happened when we entered Lop Nur. It wasn't until the night before we were about to leave that one of the travel buddies said he was going to relieve himself, but after nearly half an hour, he still hadn't come back. We got worried, afraid something had happened to him, so we split into two groups to search nearby. We agreed that whether we found him or not, we'd return to camp in an hour. At the time, my wife was in a group with me and another travel buddy. We searched for almost an hour without finding him, so we headed back to camp as agreed, thinking maybe the other group had already found him."

I really didn't understand these adventure seekers. Wasn't living safely good enough? Why go out of your way to add risk to your life? That saying was right—if you don't court death, you won't die. Many accidents are caused by people themselves. Free solo climbing, tightrope walking—I'd never participate in those dangerous activities. I'm not like some people who think their lives are too long.

It's not that I'm afraid of death, but some deaths just aren't worth it—they have no meaning.

Sima Qian once said that a person's death can be weightier than Mount Tai or lighter than a feather. If you're going to die, it should be a spectacular one.