Chen Hao's hand was still resting on Nana's mechanical fingers, his palm icy cold and his knuckles trembling slightly. The charcoal in the stove crackled, as if sending a chill down his spine.
Nana didn't pull her hand away; she turned the vent to the lowest temperature setting, and a gentle breeze caressed his wrist. Her other hand was scanning the outer armor of her right leg—there was a diagonal scratch on the bottom of her snow boot, with clean edges, not like it was made by a stone or ice shard.
“This mark,” she said, “is engraved.”
Chen Hao blinked, the strange taste of the frozen fruit still lingering in his throat—sweet yet metallic. "Who has time to draw on the soles of their shoes?"
“It’s not a drawing.” Nana activated the laser micro-scan, and the light spot moved back and forth between the shoe treads. “The pattern is arranged in a regular pattern, with three horizontal lines and two vertical lines connecting to an arc, repeating seven times. There is no such structure in the standard friction model.”
She turned on the projector, and the pattern on the sole of the shoe, when magnified, looked like a string of codes.
Chen Hao tilted his head and looked at it for two seconds, then suddenly laughed: "You know what, this really does look familiar."
"You've seen him?"
“Yesterday I dreamt I was climbing a mountain, and I was stepping on similar footprints.” He paused, then added, “Of course, dreams are all fake, but sometimes… fake things can guide you.”
Nana didn't reply. Her electronic eyes flashed, as if checking a database or trying to determine how serious he was about what she said.
In the end, she only said, "I suggest you remove the lining and check it."
“Okay.” Chen Hao sat up straight, propped up on the heated mat. “Anyway, I can’t run around now, lest I see my dad doing square dancing in the sky again.”
Nana glanced at him, didn't smile, but the frequency of the light patterns was half a beat faster.
She pulled out the tool arm to prepare for high-temperature peeling, but just as the temperature reached 120 degrees Celsius, Chen Hao reached out to stop her.
“Don’t burn it,” he said. “If there’s chili powder hidden inside, we’ll have to eat homemade smoke bombs.”
He pulled out half a rusty ice axe fragment from his inner pocket; the blade was chipped at one corner—it had broken off while mining the day before yesterday and he hadn't thrown it away.
“I’ll do it.” He lowered his head and used the shards to pry open the stitching on the shoe lining.
Her movements were clumsy, but steady. With each pry, her breathing became heavier. Nana watched his pulse at the side of his neck; the reading was quietly climbing.
“Your heart rate is too fast,” she said.
“I know.” He snorted. “But do you know what’s the worst? Before, they wouldn’t even cheat on exams, but now… they can actually survive by stealing shoes.”
The thread finally broke open, and he used his fingernail to dig it in and tear it apart little by little.
A yellowed piece of parchment slid out and landed on the heating pad with a soft thud.
Both of them lowered their heads at the same time.
The animal hide was painted with a winding route in dark red paint, starting with a triangle and ending with a wolf's head symbol. There were small crosses and dots along the way, like markers.
Nana immediately checked the terrain database: "Southeast Valley, snow wolf activity area. But this route... avoids all known subsidence zones and air traps."
"This isn't a map for escaping," Chen Hao grinned. "It's a map for going home."
How can you be so sure?
“Wolves don’t draw maps,” he said, turning over the animal skin. “But some people do. And that person has either been carried off by wolves or slept with them.”
Nana paused for two seconds: "The logic isn't sound, but... it's possible."
She saved the map to an encrypted partition and marked it as a "high-risk clue".
"Shall we go take a look?" Chen Hao asked.
"The blizzard outside has intensified, and visibility is less than five meters."
"Then you're not going?"
“I don’t object,” she said, “but I insist on wearing a face mask.”
"Oh, are you afraid I'll go crazy from inhaling mushrooms again?" He put on his coat and stuffed the animal skin into his pocket. "This time I promise, if I see hallucinations, I'll slap myself."
“The last time you said ‘guarantee,’ you were chewing on an unidentified fruit.”
“But I came back alive.” He put on his other intact snow boot. “Do you remember? You said that my data shouldn’t be deleted.”
Nana paused for a moment and closed the warning message that was about to pop up.
“Let’s go,” she said, “but if you stay more than ten minutes beyond the planned time, I’ll drag you back.”
"Okay, you stall for time, I'll play dead."
The two pushed open the door and stepped outside, the wind and snow hitting their faces. Nana walked ahead, her mechanical arm deploying a shield mode to block 80% of the wind pressure. Chen Hao followed behind, his neck hunched, his steps a little unsteady, but he didn't call for them to stop.
Following the map for twenty minutes, they arrived at a crevice in the valley. The snow was piled up thickly, and Chen Hao used his ice axe to dig a few times, revealing a crack in the rock. He pushed hard, and the stone door creaked open, as if no one had touched it for decades.
Inside was a natural ice cellar, with frost on all four walls, dry grass mats on the floor, and several sealed ceramic jars piled in the corner.
But the most eye-catching thing was the patch of blue-purple mushrooms in the corner.
The cap is the size of a fist, with a glossy surface, as if coated with fluorescent paint. As the air moves, the brightness flickers, rhythmically changing, like it is breathing.
Chen Hao's eyes lit up: "This thing can be used as a night light."
Nana immediately took a sample for testing, and the results popped up three seconds later: "The spores contain neurostimulants. Inhalation can cause hyperactivity and disorientation, and long-term exposure can lead to behavioral mania."
"Oh." Chen Hao nodded. "Then it's poisonous."
"yes."
“But plant mutations are often accompanied by resistance genes.” He squatted down, grabbed a handful and put them in his backpack. “Maybe we can purify antifreeze.”
"You said the same thing last time."
“I was half right that time too.” He stood up and clapped his hands. “Science relies on empirical evidence. How do you know if it will work if you don’t try it?”
“You can make soup,” Nana suddenly said.
Chen Hao was taken aback: "Aren't you going to stop me?"
“I can’t stop them,” she said. “But I’ve changed the pot by adding a strainer. Also, I’ll replace your portion with a nutritional paste.”
"You're really mean," he laughed, "but I believe you."
Back at the base, Chen Hao poured the mushrooms into a pot, added water, and lit the fire. The blue-purple caps slowly curled up as they heated up, and a layer of oil rose to the surface of the soup, gleaming with an eerie sheen.
Nana stood beside him, while electronic eyes continuously monitored his heartbeat, body temperature, and brain waves.
The firelight reflected off her exterior, revealing the silver line on her right arm still seeping fluid, which dripped onto the floor with a soft hissing sound. She neither repaired it nor mentioned it.
"Who do you think left this map?" Chen Hao asked suddenly, stirring his soup.
“Unknown,” she said, “but the mapmaker is familiar with the habits of snow wolves and has basic surveying skills. The most likely candidate is—one of the previous survivors.”
What happened to them afterward?
"No record."
The soup began to bubble, emitting a pungent aroma, a mixture of rust and decaying leaves.
Chen Hao scooped up a spoonful, blew on it, and was about to drink when Nana reached out to stop him.
“Wait three minutes,” she said. “Observe the delayed response period.”
"You're always like this," he sighed, "always slamming on the brakes at crucial moments."
“I’m not the brakes,” she said, staring at the soup. “I’m here to prevent you from driving yourself into the ditch.”
He laughed and put the spoon back on the side of the pot.
The flame flickered, and a faint blue light flashed across the filter at the bottom of the pot—it was the ion-intercepting layer that Nana had just activated, which could adsorb most of the active spores.
Time passed second by second.
The soup changed from cloudy to clear, and the blue light gradually settled to the bottom.
“You can drink it now,” Nana said calmly.
Chen Hao picked up the spoon again, and just as he was about to scoop some food, he suddenly looked up.
"Wait a minute." He squinted at the pot. "Is this soup... moving?"
Nana immediately adjusted the scan.
The soup surface was still, but the sediment at the bottom was slowly rotating, forming a miniature vortex with a concave center, as if being sucked in by something unseen.
Before she could speak, Chen Hao had already put the spoon in.
The moment the tip of the spoon touched the center of the vortex, the entire pot of soup jolted violently.
The blue light exploded, climbing along the pot's side and wrapping around his wrist as if it were alive.
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