The living room suddenly fell silent, save for the whirring of the air conditioner vents. A-Jie was the first to burst out laughing: "You have quite the imagination! Why didn't you include Lhasa too?"
"But thinking about it carefully," Li Xiang picked up his phone to check flights, "the high-speed train from Chongqing to Beihai only takes six hours, which is plenty of time. In mid-July, Weizhou Island isn't in typhoon season yet. Although it's hot in Chongqing then, it's still nice to have hot pot by the river at night with the breeze."
"And this way," Chen Mo took the knitting needles off his shirt, "those who want to see the stars can stay up all night on Weizhou Island, those who want to visit museums can take their time in Chongqing, and those who want spicy food and seafood will all be satisfied."
Zhang Yuan suddenly jumped up from the sofa: "Then what are we waiting for? I'll check out guesthouses right now!" His sneakers left sharp marks on the floor as the last rays of the setting sun slid down his shoulders, as if drawing a golden end to this long discussion.
VI. Unopened Maps and Stories Yet to Be Written
When the first hotel booking confirmation SMS arrived, the moon had already risen above the treetops outside the window. The atlas on the coffee table was reopened, and a red pen drew a winding route between Chongqing and Weizhou Island, like a dragon about to awaken.
"Do you think," Lin Wei said, tapping a picture of Hongyadong with her fingertip, "if I wore Hanfu and climbed the Eighteen Steps in Chongqing, I'd be mistaken for an NPC?"
"When I'm diving at Weizhou Island," A-Jie said, placing his tablet face down on the table, the screensaver of coral reefs still swaying in the virtual waves, "if I encounter a sea turtle, can I touch its back?"
"I want to go horseback riding in Hulunbuir..." Chen Mo was interrupted by Zhang Yuan before he could finish: "Come on, figure out how to climb Chongqing's hills first!"
Li Xiang suddenly stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. The city lights shattered like stars in his pupils. When he turned back, a smile played on his lips: "You know what? It doesn't really matter where we go. What matters is that we're setting off together again."
These words, like a pebble thrown into a lake, created gentle ripples in the air. Xiaoman held up the turquoise yarn on her crochet hook; the ball of yarn shimmered like pearls under the light: "When I get back from this trip, I'm going to crochet a blanket from the sea off Weizhou Island and a tapestry from the bridges of Chongqing."
As night deepened, the chatter turned into the rustling of packing. A-Jie rummaged through the closet for a bikini, Zhang Yuan studied hot pot dipping sauce recipes on his phone, Lin Wei carefully folded her Hanfu into her suitcase, and Chen Mo's knitting needles traced silver arcs in the moonlight.
On that open atlas, Chongqing's light rail still weaves between virtual buildings, and the waves of Weizhou Island remain forever still, just a second before crashing against the rocks. Like all unopened journeys, it is full of unknown folds and blank spaces waiting to be written.
As the first rays of dawn pierced the curtains, six backpacks appeared on the coffee table in the living room. From the side pocket of one backpack, a half-folded map peeked out; red ink had drawn a dotted line between Chongqing and Weizhou Island, a line soon to be filled with footsteps. The world outside the window was like an unfinished book, waiting for them to write new chapters with their footprints.
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