Chapter 2 – North of Anhe Bridge

Anhe Bridge wasn’t as desolate as the song made it out to be. Heading north, there were modest residential areas with plain white walls plastered with massive real estate advertisements. Nearby, there was also a small shopping center, not much different from the shooting range tucked away in the corner of Shijingshan. Gu Yiming wandered around the area, sensing a kind of mundane loneliness—and the deliberate clamor meant to counteract it.

…It was incredibly noisy.

The shooting range was noisy too. The sounds of air guns and sport firearms firing, amplified by indoor acoustics, had become one of the occupational hazards for shooting professionals. Many long-term athletes suffered from hearing issues. But the background noise Gu Yiming had grown accustomed to was different from this deliberately attention-grabbing commotion.

Only about half the shops on the entire floor were open, and every single one of them was blasting pop songs of varying tastes—drums and cymbals clashing, lyrics in Chinese, English, Japanese, and Korean bombarding the senses. Lost in this chaos, Gu Yiming thought he heard someone calling his name. The shout erupted simultaneously with a high-pitched “she’s gone” right next to his ear, making him wonder if it was just his imagination—like a nervous athlete hallucinating the start command.

It wasn’t until the neighboring music store’s track ended and a brief silence fell that Gu Yiming turned around and finally confirmed the source of the voice: near the corner of the corridor, a young man in a baseball cap was bent over, panting heavily, as if he had chased after him. The young man’s gaze was locked onto him, and when Gu Yiming turned, he even waved.

Gu Yiming walked over just as the music store switched tracks, the drum intro kicking in as he reached the other person, perfectly timed with the lyrics “put on your war paint.”

The baseball-capped young man stood up to about the same height as him, with faded gray strands peeking out from under his cap. Despite the rebellious hair color and the casual cap, his face was bright and sunny, his smile warm and friendly. Gu Yiming racked his brain but couldn’t recall ever meeting someone like this. He wanted to ask if they knew each other but hesitated, afraid the guy might be some long-forgotten classmate—which would be awkward.

Unlike many shooting athletes who only turned professional after college entrance exams, Gu Yiming had been attending just three classes a day since middle school, leaving early in the afternoon for training. As a result, he barely knew half his classmates. He barely scraped into a local university on his shooting merits, only to hit a career peak right after—spending three months competing, eight months in training camps, and one month home for New Year’s, attending fewer than 50 academic classes a year. People always said classmates were the easiest to become lifelong friends with, but Gu Yiming couldn’t even remember most of his potential candidates’ names.

While Gu Yiming was still struggling to recall, the baseball-capped young man had already caught his breath. Clearing his throat, he cut straight to the point: “Gu Yiming, the Gun King—it’s really you. I’ve watched your matches for ages, but this is the first time I’ve seen you in person.”

Watched his matches… Gu Yiming was surprised. Logically, he knew shooting sports enthusiasts existed despite China’s strict gun control, but their discipline was awkward—lacking the mass appeal of the “three big and three small” sports and missing the spectacle of figure skating or diving. Only the first gold medal of the Olympics ever sparked any buzz. In non-Olympic years, domestic shooting competitions rarely filled the stands, with reporters, teammates, and relatives often outnumbering spectators several times over. Even Gu Yiming—let alone his Olympic champion seniors—had never been recognized on the street before.

Beyond surprise, Gu Yiming felt a pang of discomfort: the guy had called him “Gun King,” a title the media had given him years ago when he dominated domestic competitions. After hesitating, he corrected softly, “No…”

“Huh?”

“Not Gun King.”

Gu Yiming expected a drawn-out exchange of flattery and modesty, but thankfully, the baseball-capped young man spared him. Perhaps aware of his recent slump, the guy quickly dropped the topic and instead extended his right hand with easy confidence. When Gu Yiming didn’t react immediately, he waited patiently until Gu Yiming belatedly shook it.

As their hands clasped, Gu Yiming noticed two dimples on the other’s cheeks and momentarily spaced out, stumbling over his words: “I—uh, hello, I’m Gu Yiming.”

The guy’s smile deepened, dimples becoming more pronounced. Gu Yiming pursed his lips, unsure how to react. Once the laughter subsided, the young man straightened up and replied seriously, “Hello, God Gu. I’m Fang Xiao.”

Fang Xiao was talkative. Maybe it was his nature as a shooting enthusiast, but he could effortlessly chat with someone as socially inept as Gu Yiming. Without realizing it, Gu Yiming had relaxed, following him into an outdoor gear shop draped with a bright red banner. Even the sudden blast of a viral song from around the corner didn’t disrupt their conversation.

Fang Xiao had watched all four legs of this year’s World Cup and knew Gu Yiming had only made the finals once—for obvious reasons. He didn’t press about performance or results, casually asking instead, “No training with the team today?”

Gu Yiming shook his head. “Just me.”

He’d meant to brush it off but inexplicably added, “Taking a break from training…” Meeting Fang Xiao’s gaze, he admitted, “Results are too bad. Need some time off.”

Fang Xiao blinked at his bluntness, and the conversation stalled. The thumping bass from next door kept going, the long table by the shop entrance vibrating in sync with the speakers. Gu Yiming leaned against the table while Fang Xiao sat on a plastic chair behind it. They stared at each other for a moment before Fang Xiao suddenly stood up. Under Gu Yiming’s puzzled gaze, he spread his arms and pulled him into a hug.

Gu Yiming froze.

Fang Xiao tightened his arms, pressing close before whispering in his ear, “A hug for God Gu.”

Gu Yiming didn’t know how to respond. After a long pause, he answered solemnly, “Thank you.”

Fang Xiao chuckled and patted his back before letting go and sitting back down. “So, what’s your plan now? Going home to rest for a while?”

“…Not going back.”

Even if he went home now, there’d be no one there. He hadn’t planned to return to Zhejiang, intending to stay out and clear his head instead. But how exactly one “cleared their head,” Gu Yiming didn’t know. Aside from competitions and training, he had almost no experience traveling for leisure.

After listening, Fang Xiao propped his chin on his hand and thought for a moment before suggesting, “How about joining our road trip?”

“Road trip?”

Fang Xiao seemed slightly embarrassed. He coughed lightly, then tilted his head toward the banner stretched across the long table. Gu Yiming stood to look: red background, black characters proclaiming “Changfan Club Gansu-Qinghai-Tibet-Sichuan Road Trip Assembly Point,” alongside a hand-drawn doodle that was probably the club’s logo.

“It’s not some official tour… Five cars, twelve people, 45 days total. First to Dunhuang, then Xining, finally into Tibet and out through Sichuan. Interested?” Fang Xiao rested his chin on his hand, looking up at Gu Yiming with hopeful eyes—less composed than before, even a little nervous.

His eyes were bright. Gu Yiming’s mind wandered again.

Before Gu Yiming could respond, Fang Xiao anticipated possible concerns and snapped his fingers, adding, “Not an ad, no fees. We cover our own food, lodging, and attractions, split gas and tolls evenly. I’ll handle the car.”

After rattling off the details, Fang Xiao didn’t push for an answer—just waited patiently, eyes shining. His face was perfect for persuasion: warm, sincere. Gu Yiming hesitated. “I don’t have a license—”

“We have backup drivers. You don’t have to,” Fang Xiao said, clearly sensing his wavering. He grinned, dimples reappearing. “Though having one would be better.”

“Well…”

Gu Yiming didn’t know why. But before he knew it, he was on the phone with his coach, reporting his travel plans. Zhu Haibing wasn’t surprised Gu Yiming had chosen a long trip, just reminded him to stay safe and asked for the organizer’s contact info. Gu Yiming agreed to everything. After hanging up, he turned to see Fang Xiao scrolling through his phone, then reached up to touch the baseball cap Fang Xiao had forcibly placed on his head—supposedly a road trip member’s badge.

Suddenly, he remembered those crime warnings often shared on social media:

—A pat on the shoulder / a puff of air / a cigarette offered, and the victim loses all awareness, handing over their bank card in a daze.

Gu Yiming thought: Colorless, odorless mind-control drugs… they really do exist.