Chapter 8 – Smile for Me

On the first day the convoy stopped in Dunhuang, the weather was exceptionally fine. The autumn sunlight draped lavishly over the wilderness, the azure sky fading from the zenith toward the horizon, the yellow sand in the distance taking on an ambiguous pale hue—the boundary between sky and land was almost tender.

After the Golden Week holiday, the tourist crowds at Mingsha Mountain had thinned. The desert was vast and boundless, like endless ocean waves. The convoy disbanded at the entrance of the Mingsha Mountain scenic area—families with children went to find camel rides, college students wanted to try sandboarding motorcycles, and Tang Shao tagged along with them. Fang Xiao consulted Gu Yiming for his opinion, and after flipping through the map for a long time, Gu Yiming finally said he wanted to visit Crescent Moon Spring—it was the only landmark name that looked familiar to him.

Fang Xiao knew Gu Yiming hadn’t traveled much, so he was especially patient with his preferences. The two walked through the desert for a while, then stepped onto a gravel path lined with withered willow trees in late autumn, passing through a landscaped corridor before arriving at Crescent Moon Spring. The spring was indeed shaped like a crescent moon, quite ingeniously so. But the solitary emerald pool standing amidst the yellow sand had a temperament less like a crescent and more like an unstrung bow.

Gu Yiming liked what he saw. Though he still didn’t speak much, his expression visibly softened into smiles, finally resembling someone his age. Fang Xiao had brought a DSLR but didn’t take photos himself, letting Gu Yiming hold it the entire way. Gu Yiming circled the spring, taking pictures back and forth—not just of the scenery but also of Fang Xiao. He tried several angles before deciding he was satisfied, even dragging Fang Xiao over to direct his posing. Fang Xiao, ever good-natured, let him fuss.

After snapping a few shots, Gu Yiming hesitated, but managed to say “Fang Xiao, smile for me. Smile a few times.”

He wanted to capture Fang Xiao’s dimples.

Once Gu Yiming finished, Fang Xiao leaned in to review the photos. Gu Yiming seemed to have a natural talent for photography—the lighting and colors were accurate, and he had a knack for freezing motion, capturing falling leaves and rippling water perfectly. His hands were also remarkably steady; even at a 1/4-second shutter speed in low light, he managed handheld shots effortlessly. One photo stood out: against a backdrop of blue water and yellow sand, Fang Xiao, hearing Gu Yiming’s direction, turned his head to glance back, his ash-gray hair fluttering in the wind. The faint hint of a dimple as he began to smile gave him an almost youthful innocence.

Gu Yiming sent the original photo to Fang Xiao and saved a copy for himself. He recalled Fang Xiao mentioning he was nine years older—twenty-eight, then, the same age as most athletes on the team. Many of them had already settled down, achieved considerable success, yet they didn’t smile like this—perhaps only in front of their families. In Gu Yiming’s WeChat Moments, Xie Qingyun carried his little daughter on his shoulders, grinning just as brightly.

What about Fang Xiao? Had he started a family?

A sudden curiosity sprouted in Gu Yiming’s long-barren heart.

Around Crescent Moon Spring stood willow and poplar trees, planted to bring a touch of Jiangnan’s soft charm to the desolate frontier. By late autumn, however, the foliage had withered and fallen. Gu Yiming stepped into the corridor and noticed nearby shops and a faux-antique wooden tavern. With the off-season lull, even the staff seemed lethargic—Gu Yiming waited nearly ten minutes just to buy a bottle of water. Standing under the eaves, he idly scanned his surroundings until his gaze landed on a nearby sign.

It was a deliberately weathered wooden plaque detailing the history and current state of Crescent Moon Spring. The dazzling legacy described at the end bluntly revealed the truth: the spring had dried up decades ago. The surrounding trees were artificially irrigated, and while the water wasn’t tap-fed, an artificial lake nearby had been built to maintain the water level.

After reading the plaque, Gu Yiming looked back at the photos he’d taken. On the screen, Crescent Moon Spring remained as beautiful as a dream… a false dream. It had once lived, then died, and now paraded its preserved corpse. The sharpshooter had died too, resurrected by collective expectation, parading another hollow shell. Sometimes during training, Gu Yiming felt like his soul had left his body, watching from the sidelines as a second-rate shooter went through the motions. He had stood at greater heights before; he knew exactly what was wrong and how to fix it. But his mind and body were misaligned—he couldn’t even control himself. He didn’t deserve any of it—not his place on the shooting team, not Fang Xiao’s concern, not even the name Gu Yiming.

His finger hovered over the delete button, paused, then retreated. By the time the shopkeeper finally handed him his drink and change, Gu Yiming had already slipped his phone back into his pocket.

He passed Fang Xiao a bottle of water and asked, “Did you know? This spring is fake.”

“Crescent Moon Spring? It’s not exactly fake…”

But it was no longer the naturally formed oasis once hailed as a miracle of the frontier.

He paused, then asked, “Don’t you like it?”

Gu Yiming didn’t like it.

Thinking of the photos he couldn’t bring himself to delete, of Fang Xiao’s youthful face framed by blue water and yellow sand, he answered, “It photographs beautifully.”

Fang Xiao smiled. “That’s because Xiao Gu took them so well. Do you usually take photos?”

“Not really.”

“What do you usually do, then?”

“Shoot.”

Gu Yiming said. Then he fell silent for so long that Fang Xiao was about to change the subject when he added, very quietly, “And… look at WeChat Moments.”

“Moments? WeChat?” Fang Xiao was surprised. “Xiao Gu, your Moments album is empty, isn’t it?”

“…Just looking.”

Gu Yiming had a bit of an idol complex—he felt that as a dedicated shooting athlete, he shouldn’t be obsessed with this. But he was. Gu Yiming disliked socializing; he had no close friends to confide in, and his way of understanding the world was different from most. Scrolling through others’ Moments was like peeking into lives he couldn’t otherwise access. Coaches generally praised Gu Yiming’s discipline, but in truth, he had a mild internet addiction and grew anxious without his daily fix. He strongly suspected his slight nearsightedness wasn’t from shooting but from nightly phone sessions under the covers after lights-out.

Fang Xiao had fallen into an odd silence the moment Gu Yiming mentioned “WeChat Moments.” By the time they walked back from Crescent Moon Spring to the scenic area entrance and queued for the Mingsha Mountain camel ride, he couldn’t hold back anymore. “Xiao Gu, you’re really adorable.”

Gu Yiming stood stiffly, face blank.

Fang Xiao coughed lightly, scrambling for a recovery, but his mind went blank. After struggling for words, he lamely repeated, “I mean… you’re cute.”

After another pause, he added, “In a good way.”

Then he glanced back at Gu Yiming and said earnestly, “Really.”

As if worried Gu Yiming would sulk, Fang Xiao turned to look at him while climbing onto the camel—only to miss the stirrup, slip off, and send the kneeling camel tilting sideways. It happened too fast for Gu Yiming to react. By the time he moved, Fang Xiao was already kneeling in the sand, one knee planted firmly in the desert.

Dazed, Fang Xiao clambered up with a bewildered expression. Gu Yiming circled around, crouched to inspect his knee, and, after confirming he was unharmed, casually brushed the sand off his pant leg. The gesture clearly flustered Fang Xiao. He withdrew his leg, thanked the camel handler who helped him up, and even apologized to the camel he’d bumped into—looking everywhere except at Gu Yiming. Fang Xiao’s white camel, with its dark eyes and droopy eyelids, looked docile yet aggrieved. He stroked its back and tipped the handler extra for the camel’s feed.

The camel train stretched like a winding rope, Gu Yiming’s mount following Fang Xiao’s. Watching his back, Gu Yiming thought, Who’s the adorable one here?

Dunhuang was three time zones west of Beijing but used Beijing time, so even in autumn, dusk came late. At seven in the evening, Gu Yiming and Fang Xiao sat across from each other at a table, the slanting sunlight spilling lazily over greasy wooden chairs, metal trays lined with plastic bags, a grill stand, donkey meat noodles, and a half-empty bottle of Fanta.

This was Shazhou Night Market, Dunhuang’s famous food street, indistinguishable from most tourist snack alleys in the northwest. The adjacent commercial street was lined with Yiwu souvenirs and machine-embroidered scarves, homogenization at its finest. Gu Yiming had walked through so many identical markets that the veneer of authenticity had worn away completely. There was nothing new under the sun; humanity flowed like ants across this vast, barren land, learning from and blending into one another. In this fluid world, one could glimpse the globe from a secluded corner via the internet, yet wander the earth without seeing anything different.

Gu Yiming’s voice broke the silence between them, “Fang Xiao, why did you come?”

His phrasing was vague, but Fang Xiao had granted him that privilege—he should understand. And Fang Xiao did.

“Our convoy isn’t professional. Some people just love driving; others come for the scenery, to broaden their horizons. For me, it was mostly about trying something new. I think experimenting is good.” Fang Xiao said. “Xiao Gu, there was a time when I felt like the sky was falling. By chance, I went to Shenyang, watched a match, and suddenly realized… the sky doesn’t collapse.”

Fang Xiao seemed to recall something, tapping the table with a knuckle as he smiled. “Maybe I just have that kind of luck.”

Shenyang… Gu Yiming thought of the gun-holding hand in Fang Xiao’s WeChat Moments. That year’s National Games had also been held in Shenyang—sixteen-year-old Gu Yiming had clinched the first shooting gold. His gun was a newly swapped Morini, its icy grip warming gradually in his palm.

Ah.

He felt a twinge of guilt, and a flicker of pride.

He thought, Ah.