WHEN THE FOG CLEARS

I paid no attention to Julian’s whereabouts. After settling company matters, I decided to take a long-overdue trip.

Ever since my youth, I had dreamed of traveling to Tibet, but life’s endless detours had delayed it until now.

In April of this year, my plane landed in Chengdu, preparing for a self-driving road trip all the way into Tibet.

On departure day, outside the car window stretched endless rolling hills and farming fields, dawn sunlight scattering across the vast plains.

The first stop on the Sichuan-Tibet Highway was Kangding, about a half-hour drive from Chengdu. Stopping there for a day, I visited a famous alpine lake, standing at 3,780 meters altitude with majestic snow-capped mountains unfolding right before my eyes.

Passing through the high-altitude towns and thousands of Tibetan villages, I met several like-minded young travelers at a small tavern. After sharing passionate toasts to our youth, everyone packed up and continued their respective journeys.

Along the road, stopping and going, I frequently crossed paths with kindred spirits—sometimes a family of three, sometimes fellow solo wanderers like me, and sometimes couples driving dusty cars deep into Tibet with stars in their eyes.

I kept no strict schedule; I stopped whenever a sweeping grassland caught my eye, standing in quiet solitude for hours.

The day I drove to a sacred monastery to witness the breathtaking golden sunrise over Mount Gongga, I received a long-overdue call from Liam. As the golden sunlight illuminated the snow-peaked ridges, his voice rang right beside my ear: “Evelyn, happy birthday.”

My gaze froze on the mountain peak. In that instant, the entire world seemed to halt, leaving only the sound of my own heartbeat.

Suddenly, the universe felt infinitely vast, making human existence seem remarkably minuscule.

In this grand world, everyone has their brilliance. Yet humans always trap themselves in worldly trivialities, forgetting that in the end, we all return to mere dust.

Whatever I lost, I lost. The past—right or wrong—was just part of life. People live in the present, and living joyfully in the moment is what matters most.

“Liam——”

I spoke facing the golden mountain: “I’m waiting for you in Tibet.”

Feelings among mature adults become clear in a split second, unlike youth where things could be hidden from everyone.

Along this journey, Liam never physically showed up, but no matter which route I took, his invisible presence lingered.

Especially when a section of the mountain road collapsed, even though he wasn’t physically there, he had personally commanded and directed the evacuation and rescue efforts.

Liam arrived in Tibet much earlier than I anticipated. As I drove forward, dealing with bouts of altitude sickness that required long resting stops, he was already catching up.

I parked my car outside a hotel. Liam opened the passenger door, wearing sunglasses, hiding his expression while his lips curved upward: “Good girl.”

This leg of the journey, Liam and I traveled quite leisurely. We visited historic palaces and ancient streets, witnessing the ultimate devotion of pious pilgrims.

Prayer wheels spinning in the wind, amidst reincarnation and faith intertwining, ancient poets once wrote: “Turning mountains, rivers, and pagodas—not to seek the next life, but merely to cross paths with you along the road.”

Adult romance is raw and transparent, demanding mutual collision to verify its truth.

Liam shed his usual aura of authority. Years of military service had sculpted his physique to absolute perfection—unfortunately, at an extreme altitude, he had to exercise extreme restraint.

He bit down lightly on my collarbone, pausing his movements, breathing heavily with bulging veins tightening across his arm.

Burying his head in my shoulder, he whispered ‘Evelyn’ over and over again, his voice echoing across the snowy Tibetan plateau, while hot tears brushed against my skin, burning enough to scald me.

I raised my arms to wrap around his waist, patting him gently, tilting my head toward him—framed right outside the window stood the towering snow mountains.

A lonely journey of ten thousand kilometers on a pilgrimage path.

Life has no definitive endpoint, and I am still simply myself.