THREADS AND TORQUE

The Shanghai morning light, sharp and artificial compared to Yúnzhī Cūn's misty glow, sliced through the blinds, painting stripes across the blanket nest on Xu's living room floor. Xu blinked awake, the city's low thrum already building outside – a distant siren, the bassline of traffic, the hum of millions waking. Beside her, Li Na was a tangle of limbs and dark hair, still deeply asleep, one arm flung over her eyes. Xu lay still for a moment, the reality of yesterday – the resignation, the packing, the sheer, terrifying leap – settling over her not with panic, but with a quiet, solid certainty. Three days. She carefully extracted herself from the blankets, her ankle brace a familiar stiffness, and padded to the small bathroom. The splash of cold water on her face was a jolt, washing away the last cobwebs of sleep and city-dreams. She looked at her reflection – shadows under her eyes, yes, but also a lightness she hadn't seen in months. She brushed her teeth, the mundane act feeling like part of the shedding process. Back in the main room, she gently shook Li Na's shoulder. "Hey. Rise and shine, city slicker. Adventure awaits. Specifically, the adventure of finding me boots that won't slide off a mountain."

Li Na groaned, burrowing deeper into the blankets. "Adventure smells like cardboard dust and regret. Five more minutes." Her voice was muffled.

"Breakfast first," Xu bargained, pulling the blanket down slightly. "My treat. Congee? Steamed buns? Something greasy and fortifying before we tackle outdoor superstores?"

The promise of food worked. Li Na cracked an eye open. "Greasy. Definitely greasy. And coffee. Lots of coffee. I need fortification against the sheer madness of you buying… what? A pickaxe? A goat?" She sat up, rubbing her eyes, her asymmetrical bob sticking out at an improbable angle. "Seriously, Linxue, what does one even pack for permanent mountain dwelling? Besides an inexhaustible supply of wool socks?"

Xu laughed, tossing Li Na her discarded sweater from the night before. "Socks are high on the list. Also, practical things. Warm layers that aren't cashmere death traps. Maybe a better rain jacket. My laptop needs a rugged case if the café WiFi is as temperamental as Anze hinted. Oh, and my ankle…" She flexed it carefully. "Granny Wen's poultice worked wonders, but some anti-inflammatories wouldn't hurt. Just in case." She grabbed her phone, automatically checking for messages. Nothing yet from Anze. Dawn would just be breaking in Yúnzhī Cūn.

Breakfast was a bustling affair at a hole-in-the-wall dumpling place down the street, steam fogging the windows, the air thick with the smell of frying dough and soy sauce. They squeezed onto tiny stools at a shared table, balancing bowls of rich pork and chive congee and plates of golden, crispy *shengjianbao*. Li Na, fortified by strong tea, scrutinized Xu over the rim of her bowl. "So," she said, blowing on a scalding dumpling, "this room he's building. Is it… attached to the café? Like, above the silent room? Does it have a door? Or is it just a glorified broom closet he's handing over?"

Xu dipped a dumpling in vinegar and black vinegar. "It's an alcove. By the back stairs. Stone foundation. He's putting up wood walls. Da Chun – he's the big guy who works the terraces – brought seasoned pine planks. Auntie Mei gave felted wool for insulation. Uncle Bo sent hinges." She couldn't keep the warmth out of her voice. "It's… basic. But it's solid. He sent a picture last night. It looked like… possibility."

Li Na raised an eyebrow. "Possibility and pine splinters. Romantic." She took a bite, juice dribbling down her chin. "And you're okay with basic? No ensuite bathroom? No… you know, walls that don't potentially double as insulation for mice?"

Xu smiled. "Remember that leaky studio I had near the university? The one where mushrooms grew in the corner? This alcove with seasoned pine and Granny Wen's damp-proof hemp cloth sounds like a palace. Besides," she added, her voice softening, "it's facing east. He said I'd see the dawn light hit the gorge." The image, more than any luxury, felt like home.

Li Na studied her friend's face, the quiet conviction there. She sighed, a sound halfway between exasperation and resignation. "Okay, okay. Dawn light on a gorge. Fine. Let's find you some non-mushroom-friendly palace furnishings. And boots. Sturdy, sensible boots that scream 'I renounce concrete'." She pointed her chopstick at Xu. "But no flannel shirts with elbow patches. I draw the line at cliché."

Their first stop was a large outdoor equipment store, a cathedral of synthetic fabrics and aggressive hydration systems. The sheer scale was overwhelming. Xu felt momentarily adrift among the rows of technical jackets, high-tech sleeping bags rated for arctic conditions, and shelves of freeze-dried meals boasting flavors like "Beef Stroganoff Extreme." Li Na, however, embraced the absurdity. She held up a neon pink puffer jacket. "Essential for blending in with mountain flora? Or terrifying birds?" She then found a hat with built-in LED headlamps and ear flaps. "Practical *and* a fashion statement. You'll be the talk of the cloud-weavers."

Xu steered her towards the footwear section. "Boots, Li Na. Focus." She needed ankle support, waterproofing, and grip suitable for the infamous Thread Path. A knowledgeable sales assistant, sensing Xu's genuine need (and perhaps Li Na's potential for chaos), helped her find a pair of sturdy leather hiking boots with excellent tread and robust ankle support. As Xu laced them up, testing the fit, her phone buzzed discreetly in her pocket. She pulled it out slightly, angling it away from Li Na who was now examining a multi-tool the size of a small brick.

> **Anze:** The ATV cranks but sputters - carburetor's probably clogged from sitting. Draining the old fuel now. Yan's 'helping'... which mostly means watching.

A small smile touched Xu's lips. She quickly typed back, her fingers flying.

> **Xu:** Yan 'helping' sounds ominous – hope she's not handing you wrenches when you need screwdrivers! Boot mission accomplished though, found fortress-feet. Li Na tried to make me buy a light-up hat... send help!

She slipped the phone back, focusing on the boots. "These feel good. Solid." She took a few steps. The ankle brace fit comfortably inside.

"Excellent!" the sales assistant beamed. "Great choice for serious trails. Where are you headed? Huangshan? Yulong Snow Mountain?"

"Somewhere… quieter," Xu said evasively, catching Li Na's knowing smirk.

As they moved to the electronics section for a durable laptop sleeve and extra power banks, Xu felt her phone buzz again. Li Na was engrossed in comparing solar chargers, muttering about wattage and efficiency.

> **Anze:** Yan just handed me a chicken feather, said it was 'lucky'. Fuel's drained, but I need a new fuel line – Zhang might have one, or Bo'll probably try to whittle something. That hat *does* sound useful for finding you in the mist.

Xu stifled a laugh. She snapped a quick, sneaky picture of the overwhelming wall of backpacks in front of her – a sea of nylon and buckles. She sent it.

> **Xu:** Feeling lost in this city jungle... could use that chicken feather for luck! How's the whittling option looking?

The reply came quickly.

> **Anze:** That backpack looks bigger than Mòfáng! Mist is easier to navigate, honestly. Zhang had the fuel line – Yan's disappointed about no whittling. Fixing it now.

Warmth spread through Xu's chest. The mundane update about a fuel line felt intimate, a shared thread connecting her chaotic shopping trip to his focused repair work. She selected a simple, well-padded laptop sleeve and a couple of high-capacity power banks. "These should do," she announced to Li Na, who was now examining a satellite phone with intense interest. "Don't even think about it," Xu warned. "Café WiFi or bust."

Li Na sighed dramatically. "Fine. But if you get eaten by a yeti and I can't call for help, I'm blaming your romantic mountain man and his dodgy internet."

Their final stop was a large pharmacy. Xu picked up a fresh supply of anti-inflammatory gel, some strong painkillers for emergencies, high-SPF sunscreen ("Mist burns too," Anze had mentioned once), and a comprehensive first-aid kit that looked far more advanced than anything she'd ever owned. Li Na added a giant bottle of industrial-strength mosquito repellent. "Cloud-weavers might be friendly, but I bet their mosquitoes are vampires." As Xu paid, her phone buzzed again. Li Na was momentarily distracted by a display of alarming-looking herbal remedies.

> **Anze:** Got the ATV running! Sounds like an angry bear, but it runs. Tested it on the Soul's Path – didn't fall off the gorge. Pickup will be way easier than walking the Thread Path.

Relief, sweet and immediate, flooded Xu. He'd done it. For her. To make her arrival easier. She quickly sent back:

> **Xu:** Angry bear ATV sounds perfect, definitely better than walking – thank you, truly. Got the first aid kit, and Li Na added industrial-strength anti-vampire spray. Almost done here, then food... starving!

She added a quick, slightly blurry selfie – just her eyes and the top of her head. Moments later, a reply popped up.

> **Anze:** Your eyes look tired. Eat well – vampires hate garlic, remember.

>

> *Picture received*: A slightly shaky photo taken from the driver's seat of the ATV, showing a stretch of the Soul's Path – gravel, bamboo lattice reinforcement, dense forest crowding in. *Path clear. Waiting.*

Xu stared at the picture. The path looked narrow, challenging, yet meticulously maintained. *His* path. *Their* path now. And the simple words: *Path clear. Waiting.* They resonated deeper than any grand declaration. She slipped the phone away, her cheeks feeling warm, just as Li Na turned around, holding up a jar of something unidentifiable and green. "Linxue! Look! 'Ancient Mountain Spirit Energy Balm'! Guaranteed to… do something mystical! Should I get it for you? Or for Granny Wen as a peace offering?"

Xu steered her towards the exit. "Let's stick to scientifically proven mosquito repellent, Na. And food. I'm about to faint."

Dinner was a comforting, noisy affair at a favorite Sichuan place, all fiery spices and numbing peppercorns. They rehashed the day's shopping absurdities, Li Na doing an impression of the overly enthusiastic boot salesman that had Xu snorting tea. The underlying current, though, was the impending separation. "You *will* text," Li Na stated, not for the first time, dipping a dumpling into a volcano of chili oil. "Every night. Even if it's just 'ate radish, didn't die' or 'Anze grunted today, it meant happy'."

"I will," Xu promised, smiling. "WeChat. Slow but steady. I'll send pictures of mist. And Yan's drawings. And maybe the angry bear ATV."

"And you," Li Na pointed her chopstick with deadly accuracy, "will answer *my* texts. Don't get so lost in mountain bliss you forget your poor, abandoned city friend slowly succumbing to spreadsheet-induced ennui."

"Deal," Xu laughed. "And you *will* visit. Boots mandatory. Open mind recommended."

"Scout's honor," Li Na vowed, raising her teacup. "To mountain hermits and the brave souls who supply them with anti-vampire spray."

Later, back in the increasingly empty apartment, surrounded by sealed boxes labeled "Mountain" or "Storage", the exhaustion hit them both. The adrenaline of the day, the packing, the shopping, the emotional weight of goodbyes – it all settled like heavy dust. They brushed their teeth side-by-side in the echoey bathroom, the familiarity of the ritual a comfort. They remade their blanket nest on the floor. Li Na was asleep almost instantly, her breathing deep and even, one hand curled near her face. Xu lay beside her, the city's glow painting familiar patterns on the ceiling. But her mind wasn't on spreadsheets or city lights. It was on a gravel path through green shadows, the rumble of an engine that sounded like a bear, and a quiet man waiting at the end of it. She reached for her phone one last time.

> **Xu:** Back at the apartment – ate enough Sichuan fire to keep me warm for a week. Li Na's asleep, literally mid-complaint about packing. Place echoes... feels empty, but in a good way. That path picture was perfect. See you tomorrow.

>

> *Sent a picture*: A dim shot of Li Na asleep, mouth slightly open, half-buried in blankets, with a corner of a box labeled 'Mountain' visible.

She waited, watching the grey tick. The reply came slower this time.

> **Anze:** Sleep well. The path waits. ATV's gassed up, tools are ready.

>

> *Picture received*: A dimly lit shot inside Mòfáng. The café was dark, but a single oil lamp cast a warm pool of light over the workbench. On it lay a set of clean, neatly arranged wrenches, screwdrivers, and the new fuel line. No Anze in sight, just the quiet order of readiness. *Good night, Xu.*

Xu stared at the picture. The quiet order, the preparedness, the absence of him but the palpable presence of his care… it sent a different kind of warmth through her, deeper than the Sichuan spices. It felt like a promise, silently made in lamplight.

> **Xu:** Good night, Anze. Tools look very professional. Tell the mountains good night. Tell Yan not to dream of light-up hats.

She put the phone down, screen facing the floor. Outside, Shanghai pulsed its endless rhythm. Inside, surrounded by boxes and her sleeping friend, Xu closed her eyes. The image of the lamplit tools merged with the memory of the pine planks in the alcove. Not just a path cleared, but a space prepared. A welcome. She drifted into sleep not to the city's hum, but to the imagined sound of a handsaw rasping through wood and the distant rumble of an engine waiting on a hidden mountain track.

In Yúnzhī Cūn, Anze stood for a long moment after sending the picture, looking out from Mòfáng's terrace into the deep velvet night. The mist hung heavy, muffling sound. The ATV was parked nearby, a silent, mechanical beast ready for tomorrow. He'd checked it twice, cleaned the tools meticulously. Everything was in order. Everything was ready. He thought of Xu's text – *empty in a good way*. He understood that feeling, the shedding. He thought of her dim picture of her sleeping friend, the corner of the 'Mountain' box. His thumb hovered over the phone screen, a sudden impulse to say more than 'good night'. But the words tangled. Instead, he simply banked the stove embers one last time, the faint glow reflecting in his dark eyes. The mountains were silent sentinels. The path was clear. He turned and walked towards his small room, the quiet of the night settling around him like a blanket, carrying the echo of her name and the certainty of the dawn drive ahead. Sleep, when it came, was deep and dreamless, filled with the scent of pine resin and the anticipation of gravel under tires.