When Han Xixi signed up to volunteer in the west, her counselor urged her to think it over. The northwest wasn't a tourist destination; it would be hard out there. She signed the form without asking another question. There was a fire in her heart, and she wanted to plant its spark in the coldest place. But before she even reached her destination, she was caught up in an anti-terrorist operation at Liuyuan Station. A bullet skimmed past her arm, and a masked soldier pulled her out of its path. All she remembered were his eyes, dark brown like rocks weathered by the wind for thousands of years on the Gobi.
She thought that would be the only time their paths crossed. Later, she arrived at Xingxingxia Town Central Primary School and became the teacher of all fifty-three children there. Chinese, math, music, PE, art: she taught them all. Life kept her busy until the National Day celebration between the military and civilians. After she played the violin onstage and finished dancing in the group performance, several soldiers took turns asking her to dance. Just as she was wondering how to turn them down, a hand reached out from beside her, palm open. “Me or him?” She looked up and met those dark brown eyes. His forehead was smooth; the bump she'd made by drunkenly headbutting him had long since vanished. She placed her hand in his. She'd only come to teach, never expecting to take home a poker-faced officer as well. He'd only passed through her world, never expecting a glass of red wine, a remark about what a grumpy old man he was, and one headbutt to knock her way into his heart. The wind blew hard across the Gobi, and the moon was full. She'd arrived with a violin and a warm heart. When she left, she'd probably be taking someone with her.
