EGRV 22 | Eyes

【Good stories would speak to him, and inspiration would open its arms.】

Zhong Yanyun arrived on a flight two days later. He didn’t ask anyone to pick him up, simply renting a car and driving to the agreed-upon location in the mountains by himself. He appeared at the campsite directly, carrying a 70L hiking backpack in one hand and leading his three-and-a-half-year-old son with the other. Once Zheng Chengling saw that everyone had arrived, he called Liang Muyie to let him know he could come over and start filming at any time.

The drive to Squamish from the city was the same road as the one to Whistler. It had only been a few days since he had last driven this route, only back then, the person sitting in the passenger seat had been Chi Yu, fully geared up and ready to head up the mountain to find someone.

After their meal that day, Liang Muyie had gone back on his own. When he left, his snowboard had a fresh coat of wax, and the relationship between the two of them had been temporarily mended. Liang Muyie had arranged a time to take another lesson from him, and they had even chatted a bit on WeChat. He had saved the two photos Chi Yu sent him and even posted them to his Moments, complete with a “rock on” hand gesture emoji.

Below the post, Wang Nan’ou, undeterred, continued to ask when he would go alpine skiing with him again. Li Xiangwan’s comment, “Both so handsome,” was clearly suggestive, while Cheng Yang just posted a string of crying and floor-pounding emojis.

Upon arriving at the climbing camp in Squamish, Liang Muyie was taken aback to see Zhong Yanyun and three-and-a-half-year-old Zhong Lele.

Zhong Yanyun explained it himself: his wife and family were all busy, and since the boy already had a tourist visa, he’d brought him along this time to let him experience it.

Liang Muyie smiled and said it was a great idea, crouching down to greet Zhong Lele. Whether it was his handsome features, his long hair, or his humorous and approachable demeanor, he had always been a hit with kids, and Zhong Lele was no exception. There were seven people there that day, and even Zheng Chengling, captivated by the natural beauty of Squamish, had an itch to climb and suited up. Everyone paired up except for Liang Muyie, the cameraman. So, with a camera in one hand and Zhong Lele in the other, he filmed their training and managed to capture a lot of B-roll footage in between.

The spot they chose this time had a few interesting multi-pitch routes, three to five rope lengths each, none too difficult, graded between 5.9 and 5.10. Zhong Yanyun, however, was among the first wave of Chinese climbers to break into the 5.14 difficulty grade. With his skill level, he could have free-soloed the entire thing, flashing it on his first attempt without even breaking a sweat. But when Liang Muyie looked down, he saw that only Zhong Yanyun’s rope had a stopper knot tied at the end.

After sunset, they returned to the nearby campsite. Zheng Chengling started a fire and cooked instant noodles for everyone on a simple camp stove. Most of the team dispersed early. Liang Muyie took out a miniature bottle of honey bourbon whiskey he had bought for Zhong Yanyun a few days prior, poured himself a tiny cup, and broke his rule to have a small drink with him.

The rock face they had practiced on during the day was a slightly inclined granite slab that outdoor enthusiasts had named the “Wanderer’s Gallery.” Zhong Lele was exhausted after a full day of playing outside. Zhong Yanyun said he wanted to catch up with his old friend, so Zheng Chengling took Lele back to the car to sleep.

“Looks like… you’ve been doing well these past few years. Lele is so smart and has a talent for sports. Just like you,” Liang Muyie said, watching the backs of the big and small figures recede before turning to him.

Zhong Yanyun smiled with genuine contentment. “He’s usually with me at the climbing gym. Even if you’ve never eaten pork, you’ve seen a pig run. We’ll see what he likes when he’s older. I don’t want to limit him too much.”

“Yeah, I heard. I’ll come check it out sometime.” Liang Muyie had only heard through others that Zhong Yanyun had invested in a climbing gym in Chongqing over the past few years.

“No need to be polite. You haven’t been climbing these last couple of years, have you? If you’re not climbing, there’s no need to make the trip.”

Liang Muyie looked down and smiled. Having not spoken to him in years, he’d almost forgotten how direct Zhong Yanyun was, just like himself. You didn’t need pleasantries or to beat around the bush when talking to him.

“It seems Brother Zheng is quite reluctant to let you go,” Zhong Yanyun said.

“Yeah. But what other people think is their business.”

“True.”

“President Zheng’s obsession with that film of ours is pretty funny,” Liang Muyie said, waiting until the figures of Zheng Chengling and Zhong Lele were far in the distance. “I haven’t dared to watch that film for five years, I find it so embarrassing. I’m not talking about you; you were very genuine in it. It was my filming style and technique that were so damn pretentious. What the hell did I know about life back then?”

At the time, DJI had just produced a batch of drones in their internal testing phase. Liang Jiansheng pulled some strings to get one, and Liang Muyie, using a handheld camera and the drone, had filmed a 93-meter ice waterfall to look like it was 390 meters tall. Zhong Yanyun, who always just focused on his own climbing and paid no mind to how he was being filmed, frankly admitted after redpointing the route and seeing the footage, “How come it looks even scarier than when I was climbing it?”

“Each stage of life brings its own understanding. Just because you feel differently now doesn’t mean what you felt back then was insincere,” Zhong Yanyun said.

Back then, in Life is a Mountain, he had said that a person’s state of mind is completely different when free-soloing. With no way to retreat, you give it your absolute all, as if entering a realm of your own. He had once been obsessed with that state, believing that only dire straits could unlock his full potential, that only without protection could he unleash his true strength. But now…

“I saw you even tied a stopper knot at the end of your rope. Have you done any free-soloing these past two years?” Liang Muyie asked.

To prevent the end of the rope from slipping through the belay device during a fall, a stopper knot is a climber’s last line of defense. Tying a knot at the end of the rope is a textbook safety procedure. In practice, however, many experienced climbers skip it for convenience.

They used to climb multi-pitch routes together. They were young, didn’t believe in fate, and often didn’t tie safety knots. They had an unspoken understanding that climbers were divided into two types: those who tied knots and those who didn’t. He had never imagined that Zhong Yanyun would get married, have a child, and switch camps mid-stream.

“I still do sometimes, but I won’t go on a difficult route I don’t have beta for without protection. I calculate the risks. My tolerance for it is much lower than it used to be.”

Liang Muyie finished the liquor in his cup. Zhong Yanyun picked up the bottle to pour him another, but he was extremely restrained, saying one cup was his limit. He was different from his old self.

“Things are different now,” he said.

“Muyie, what you said back then in Life is a Mountain wasn’t wrong, you know,” Zhong Yanyun added. “It’s true. It’s just that back then, we both thought the highest mountain was the one we were about to climb.”

Liang Muyie pondered for a long while before speaking again. “It’s not that I think making that film was insincere. I just feel… it was a kind of meaningless heroism. I believed in it then, but I don’t anymore. This sport is a sport that creates gods, and my film was also about deification. So this time—President Zheng didn’t say what kind of documentary he wanted, but I want to film it differently.”

Zhong Yanyun had seen him filming Zhong Lele for B-roll earlier that day, and he understood what he meant.

He said, “There’s no need to box yourself in. The fact that your work becomes a hit means people love watching it; that’s not fake. You don’t have to be a part of the story, but you can still be the storyteller, just like you are now.”

A smile finally touched Liang Muyie’s lips. “I just haven’t come across a story I really wanted to tell.”

His outdoor photography had always been inspired by a muse. The poet-like free climber Zhong Yanyun had been his first guide, while Chen Nian, who lived by the motto “no obsession, no survival,” was the subject he had followed the longest. Before starting the oxygen-free climbing project with Chen Nian, he had been in Sichuan, photographing the female owner of Dragon Mountain Guiding, the famous mountaineer Qian Xiaoxian.

During her first ascent of K2, Qian Xiaoxian was caught in a blizzard and lost contact for 37 hours in the snow. She lost three fingers on her right hand to frostbite. Liang Muyie filmed her reaching the summit of Mount Gongga using her remaining two fingers, taking off her glove, and flashing a V-sign at the camera, her smile radiant and fearless. He followed her up three or four mountains over 6,000 meters in Sichuan province, which resulted in a series of portraits he titled Xiān. A daughter of the mountains, an immortal among mortals.

He had always believed that good photographs possessed a serendipitous spirituality. When he encountered the right person and the right scenery, he wouldn’t need to direct; good stories would speak to him, and inspiration would open its arms.

The branches burned down, the flames dwindled, and the temperature outside dropped. Under the “Wanderer’s Gallery,” night fell. In the distance, the retreating figures of Zheng Chengling and Zhong Lele grew smaller, eventually shrinking to two black dots. Even Zhong Yanyun zipped up his down jacket to the very top, but Liang Muyie felt no cold at all. What he had just said to Zhong Yanyun was perhaps too absolute. He lowered his head, his palms sweating slightly as he uncontrollably thought of a pair of glistening black eyes.