Chapter 6
Deep within the Canadian Rocky Mountains.
Nearly half a year had passed since my “death.”
I had come to love extreme mountaineering—as if only amidst biting winds and treacherous cliffs could I wash away the blood and cold that lingered in my bones.
That death certificate was naturally fake. The price was ten million dollars: bribing the bodyguard responsible for “supervision” and obtaining convincing hospital records.
My parents had long since lived under assumed names, rebuilding their business overseas.
That day, as I reached the glacial summit, ominous tremors suddenly shook the ground beneath me.
Avalanche!
An overwhelming white death roared toward me.
Just as I was about to be swallowed, a hand in black tactical gloves yanked me into a narrow ice crevice.
Deep in the crevice, a man in dark red mountaineering gear sat resting with closed eyes. His hood shadowed most of his face, revealing only a sharply defined jawline.
He radiated an aura colder than the ice itself.
“Thank you,” I said to him.
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“Shut up. Conserve your strength,” his voice cut through the face mask, icy and emotionless.
Furious at his rudeness when I’d spoken politely, I stopped
acknowledging him. We sat in silence.
After the avalanche settled, the man stood and stubbornly resumed his climb upward.
‘You’re insane! The avalanche just stopped! Another bigger one could come any minute!”
He glanced at me. “Boring.
དར་རས་ནས་གནད་དང་བན་དང་ར་ཉ་ད་ན་ན་ནི་ཡོད་ད་དེ་ས་
་་་་་
With that, he turned and walked away. I’d never seen anyone so reckless and arrogant. As if possessed, I followed him.
The man moved with remarkable agility, but I noticed his frame looked strikingly slender under heavy gear–almost… similar to mine?
This was definitely not an adult male’s physique!
Just as I puzzled over this, his foot slipped. He lost control and tumbled rapidly down the steep ice wall! Jagged boulders waited below!
“I must owe you in my past life!” Steeling myself, I dropped my heavy backpack.
Using my ice axe and ropes, I recklessly charged downward. At the last possible moment, my ice axe barely caught his safety rope. He was
unconscious.
With all my strength, finally dragged him to the nearest rescue station.
“Severe hypoxia, comminuted fracture in the lower leg. Immediate surgery required!” The doctor spoke rapidly, handing over the surgical consent form.
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After a moment of silence, I signed under “Relationship“: Girlfriend.
Sarah.
The surgery succeeded.
But afterward, the doctor called her aside with grave expression. “Ms. Miller, your ‘boyfriend‘… has amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, known as ALS.”
ALS. A torture imprisoning the living within a rotting shell. No wonder he was so desperate to summit…
We can only strive to slow its progression. But… patients with this disease typically have a life expectancy of just three to five years.”
When I returned to the ward, he had awakened.
from
དད་ ོ་རེད་དང་དང་ ་ད་ ད་ ད་འདད་ད་ད་ར
Propped against the headboard, his hood slipped down, revealing a face too young and too pale, his hollow eyes fixed on the ceiling.
He unabashedly rolled his eyes when he saw me approach.
“You!” I snapped, irritated.
Another eye roll was my only reply.
Only after I’d cared for him tirelessly for half a month did he reluctantly start talking to me.
“Michael Thompson,” he stared at me, “And you? Fake girlfriend?”
“Michael, how many times must I say it? It was an emergency! I’ve zero interest in a bag of bones like you!” I shot back.
Michael rolled his eyes again.
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