It was a secondary road, barely etched into the eroded earth, stretching eastward like a scar between arid hills and dead shrubs. On either side of the path, the landscape unfurled as a vast expanse of salt and stone, occasionally broken by the remains of a fallen utility pole or the rusted skeleton of a pointless fence.
The only movement came from a lone motorcycle, gliding across the plain at a steady pace. Covered in a fine layer of dust, the vehicle drifted over the dry terrain like a persistent shadow, kicking up faint clouds of sand in its wake.
Riding it was a lean man, stiff-backed, wearing a long dark coat that fluttered like a short cloak behind him. A pair of cracked sunglasses hung from the handlebars, and strapped to the rear seat were two leather suitcases, a rolled-up blanket, and a rusted shovel.
As the figure drew closer, details began to emerge: a scruffy beard, cracked leather gloves, a patched-up backpack. The wind tugged at his coat and tousled the dark strands of hair poking out beneath a dust-covered aviator’s cap.
Around his neck swung a compass, and on his belt, a small notebook wrapped in black cloth.
The engine hummed softly, as if honoring the silence of the land.
The man said nothing. He only squinted into the desert glare. From time to time, he muttered something only he could hear, then fell quiet again.
His name was Ulises Twain.
He traveled alone.
And he wasn’t running away… but he wasn’t planning on going back, either.
After leaving behind the place he had once called home, Ulises had gone three days without seeing a soul. The world around him felt trapped in an eternal dusk, where the only thing left to do was move forward. He had learned to navigate by the sun when the compass faltered with the motorcycle’s vibrations, and to sleep beneath the frame of his bike when the wind was too fierce to pitch a tent.
He stopped only when necessary: to refuel, to drink, or to jot down a brief thought in his notebook. Each stop was another point on a map without lines-an invisible trail toward an unknown place. Only his final destination was certain: the whereabouts of the man who wore his face.
In the distance, something rose on the horizon: a wall, or perhaps a natural ridge. A grey silhouette with square towers jutting up like broken teeth over the plain. Ulises eased up on the throttle, watchful.
A country.
A city.
A stop.
"I've made as few stops as possible. In fact, most of that first night, I didn’t even sleep. I just kept going..."
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
-And still, I haven’t seen that car again.
He didn’t know much about the town he was heading toward, but it was a place to rest, refuel; and more importantly, investigate the trail of his double.
So, he kept going.
For hours.
And hours.
And hours.
Yet the city never seemed to get any closer, as if it, too, were moving in the same direction.
"Strange..."
He rode a little further.
Until he came upon someone.
A man, walking beneath the blistering heat of the sun.
He was tall, dressed in black robes embroidered with red details, layered with belts and a thick sash of the same crimson hue.
"How is he not boiling in that outfit?"
As Ulises neared, more details came into view.
Despite his height, the man looked quite young.
He had long, silky black hair with streaks of red, tied back with a gold ornament. His almond-shaped eyes were pitch black, and his pale skin was marred with fresh injuries-most notably, a long scar running diagonally beneath one eye. Though it had healed, it looked as if he’d been beaten not too long ago. His elaborate clothing was also torn and scratched.
Ulises passed him and stopped his motorcycle just a few meters ahead.
The first thing he did upon parking was pull back his coat, revealing the pistol at his hip-just in case.
But the young man looked at him with joy, as if seeing another person for the first time in years.
-請... 水，水
He spoke strange words-and collapsed onto the dry ground.
Ulises rushed to him without hesitation.
Just as he suspected, he was severely dehydrated and suffering from heatstroke.
First, he half-pitched his tent to create a patch of shade.
Then he gave him water. A few minutes later, the stranger began to recover.
...Half an hour passed.
The young man stirred.
-You're finally awake. You feeling alright?-Ulises asked.
-太感謝了-His voice was quite deep but soft, although it was impossible to understand what he was saying
-Uh?
-我很感激你救了我
-Kid, I don’t understand a word you’re saying.
The young man realized the situation quickly and pulled a small booklet from his sash.
He flipped through the pages rapidly.
-Much... thank you…-He said, struggling with the words.
-Oh, no problem at all.
-My... name is Feng Qiu.
-Ulises Twain,-He replied, pointing to himself-nice to meet you. By the way... do you know why I can’t seem to reach that city?
Feng stared at him, puzzled.
"Guess that dictionary isn’t exactly bilingual..."
Ulises quickly pointed to the distant wall.
-Oh!-Feng finally understood-No... want fire.
-Fire?
Feng got up slowly and walked over to the motorcycle, pointing at the engine.
-Motor... is explosion. They... no want fire.-He said with clumsy pronunciation.
Ulises scratched at his beard, which had begun to grow back.
-So they won’t let anyone near the city if they’re carrying fire? Then how do we get in?
-We... walk!
-...
Following his lead, the two of them began walking toward the city.
Now that he had to drag his motorcycle with the engine off, the heat felt even worse for Ulises. To distract himself, he tried striking up conversation.
-Feng.
-Hm?
-Have you seen a car-He mimed turning a steering wheel-black-He pointed to Feng’s black hair-With three scars?-He raised three fingers and motioned to Feng’s prominent facial scar.
Feng thought for a moment.
-Yes! I see. One day ago.
-And how did they get to the city if they don’t allow fire?
-Car... pulled by Láng.-He gestured as if showing a snout.
"Láng? Wait… a dog? No, a wolf!"
"So Heathcliff’s wolf dragged the car like a carriage..."
Finally, a lead.
They were in that city. He was sure of it.
But before he could celebrate, a voice rang out.
It echoed through the dry air, with no clear source.
Without saying a word, the two continued walking until they reached the large wooden gate that marked the city’s entrance.
-Your names, travelers.-Announced a soldier from a small booth beside the gate.
-I’m Ulises Twain. And this is Feng Qiu.