Yama Reborn
Chapter 51 - 49 [Hitching a Ride with the Wind]

Chapter 51: Chapter 49 [Hitching a Ride with the Wind]

Chapter 49: Hitchhiking

Dinner was a basket of bread, fresh from the oven. The hotel retained its Colonial Era style, and the service of baking bread in the back kitchen was still available. Mineral water with bread was how Chen Nuo made do with dinner—he wouldn’t dare touch the local curries and bean soups.

Around seven o’clock in the evening, Chen Nuo ambled out of the hotel and onto the streets of Kathmandu. In this era, there weren’t many domestic tourists in Kathmandu; Southeast Asia, particularly Singapore, Malaysia, and Thailand, was what was in vogue. It wouldn’t be until the new media era, a decade or so later, that this place would be hyped up by a bunch of internet celebrities and second-tier tourism dealers, who would concoct the "highest happiness index" gimmick. Nobody knew which dubious organization had come up with this so-called "highest happiness index." In any case, the Nepalese people themselves definitely didn’t buy it.

The term "literati youth" was a compliment in the seventies and eighties because it carried substance. Back then, the bar was high; one had to be well-read in Tagore and Shelley Yeats, and domestically, able to casually mention Hai Zi, Gu Cheng, Shu Ting, and Bei Dao. By the nineties, it weakened a bit, but aspirants still had to have read Wang Xiaobo and San Mao, and be able to discuss the new wave in cinema convincingly. Reciting lines from Wang Jiawei’s films was also essential.

After 2000, everything went south. The explosion of the internet led to a massive influx of poseurs into the "literati youth" group. There’s nothing inherently wrong with posing, as the older generation also enjoyed it. The problem was, most newcomers lacked substance and merely pretended, often blindly. A major reason for this shift was that before 2000, "literati youth" genuinely possessed a certain cultural edge. After 2000, however, higher education became widespread, and college graduates were everywhere. Consequently, when an uncultured, pretentious person started spouting off, bystanders would get annoyed, thinking, Who the hell hasn’t been to university? Who hasn’t received a higher education? Who are you to try and one-up me?

These individuals lacked true literary cultivation, having only skimmed a few catchy phrases from pseudo-literary "spiritual chicken soup," yet they dared to play the part. Later, it became even more ridiculous. In the new media era, they collectively morphed: on their Weibo and in their friend circles, they projected an image of "peaceful years" and "graceful subtleties," yet elsewhere, their conversations were often crude, revolving around genitalia. They hardly read any books—they just scrolled through Little Red Book.

Why the decline? Because the cost of posing had plummeted. One no longer needed to laboriously chew through great novels or poetry; understanding them, or even reading them, became irrelevant. Internet celebrities, with their self-serving advertorials, would condense catchy quotes and hand them over, essentially saying, Take these. You don’t need to read the whole work; these few lines are enough to show off.

Speaking of which, those naïve "literati youth" who firmly believed Nepal had the world’s highest happiness index were, in fact, part of the same crowd as those dimwits who hitchhiked to Tibet and then proclaimed their souls had been purified and elevated. Some of them overlapped, belonging to the same group.

Yes, just some of them—the type who would dress up like gypsy women and hitchhike along the Sichuan-Tibet Highway instead of flying. They’d hitch rides during the daytime, and at night, well, the fireworks were nonstop. They paid for their car rides, food, and accommodation with physical offerings, eventually arriving at the gates of Potala Palace. (If you’re interested, look up some articles from a few years ago that describe this; I won’t go into detail here.)

Then, gazing at the clear sky, breathing the oxygen-depleted air, they would cry out: "My soul has been purified!"

Next would come all the affected prose on Weibo and in their friend circles, accompanied by photos of their dirt-streaked faces, flushed from the high altitude.

All this pretense of having transcended the worldly and attained limitless spiritual elevation and purification...

Purify my ass.

Have you even washed off the stench on your body?

Such brazen shamelessness.

「 」

Chen Nuo strolled around outside and returned laden with bags, big and small. When he got back to the hotel, the package he had mailed had already been delivered to his room. After checking the items in his room and packing them carefully, Chen Nuo went down to the lobby on the ground floor and found the hotel manager.

"I need to get to Lukla and then to EBC."

The innkeeper, a Briton with suntanned skin and shrewd eyes, smiled at the guest before him. "Trekking?"

"No, by plane."

"Friend, if you’re heading to EBC, I suggest you fly to Lukla. Then you can trek from there. Hire a few Sherpas and a yak team to transport your supplies. Besides, you can enjoy the beautiful scenery along the way."

Chen Nuo grinned. "I’m in a hurry. Please help me arrange it."

The owner’s name was Wilson, a quintessential British name. His guesthouse in Kathmandu might not have looked impressive, but it was a preferred choice among many enthusiasts in the circle. Wilson himself was also a seasoned member of several local mountaineering and trekking associations. Mountaineering and trekking enthusiasts visiting Nepal for the first time could get advice and assistance from him—for a fee, of course. This was the main reason Chen Nuo had chosen this guesthouse.

He was going to EBC: Everest Base Camp, commonly referred to as Mount Everest Base Camp. Situated at an altitude of about 5,300 meters, it served as the base camp for all Mount Everest expedition teams and mountaineering enthusiasts before they launched their summit attempts.

(Note 1: In fact, Nepal’s EBC is on the southern slope of Mount Everest; there is another base camp on the northern slope within Tibet, China. However, because the southern slope is less difficult to climb, most climbers worldwide opt for the Nepalese route—the climbing routes within China are too perilous.)

「 」

Wilson was initially hesitant, but when Chen Nuo slapped a stack of US dollar bills onto the table, the Briton smiled.

"I happen to have some old friends heading to EBC, but they’re already resting in Lukla town. Tomorrow, a helicopter will take them to EBC. You know, the helicopter from Lukla to EBC isn’t cheap, and I’ll need to ask them if they’re willing to add an unfamiliar passenger at the last minute."

Chen Nuo thought for a moment, then took out several more bills and placed them on the table.

This time, Wilson truly smiled. "My friends are very generous people. I think they shouldn’t refuse a young mountaineering enthusiast from the East."

Wilson collected the bills from the table.

"Young man, although it’s none of my business, I still want to say this: climbing Mount Everest is not a game. Are you professionally capable and fully prepared?" Wilson turned, poured a cup of coffee, pushed it toward Chen Nuo, and continued smiling, "I have some acquaintances who can help you hire the most reliable Sherpa guide. Also, if you need to apply for a Mount Everest climbing permit, I can get it for you at a discounted price."

Yes, a permit. According to the Nepalese government’s laws, climbing Mount Everest requires a permit, one that costs... ten thousand US Dollars.

"No, you’ve misunderstood," Chen Nuo said with a smile, "I don’t plan to climb Mount Everest. I just want to trek nearby and look around. I’m not one of those brainless fools."

"That’s good." Wilson’s smile remained unchanged. "Every year, several adventurers full of romantic fantasies but completely lacking climbing skills come here to scale Mount Everest... and every year, some corpses are left behind. If you just want to trek near EBC, are you sure you don’t need me to recommend a good Sherpa guide?"

Chen Nuo picked up the coffee, took a sip, and set it down. "Please contact the aircraft as soon as possible. I hope to catch the helicopter you mentioned, the one for your friends."

"Then you won’t be getting a good night’s sleep tonight. I’ll contact Kathmandu’s airport immediately. There’s a flight to Lukla Airport tomorrow morning. After you arrive in Lukla, you can meet up with my friends and take their helicopter to EBC."

「 」

The town of Lukla is quite renowned in the world of mountaineering. Though inconspicuous on a map, its location is crucial. For all mountaineering organizations or individuals planning to scale Mount Everest via the southern slope route from Nepal, Lukla town is the final assembly point and resupply station. Lukla town is situated at an altitude of 2,840 meters and has a very small population.

Here lies an airport known across the globe: Lukla Airport. It is famous for being hailed as the most dangerous airport in the world. It has a runway dubbed "the rooftop runway of the world." The short, five-hundred-meter runway can only accommodate small airplanes. At the end of the runway lies a daunting cliff with a seven-hundred-meter drop. In other words, if a plane failed to gain enough speed at takeoff and didn’t ascend in time to clear the runway, aircraft destruction and loss of life would be the only outcome. Moreover, this runway is also on a slope.

「March 21, 2001, 9:40 AM. Lukla Airport.」

Young Niveer Devonshire impatiently shuffled her feet, standing under the airport’s control tower, watching her parents negotiate with the pilot. Her uncle, accompanying them, was conversing with a local guide about something, tallying up their supplies.

Eighteen-year-old Niveer was an athletic girl, proficient in swimming and horseback riding. She held a scuba diving license and was also an expert in both high-altitude and low-altitude skydiving, being a member of the skiing enthusiast club at Eton College. In short, she wasn’t the traditionally fragile, delicate aristocratic lady, although the surname Devonshire was enough to prove her ancient and aristocratic lineage. Put simply, she was a young lady who loved sports, even extreme sports. Perhaps foreigners are prone to this type of life-threatening thrill-seeking behavior?

Her facial features were deep-set, possessing a delicate beauty uncommon among Caucasians. Constant physical activity gave Niveer’s youthful face the healthy flush common to young people; she looked high-spirited and vivacious. Long-term exercise had also endowed the girl’s trim figure with a vibrant, youthful energy.

Born into this aristocratic family, both her parents were sports enthusiasts. Her father, Rock Devonshire, was a well-known mountaineer. Her mother was a former rower from Cambridge University. Her uncle was a master horseman. It could be said that Niveer inherited the family’s sports genes and excelled in all respects—if not for her sister’s existence.

Niveer glanced a short distance away, at a slim figure standing beside a helicopter, carefully inspecting the cockpit.

Lux Devonshire, twenty-four this year, possessed the hallmark golden hair and beauty of the Devonshire family.

If eighteen-year-old Niveer had inherited the family’s fine genes, then twenty-four-year-old Lux was the Devonshire family’s sports genius, and the looming shadow that darkened Niveer’s sky.

Niveer was a skiing expert. Her sister Lux, however, had already gained senior membership of the renowned Selden Ski Association by the age of nineteen. At twenty, she swam across the English Channel, an achievement that made headlines in The Times. She was also adept at "Alpine style" climbing techniques.

Essentially, Lux excelled in almost all the sports Niveer was good at, and performed them better and more impressively. Coupled with the inherited Devonshire family beauty and a stunning figure, Lux was also a media darling, having graced the covers of several sports magazines.

This trip to Nepal was a "vacation" for the Devonshire family. They didn’t plan on climbing Mount Everest—not this time. The main purpose of the outing was to bring the family’s two daughters to Mount Everest Base Camp, to soak up the climbing atmosphere. They also planned to visit Lobuche Peak, praised as the "weathervane of Mount Everest," to let the children, especially eighteen-year-old Niveer, experience the mountaineering ambiance.

The Devonshire family wasn’t short of money. Naturally, they wouldn’t trek from Lukla to EBC like ordinary mountaineering enthusiasts, nor would they waste time hiring a yak team to transport supplies and equipment. Instead, they flew directly to EBC by helicopter from Lukla Airport. This would save roughly seven to eight days.

Hmm... the power of money.

"Alright, girls, we’re ready to take off."

Uncle Benjamin strode over. This bearded fellow was the brother of the two girls’ mother. Well, according to Huaxia Country’s tradition, he should be called "maternal uncle." But Europeans don’t make that distinction; they universally use the term "uncle."

"Can we leave now?" Niveer was already growing impatient. "Dad said we had to wait for a guest?"

Niveer’s expression was not pleasant.

Benjamin looked up, shielding his eyes with his hand as he gazed at the sky. The faint hum of an engine came from above. Moments later, a small silver plane descended slowly, landing on the runway. After a short taxi, it came to a safe stop.

"It seems our tardy guest has arrived," Benjamin said with a smile, and ran off.

Niveer looked displeased as she stared at the parked plane in the distance.

「 」

Some ten minutes later, Chen Nuo stood before the Devonshire family. The young man wore a red climbing suit and protective goggles, smiling to reveal a set of white teeth.

The father of the two children, Rock, looked at the guest before him. "A guest introduced by Wilson? I need to see your passport first, sir."

"No problem."

Chen Nuo took out a passport and handed it to the handsome middle-aged man.

Rock opened it and glanced at it. "Your name is..."

"Chenyang," Chen Yanluo lied without blinking an eye, "Twenty-one years old, from Hong Kong."

Without a doubt, the passport Chen Nuo produced was fake. He had received it just yesterday after arriving in Kathmandu; it was locally made and cost 50 US Dollars. Since his arrival in Kathmandu, whether checking into the hotel or now facing the Devonshire family, he had used this passport. In a rudimentary place like Kathmandu, there was no networked system for verification, so getting past the hotel had been easy.

As for the present...

As expected, Rock harbored no suspicions. He handed the passport back to Chen Nuo but added, "You speak English very well, and your accent is quite standard. Have you been to London?"

"I’ve traveled there a few times," Chen Nuo said with a grin. "I’m an Arsenal fan."

Predictably, Rock’s countenance immediately warmed considerably. "Excellent, our whole family supports Arsenal. Welcome aboard, Mr. Chen."

The handsome middle-aged man shook hands with Chen Nuo, then adopted the characteristic diligence of a Briton. "Let’s be clear: you are only paying to hitch a ride on our plane. Any of your actions and their consequences during the trip have nothing to do with us. Our association is limited to this flight; once the plane lands at EBC, our partnership ends."

"Of course. I’m just hitching a ride," the young man replied with a polite smile, his teeth glistening white.