The lights of the Ice and Snow World went out.
Tang Miao lay sprawled on a tree by the Songhua River, watching the dreamlike castle across the shore darken layer by layer—red went first, blue followed, and finally the purple light pillars retracted deep into the ice blocks.
The world returned to black and white.
Wind swept across the river, whipping fine snow particles against her face.
Tang Miao squinted, resting her chin on her two front paws.
Cold air poured down her neck, yet she felt that these past few days had been more vivid than the twenty-eight years she’d lived in her previous life.
Tata crouched beside her, tail wrapped around her body, silent.
She stood up and shook the snow off herself.
“Let’s go back. I’ll tell Auntie Bai, then it’s time to leave.”
In the underground heating tunnel, the hot water in the pipes had been running all day, raising the temperature two degrees higher than this morning.
A dozen or so cats were sprawled haphazardly on both sides of the pipes—some snoring, some grooming themselves.
Auntie Bai was still awake.
She lay in her usual spot at the pipe bend, watching Tang Miao approach from the tunnel entrance.
“Leaving?”
Tang Miao crouched in front of her and nodded.
Auntie Bai wasn’t surprised.
She’d lived for over a decade and seen too many cats come and go.
Some disappeared after two days, some left and came back, some left and never returned.
“Where to?”
“Beijing.”
Auntie Bai’s murky yellow eyes suddenly widened, her hoarse voice turning stern:
“Beijing? That’s thousands of li away—more cats freeze, starve, or get run over on that road than you have hairs on your body! You’re just a little thing—can’t you stay put down here where it’s safe?”
Tang Miao met her gaze without flinching, letting out a soft but firm meow.
Auntie Bai stared at her for a long moment, then finally let out a long sigh: “Ah well, the child’s grown up. She has her own ideas.”
She stood up, shook out her yellowed white fur, walked over to Tang Miao, and lowered her head.
A rough tongue started from Tang Miao’s forehead, licking down the back of her head all the way to her spine.
The way a mother cat grooms her kitten.
Tang Miao’s body stiffened.
She thought of that cardboard box.
The orange-and-white mother cat in the box who’d dragged herself back on a broken leg—she’d never had the chance to groom Tang Miao even once.
Auntie Bai’s tongue had barbs, scraping against the fur with a slight sting, but that sting made Tang Miao’s nose tingle.
“We northern cats don’t start trouble, but we don’t run from it either.”
Auntie Bai licked flat a tuft of fur sticking up on Tang Miao’s nape, then stepped back. “Out there, don’t embarrass the northern cats.”
“Don’t be stupid and roll over showing your belly when trouble comes. Run when you should—only the ones who stay alive get to eat the next meal.”
Tang Miao let out a forceful “meow.”
She dumped all the remaining jerky and dried apple slices from her little knitted pouch, pushing them in front of Auntie Bai.
Auntie Bai shook her head, and instead helped pack a big bundle of assorted food for her.
“We won’t go hungry here. Take these with you for the road.”
Tang Miao took one last look at the sleeping cats beside the heating pipes.
Some she’d met these past few days; some she’d never even had the chance to ask their names.
She turned and walked toward the tunnel exit.
She didn’t look back.
…
Above ground, Tata was waiting at the crack in the ground.
“Let’s go. I’ll see you off.”
At two in the morning in Harbin, the temperature had dropped to minus twenty-eight degrees.
Tang Miao’s paw pads pressed into the snow, each step sinking half an inch.
Tata ran along the power lines ahead, occasionally turning back to wait for her.
Two shadows stretched long under the streetlights, one in front and one behind, crossing the empty streets.
The logistics park was the same one as last time.
The gap in the chain-link fence was still there, just buried under another layer of snow.
When Tang Miao squeezed through, snow crumbs plastered her face.
This time she’d learned her lesson.
She couldn’t just look at license plates.
She went from truck to truck, sniffing.
First truck—smelled like seafood, no telling where it was headed.
Second truck—fertilizer smell. Forget it.
Third truck…
Tang Miao’s nose stopped at the gap in the rear door of a blue box truck.
The smell coming from inside was mixed: cardboard, tape, printing ink, and a faint hint of jasmine tea.
She circled around to the front, standing on her hind legs to look at the plate.
Beijing A.
This time she didn’t dare be careless. She lay flat under the truck, peering toward the cab—a permit was stuck on the windshield, and she could barely make out the crooked handwriting: Harbin → Beijing.
That’s it!
Tang Miao was so excited her tail spun in circles.
A Beijing A plate could travel anywhere in the country, but the permit didn’t lie.
Two slats on the truck’s side ventilation louver were loose. She pried them open with her claws and squeezed inside.
“Wait.”
Tata jumped down from the top of the chain-link fence, landing in front of her.
The squirrel’s expression was awkward.
His two front paws fidgeted, his tail curled left, then right.
He opened his mouth twice, then closed it again.
After dithering for a long while, Tata finally pulled something out from behind his back.
A worn little cloth pouch, thumb-sized, made of dark brown coarse fabric with edges rubbed fuzzy.
The pouch was heavy.
“For you.”
He shoved it into the knitted pouch around Tang Miao’s neck, his movements so rough it was like he was afraid he’d change his mind.
“What?”
Tang Miao lowered her head and nudged it with her paw. The pouch was heavy, weighing down the knitted pouch noticeably.
Tata turned his head away, not looking at her, mumbling vaguely:
“The junk that Great-Grandpa left behind was taking up space in my tree hollow, so consider it a gift to you.”
“Think of it as me, your master, taking a trip… to see all of China.”
Tang Miao wanted to say something more, but Tata had already scrambled up the old elm tree beside them.
It perched on the highest branch, its back turned to her.
Its big, fluffy tail swayed twice in the wind and snow.
Tata’s voice drifted down from the treetop, carrying that distinctive Northeastern squirrel drawl:
“Hurry up and go!”
“When you get to Beijing, make sure to taste the instant-boiled mutton for me! And watch the flag-raising ceremony for your master too!”
Tang Miao’s nose stung fiercely.
She opened her mouth, wanting to shout something.
But all she could squeeze out was a “meow.”
Very soft.
Carried away by the wind.
She turned and slipped through the ventilation window of the truck.
…
The cargo hold was pitch black.
Tang Miao found a gap between the cardboard boxes and curled up inside.
She lowered her head and used her paw to open the small cloth bundle Tata had stuffed in.
By the light of the streetlamps filtering through the cracks in the truck’s panels, she could see what was inside.
Gold beans.
A dozen or so, the size of a pinky nail, round and plump, gleaming yellow.
Tang Miao was stunned for a long moment.
In her previous life, she’d lived twenty-eight years, and the most valuable thing she’d ever seen was the station manager’s electronic watch, said to be worth three thousand yuan.
She’d only ever seen gold beans on TV dramas.
Tang Miao nudged the gold beans with her paw—cool to the touch, heavy and solid.
But she understood what Tata meant.
Tata had given her its most precious possession.
Tang Miao tucked the cloth bundle back in and fastened the button on the little knitted pouch.
She rummaged through the dried fish for the last piece, picked it up, and chewed on it.
The dried fish Big Sister had made was almost gone, and the jerky was running low too.
That day on Central Street, she’d scavenged quite a few cat treats, plus the dried small fish Auntie Bai had packed up and half a stick of Harbin red sausage.
She couldn’t bear to eat the red sausage.
She’d save it to nibble on slowly along the way.
At four in the morning, the diesel engine rumbled to life.
The cargo hold began to shake.
Tang Miao huddled in the gap between the boxes, listening to the rustle of tires rolling over the snow.
Beijing.
This time, it was real.