Chapter 3: Down the Hidden Path

3

In the morning, the leader woke everyone and told us that today’s route wasn’t long—we could take it slow and enjoy the scenery.

Everyone shuffled out of their tents, stiff-legged and yawning. The sunrise spilled orange over the mountains, and for a moment, the group seemed lighter—less burdened. She raised her hand timidly and said she’d dropped her phone off the cliff last night while going to the bathroom, and wanted to go down the mountain to look for it.

Dave shot her a look over his coffee mug. “We ain’t running a sightseeing tour,” he grumbled, but Gus just grinned and shrugged.

Gus said it wasn’t a big deal. There was a narrow footpath down—just a small creek at the bottom of the cliff. Even if the phone wasn’t smashed, it might have been washed away, so the chances of finding it weren’t high. But he was willing to lead the way, and the others could continue on with Dave. We could meet up at the next town.

When I heard this, I quickly volunteered to go with the guide—three people would be safer.

I tried to sound casual, as if my offer was simply out of concern for her safety, but my pulse said otherwise. The leader agreed, so our group of eight split into two teams: the local guide took her and me down behind the cliff, while the leader led the others along the original route.

She glanced at me, her expression neither grateful nor resentful—just complicated.

But her face and figure were truly remarkable. Out here, she was like something out of a dream—too wild, too beautiful for real life.

With every step down the rocky trail, she somehow made hiking boots and cargo pants look elegant. As we descended, the guide told us stories about the area, and time passed quickly. The sound of the creek grew louder, and soon we reached the bottom of the cliff.

Unexpectedly, the phone we thought we’d never find was lying right in front of us.

The body was bent, the screen shattered, soaked in water, wedged between pebbles.

It was almost comical how intact it looked at first—like some kind of relic left as an offering to the mountain spirits. Luckily, the creek was crystal clear, so the phone stood out, submerged in the water.

I picked up the phone and handed it to her; she pressed the buttons over and over, but there was no response.

She frowned, then let out a long sigh—the sort you give when you know a thing is over for good. “Take it as a memento—at least the trip wasn’t wasted,” Gus said, a little regretfully. “We can follow the creek to the next town—actually, that’s another hiking route, just not safe in the rainy season. You might as well experience the hidden path.”

She put the phone in her backpack, looked at me, and said, “Don’t lose me.”

To be honest, at that moment, I really felt she meant something more.

I wanted to say something, but the words stuck. But I didn’t dare think about it, nor did I dare meet her eyes.

I have a wife; we’ve been married five years.