On the Cloud Summit helipad, a red helicopter sat at the center of the platform, its rotors still.
The indicator lights along the edge of the helipad were dark in the late-morning sun.
Zhao Dayong stood at the elevator entrance, his fingers tightening on his camera bag strap.
"Scared of heights?"
"A little. Indoors it doesn't bother me. Open air makes me nervous."
"Then sit next to me."
The helicopter had four seats. I put Zhao Dayong in the co-pilot seat and sat with Dianzi in the back.
Once seated, he placed his camera bag at his feet, stared at the instrument panel for two seconds, and rubbed his fingers against his knee.
It took two tries to buckle his seatbelt. The metal clasp emitted two crisp clicks.
Dianzi leaned forward from the back and held the squirrel up in front of him. "Lychee says he's nervous too."
Zhao Dayong looked at the squirrel's black-bead eyes. "It doesn't have to ride."
"But it can fly."
"It can't."
"Neither can you. So you're the same."
The rotors began to turn. The sound pressed down from overhead. The wind blew Dianzi's hair everywhere.
She reached up to hold down her twin braids, but the moment she held one side down, the other flew up again.
Finally, she gave up and let the stray strands fly wildly in the wind.
A few strands were blown flat against her cheek. She lifted a hand to brush them away, and the wind blew them right back.
The helicopter shuddered slightly and lifted off the ground. The city began to sink.
Zhao Dayong had his eyes squeezed shut, his eyelids stretched tight, his lips pressed into a line, his hands gripping his knees.
His knuckles were white, his nails pressing shallow crescent-moon indentations into the fabric.
"Open your eyes. You won't fall."
He shook his head. His eyelids twitched. They didn't open. His Adam's apple bobbed once.
"Zhao Dayong."
He opened his eyes. At first, they were slits. Then they slowly widened.
Outside the window, the city spread out beneath his feet. Towers looked like building blocks. Roads looked like ribbons.
The Yuehua River cut through the entire city from north to south, glinting with scattered light.
A ferry was passing through a bridge arch on the river. From this height, the ferry looked as small as a leaf blown spinning across the surface of the water.
"So this is what it looks like from above." He turned to me. "I've never seen anything from this high before."
I reached for the vent switch next to the control panel, helping him adjust his headset, and my finger pressed the vent switch beside his seat.
A blast of cold wind shot directly into his eyes. He immediately shut them again, tears spilling from the corners, blown sideways by the wind.
"Ah, why is this wind so strong. This girl was just worried you'd get airsick and wanted to give you some ventilation. See? The view outside is too dazzling. Even the heavens are telling you to close your eyes and rest for a bit. You can look again when you're ready. No rush."
Zhao Dayong opened one eye and wiped the corner with the back of his hand. His chin was trembling. But the corner of his mouth was lifting.
"That's not ventilation. That's a typhoon."
"A typhoon is still wind. Try opening your eyes again. There's no wind this time."
He slowly opened his eyes. Outside the window, the river had turned silver.
Light reflected off the water's surface, pouring into the cabin, casting a warm tone over everyone's faces. He looked for a long time. He didn't close his eyes again.
Dianzi set the squirrel on her lap. Its black-bead eyes also stared out the window, its tail brushing lightly across the back of her hand.
She lifted the squirrel to the window. Its ears were blown flat back by the cabin wind. "Lychee says he's flown above the clouds now. He can brag to the other squirrels."
"Other squirrels won't believe him." Zhao Dayong smiled.
"Whether they believe him doesn't matter. What matters is that he believes it."
Dianzi pressed her face to the other side of the window. "Sister, look. Is that the old town we visited yesterday?"
She pointed down at a stone arch bridge. The people crossing the bridge, from this height, looked like small blocks of color moving slowly.
"It is. The dessert shop was just beyond that bridge."
Zhao Dayong glanced out the window. The curve at the corner of his mouth was a little wider than before.
I raised my phone and took a picture. On the screen, the image was the silver river outside the window and Zhao Dayong's profile.
Zhao Dayong pulled his camera out of the bag at his feet, aimed it at the window, pressed the shutter once, and took another photo.
He lowered his head and looked at the screen, his thumb pausing there for a moment. Then he lowered the camera. He didn't take any more.
He just looked out the window. The camera rested on his knee, the lens cap swaying gently beside his hand.
——The first things you see when you look up—like people—are things you can never go back from.
The helicopter began to descend. Zhao Dayong didn't close his eyes again.
One hand was still unconsciously gripping his knee, but the other rested on his camera. It wasn't clenched.
When the landing gear touched the ground, his hands were still trembling. His ten fingers were stiff above his knees, his knuckles white. But the corner of his mouth was lifted.
The cabin door pulled open. The wind rushed in again.
Zhao Dayong walked a few steps toward the edge of the helipad and stood there, looking at the river.
The collar of his deep blue shirt was blown up and back down by the wind. He reached up to press it down, tried twice, failed, and gave up.
"Zhao Dayong. Today you rode a helicopter for the first time."
He turned his head to look at me. "How do you remember that so clearly?"
"Because I arranged it."
He paused. Then he laughed. He turned back to look at the river. The wind blew, lifting the hair from his forehead. He reached up to press it down. It didn't stay.
Dianzi walked over and leaned against the railing, setting the squirrel on the wide handrail so it faced the river.
"Lychee, this morning we were in the hotel. Now we're looking at the river from the sky. Which view do you like better?"
The squirrel didn't answer. "He says he likes them both." She answered for it.
Zhao Dayong pulled his camera out of his bag, aimed it at the river, and pressed the shutter once.
Then he lowered the camera. He didn't check the screen. He just stood there, looking at the river. His hands were no longer trembling.