Chapter 1 — Mist Peak Rescue Team

The carabiner fell to the concrete with a dry "clang" sound, and Do Khanh Van picked it up for the third time within ten minutes.

"This scratch," she said, running her thumb across the lock body. "How deep does a scratch have to be before Dieu Han will agree to set it aside?"

Ta Dieu Han stood opposite, still holding the nine-millimeter coil of static wire, his face slightly red. "I see it can still be locked, sis."

"Just because it's locked doesn't mean it's still safe." Khanh Van placed the carabiner in the red plastic basket — the basket of rejected equipment — and then pulled out a marker pen on the inspection book. The backyard of Heaven's Gate station was cold this morning, dew still condensed on the corrugated iron roof, dripping down in regular drops like the beat of a clock. Team A had six members, but only three were here now: she, Dieu Han, and Dang Ba Tong, who were squatting in the corner of the yard, untying each knot on a piece of brake line to check core wear.

"Three years ago, someone told me that doing that was being too perfectionistic." Uncle Tong did not raise his head, his voice was monotonous as if he was counting his breaths. "Now everyone knows why you did that."

Khanh Van did not respond. She bent down and checked another keychain. This was the forty-seventh routine equipment check since she took over as Team A captain — she remembered the exact number, because she recorded each one in a leather-bound notebook with frayed corners. Not because of habit. Because that one time she hadn't checked carefully, and the price of that time was still in her chest, somewhere below her sternum, every time it got cold.

The walkie-talkie on the wooden table made a crackling sound, then the voice of the station duty officer - a young man named Phu, just six months into the job - rang out, slightly shaking:

"Heaven's Gate calls Team A, Heaven's Gate calls Team A. There's an emergency. Answer."

Khanh Van stood up, her hands still covered in rope lubricant, and grabbed the walkie-talkie. "Team A listen. Say it."

"Ms. Van, there is a group of three self-sufficient trekkers who registered for the Rong May spine route yesterday. The last check-in was at seven o'clock this morning, at marker T7, about two kilometers from Sa Mu peak. After that, contact was completely lost. They couldn't make phone calls, their personal radios were also silent."

"What time is it now?"

"Eight thirty."

Less than an hour and a half. Khanh Van glanced up at the sky at the top of Sa Mu - from the Heaven's Gate station, the mountain peak was still hidden behind a thin white cloud, but she knew that cloud could thicken in just twenty minutes, especially in late autumn when cold air from the north poured down to meet the moisture rising from the valley. Villagers call Sa Mu peak by another name - Suong peak - because almost all year round there is a layer of mist like a curtain hanging right below the peak, only dissolving for a few hours each early morning on clear days.

"Does the station have the latest weather information?" she asked.

"The regional meteorological station reported a strengthening cold air mass. It is expected that this afternoon the temperature at the peak will drop to about four degrees, possibly accompanied by thick fog and gusts of level six and seven."

"Possibility indicator, or certainty indicator?"

"Seventy percent chance, sister."

Seventy percent. Khanh Van closed her eyes for a second, enough to visualize the topographic map of the Cloud Dragon's spine hanging in the command room - a narrow strip of rock less than a meter at the narrowest part, on both sides are dozens of meters deep, connecting Sa Mu peak with two lower outcrops. Going there during clear weather is a challenge for experienced trekkers. Traveling through it when the fog descends, visibility can drop below five meters in just a few minutes, turning each step into a gamble.

"Call the ranger station in Nam Tha village and ask if anyone saw this group this morning. And tell Mr. Dac Lam, I need to see him right away."

"Yes, sister."

She turned off the radio and turned to Uncle Tong and Dieu Han. Both stood up, their eyes waiting. This was what Khanh Van likes about her team — no one asked too many questions, no one needed to hear the explanation twice.

"Three people are missing on Cloud Dragon. Contact has been lost for more than an hour." She began to take off her oily gloves and walked towards the equipment warehouse. "Dieu Han, check the two backup radios, fully charge the handheld GPS battery. Uncle Tong, prepare two coils of static rope, a set of dual pulleys, enough anchors and hooks for a rescue on the wall. I'll go see Mr. Dac Lam."

The command room of Heaven's Gate station is a wooden house with two rooms, one room is for maps and communication equipment, the other room is where Vuong Dac Lam - the station chief, who has been associated with this mountain for twenty-two years - still sits every morning with a pot of strong tea and three monitors monitoring the weather. When Khanh Van walked in, he was frowning at an atmospheric pressure chart, his fingers tapping steadily on the table.

"Did you see that?" she asked.

"I see." Dac Lam did not look up. "This cold front is coming two hours faster than forecast. I just called the provincial meteorological station, they confirmed that the possibility of thick fog on the peak will increase to eighty percent within the next three or four hours."

"Is there anyone in the missing group?"

"Three people, registered themselves at Nam Tha village ranger station yesterday. A male group leader, a female, and a sixteen-year-old boy." He pushed the register across the table. "The name is Kieu Thanh Son, in the name of the group leader."

Khanh Van picked up the notebook and skimmed through the emergency contact information — a phone number with the name "Kieu Thanh Hien, older sister." She closed the notebook and placed it on the table.

"I want to start as soon as the team has their equipment ready, but not now. The weather window is closing, and I don't want to take the team up the spine of the Cloud Dragon just when the fog is thickest."

"Wait until when?"

"Wait until there is clearer confirmation of the cold front's direction of movement. If you're lucky, there will be a gap between the two frosts — villagers call it the 'empty hour', which usually appears late in the afternoon before the main front arrives."

Dac Lam looked at her for a long time, saying nothing. He was the person who had tutored Khanh Van since she was a new soldier, and was also the person who stood next to her two years ago, at the exact moment when she had to sign the minutes after the Ham Rong incident. He knew better than anyone what was struggling in her mind right now.

"How much time do those three have, Van?"

That question was like a light punch in the chest. Khanh Van did not answer immediately. She knew the answer, down to the numbers—in temperatures of four degrees Celsius, gusts of six degrees, high humidity due to fog, a person without adequate thermal equipment could begin to cool down after just three or four hours of continuous exposure. The first stage is uncontrollable shaking. Then there is confusion and loss of coordination. Without intervention, the process can become irreversible within six to eight hours, depending on the individual's condition.

"Not much," she said.

At that moment, the wooden door opened sharply, and Ho Thien Kien walked in, his coat still wet with dew, his breathing quick as if he had just run a long distance. He was the captain of Team B, four years younger than Khanh Van, who had led three consecutive successful rescue operations this year — and who, according to station rumors, had little confidence in her leadership since the Ham Rong incident.

"I heard the news," Kien said, looking straight at Khanh Van. "Team B is ready to depart in fifteen minutes."

"No one has decided to leave now, Kien."

"Three people are stuck on the mountain, Ms. Van. Every minute they wait is a minute they get colder."

"And every minute it takes the team up the Cloud Dragon's spine when the fog is about to thicken, is a minute the whole rescue team could become the next victim." Khanh Van kept her voice calm, even though her heart was beating faster than usual. "I understand the feeling of wanting to leave now. But if we walk blindly in the mist on a strip of rock less than a meter wide, with cliffs on both sides, we won't be able to save anyone - it will only create more work for others to have to find us."

Kien looked at her for a moment, his jaw tightening. "So how long are you going to wait? Until they can't make it anymore?"

That sentence fell into the middle of the room like a stone thrown into calm water. Dac Lam looked at both of them, did not interfere, just waited. Outside the window, the thin white cloud band around Sa Mu peak had begun to darken, and a cold wind had just blown through the crack in the door, making the oil lamp on Dac Lam's table gently shake.

Khanh Van walked closer to the topographic map hanging on the wooden wall, her finger stopped at point T7 - where the group of three people last checked in. From there to the nearest rocky outcrop with natural shelter is nearly a kilometer of ridgeline, all smooth rocks and not a single bush to block the wind. She imagined three people standing in the middle of that road, not knowing how far away from safety, while the mist grew thicker and thicker around them.

"I don't wait because I'm afraid, Kien." She said without turning around. "I waited because I've learned that there are times when faster doesn't mean safer. But I also wasn't about to let those three freeze to death on the mountain just because I wanted to be absolutely sure."

"So what are you going to do?" Kien asked, his voice softened a bit, although his eyes were still tense.

"Prepare your team, monitor minute-by-minute weather developments, and head out when there's a real opportunity — not an imaginary one." She turned around and looked straight at him. "If you want to help, go prepare the equipment. We don't have much time to stand here arguing."

Kien looked at her for another second, then turned and walked out, the wooden door slamming behind him harder than necessary. Dac Lam sighed, poured another cup of cold tea, did not drink, just turned the cup in his palm.

"She chose the right time to come here to be the head of the rescue station," he muttered, loud enough for Khanh Van to hear. "Right in the middle of the worst frost in ten years."