045 The Most Beautiful Yet Sorrowful

My enthusiastic mood settled in an instant. The setting sun, the golden sand, the silhouettes—all the turbulent waves seemed to freeze in this moment, breathtakingly magnificent and achingly desolate.

I couldn't help but put down the bowl in my hand and walked quietly behind Moussa.

The perfectly round setting sun hugged the ridgeline of the desert, casting the earth into gloom, with only a layer of deep red lingering on the horizon, enveloping this desolate land.

"Hmm." Watching the specks of light stain Moussa's white garments and coat even his eyelashes with the glow of the setting sun, I stood quietly beside him, sharing the peace and serenity of the moment with him. After a long while, seeing that he remained silent, I asked softly, "You're staring so intently, what are you thinking about?"

"I suddenly remembered a line I read in a book long ago." Moussa looked straight ahead, without turning his head, and gently recited, "What makes the desert beautiful is that somewhere it hides a well."

I remembered this as a classic quote from *The Little Prince*. Paired with the current setting and scenery, it truly had a unique flavor. I casually commented, "That is very true."

"Yes, very true." Moussa murmured the words again, suddenly letting out an almost imperceptible sigh. "Yet, if you find this well, only to discover you have no tool to draw the water, wouldn't that make the desert seem terribly desolate?"

I hadn't expected Moussa to suddenly say such things. I was stunned and didn't reply.

My silence plunged him into deeper contemplation. With his brows tightly knitted, he continued, "As for this well, if you jump in recklessly, you might never come out again; but if you grit your teeth and give up, your heart feels deeply unsatisfied. Either way, it is a perilous trap." He took a slight breath, turned his gaze toward me, his voice calm, yet his eyes seemingly holding a burning expectation. "Cece, tell me, rather than this, wouldn't it be better not to have discovered the goodness of the well in the first place?"

The desert waves supporting the setting sun froze, resembling a sleeping sea. The dim canopy of heaven slowly unfurled, making the boundless yellow sand appear even more desolate and tragic.

Moussa gazed at me, and I gazed back at him in his gaze. Suddenly, a gust of wind and dust blew in, blurring my eyes and forcing me to withdraw my lingering look.

"Don't think like that." I rubbed my reddened eyes, speaking half vaguely and half uneasily, "What if you suddenly find the tool to draw the water out? Think of a way, perhaps it's possible."

Hearing this, he withdrew his gaze, returned to normal, and nodded to himself, "Perhaps."

The subsequent conversation was triviality itself. The long and sweltering journey through the desert today had left everyone exhausted. Before long, people fell asleep one after another, and I too curled up inside my little tent.

The wind howled fiercely; the desert at night was filled with a stern, killing aura, with only the lonely grains of sand coldly glaring at it all. Remembering what Moussa had said, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

What makes life beautiful is that somewhere it hides someone who brings unexpected joy. Yet, if you meet that person, only to find you cannot walk hand in hand with them, wouldn't that become the desolation of life?

Did Moussa mean that? Or perhaps it was merely my own wishful thinking, overanalyzing things.

I closed my eyes, wanting to sleep, but my mood grew increasingly restless. The cramped tent felt confining, so I simply put on my clothes and went outside alone to get some air. The wilderness was far too vast. As soon as I stepped out, I saw a figure standing in the thin dust. Walking closer, the person turned their head and smiled at me—it turned out to be Moussa.