The morning sun climbed higher over Sector Four, drying the damp stone beneath the Plateau. With hot ginger tea in their bellies and fresh, dry socks on their feet, the quiet sanctuary on the Jagged Spine ridge felt like a brief paradise after twelve hours of torrential storm.
Wu Haoran leaned back against a smooth granite boulder, dangling a fresh pair of socks in front of his face like a prized trophy. "If anyone told me three weeks ago that my greatest dream in life would be wearing dry cotton, I would've laughed them off the set. Look at these stitches, Yaya. Pristine."
Zhou Yaya pulled her laces tight, letting out a satisfied breath. "Enjoy it while it lasts, Haoran. You know Director Zhao isn't going to let us sit up here sipping tea for the rest of the day."
"Let a man dream for five minutes," Wu Haoran groaned, though he was already checking his gear straps.
