I’m pretty much fucked.

For a moment, the first line of The Martian came to mind.

“Excuse me, I want to buy a ticket to the city centre. Would you mind explaining how to get here?”

The clerk at the bus counter smiled brightly when I pointed at the address saved on my phone. Then he began to explain, very kindly.

The problem was—I couldn’t understand any single word that he said.

I was not even on Mars!

“Sorry, I can’t understand Chinese.”

At that, a clerk froze mid-sentence. His mouth hung slightly open as he glanced around, then let out an awkward laugh. He turned and called out loudly to his coworkers.

I knew, in theory, that English wasn’t widely spoken in China. But I hadn’t expected to run into trouble at the airport—of all places, at a bus counter.

I should’ve bought a SIM card first…
No—what am I thinking? It’s not likely the telecom staff would speak English either…

I desperately wanted to use a translation app, but without a SIM card, my phone was useless. The massive backpack strapped to my back—like a turtle shell—pressed heavily on my shoulders. Sweat dripped under my cap.

Still, a clerk has not returned.

As time passed, I started to feel nervous about the long queue behind me.

I sighed annoyingly. I felt pathetic—putting myself in this situation without any prepared plan. I had been far too easygoing, assuming that at an international airport, at least basic English would be work.

“You should learn Chinese. My friend’s son got a good job with it.”

My father’s indifferent words—comparing my life with another random guy—flashed through my mind.

What had I said back then?

Out of sheer contrariness, I had brushed it off, saying I had no interest in Chinese.

If I had known I’d end up in a situation like this, maybe I would’ve just swallowed my pride and listened.

Fortunately, the clerk managed to find someone who spoke a little English. A sharp-tongued staff member explained things clearly—if not warmly.

Finally, I could buy a ticket and board the bus.

The bus was old, filled with the stale smell of cigarettes. But I didn’t care. I sank into the very back seat and wiped the sweat from my forehead with my hand.

The packed bus slowly pulled away from the airport. The highway looked no different within Korea, aside from road signs in Chinese characters.

I stared at that for a while, and then closed my eyes. It had only been a four-hour flight, but I already felt so tired.

Why China, after all of the places in the world?
Out of all the countries I could have chosen, why had I come to one where I couldn’t understand the language and couldn’t even use the internet freely?

As I sank into that spiral of self-reproach, a familiar round face floated into my mind—
annoyingly so.

This is all L’s fault.

I found myself resenting a friend I couldn’t even contact.

---

---

“I’m leaving.”

Whenever I had a drink, I would say that.

I’m leaving. I’m getting out of this endless hamster wheel.

Ever since my first backpacking trip to Europe in university, I had dreamed of living abroad. I would tell myself—half promise, half fantasy—that one day I would leave this place and live freely somewhere far away.

And every time, L would scoff.

“Yeah, go ahead. You’ll only understand how hard it is once you try. When I was in China…”

L often talked about her time in China. As someone who had spent two years there as an exchange student, she saw more downsides than upsides to life abroad.

“Don’t even get me started. I barely survived.”

As a calligraphy major, China had been the heart of her studies. And L—stubbornly persistent—endured two years in a city where it was hard to find even another Korean. She didn’t return home once.

When I asked why, she said,

“Because if I came back even once, I knew I wouldn’t want to go again.”

Then she would down a bitter shot of soju.

She struggled at first—couldn’t speak Chinese, took a long time to adjust to the culture.

But even for her, there were good memories.

One of them was the boiled chicken soup at Tiger Leaping Gorge.

“Seriously, it’s incredible. I’ve never had anything like it.”

“Come on. Chicken is chicken. How different can it be?”

“No. It’s on a whole different level.”

When I heard you had to hike all day to eat it, I couldn’t help but wonder—
Was it really that good?

Or was it just the illusion created by exhaustion?

So I decided to find out for myself.

Ironically, by the time I actually came to China, L and I had drifted apart. A small emotional conflict had led us to cut off contact.

And yet, I came anyway.

Because I knew we would meet again someday.

Over the more than ten years we had known each other, we had fought many times. But we always found our way back—
as if nothing had happened.

So this, too, was just a temporary pause.

And when we met again, I planned to tell her—proudly—that I had finally been to China. That I had tasted the very chicken she couldn’t stop talking about.

Maybe that would be enough to stitch us back together.

I came to China to experience it for myself—
the China, L had spoken of.

And China that first touched my skin felt both familiar and strangely foreign.

---

---

When I finally caught sight of the massive Bell Tower, the first thing I felt was relief.

Not awe—relief.

It might sound strange, but far more than the grandeur of Xi’an’s most iconic landmark, it overwhelmed me that the fact that my accommodation was still a farther distance.

I got out of the subway walking like a turtle. A 23-kilogram backpack on my back and a 7-kilogram daypack on the front, like a shell, and a side bag filled with essentials, weighed me down further. My shoulders felt like I was carrying all the weight of the world.

All I want is to arrive at the hostel.
To drop everything.

“You can do this. Just a little more to go…”

I muttered to myself like a mad person as I walked.

The five-minute walk past the Bell Tower into a narrow alley felt impossibly long.

And finally—when I opened the door—

“Welcome to Xi’an!”

The simple greeting from the front desk felt overwhelmingly comforting.

For the first time, I smiled.

I dropped my bags and straightened my back. A groan escaped from my mouth.

The hostel was an old but well-maintained building. The lobby had a restaurant and bar, and the dorms were upstairs. After checking my reservation, the staff handed me a key and explained the layout. There was a free hot pot party that evening, he added—I should definitely join.

I followed him upstairs.

The eight-bed dorm was spacious, with bunk beds lined neatly on both sides. I dragged my luggage over and set it down beside my bed.

Just as I was catching my breath, the blanket on the top bunk across from me shifted. A face peeked out.

“Hi, good to see you. I’m A, from Brazil.”

“Hey, I’m D. I’m from Korea.”

A got out herself from bed slightly, brushing her messy black hair by hand. Her sun-tanned face showed a smile.

“Sorry about my manner. I walked too much today. Exhausted.”

“It’s okay. I’m just really happy to be here.”

“I bet you are!”

She pointed at my massive backpack and laughed. I laughed too. Just found someone being able to communicate makes me feel much relieved.

“Honestly, I am so glad to find someone I actually can talk with. I mean, I didn’t expect nobody can speak English here!”

“Yeah… Well, you’ll get used to it.”

“I’m about to stay in China for a month. I’m a little worried.”

“Don’t be. I know communication is hard, but people here are kind. You’ll be fine.”

Hearing that from someone who had already spent five days here eased the weight in my chest.

After our brief conversation, I messaged my mom and a few friends to say I’d arrived safely. It was 4 p.m.

I stood up.

“Are you going out?”

A asked, half-asleep.

“Yeah. I’ll be back before dark. Are you coming to the hot pot party?”

“Hmm… maybe. Maybe not. Right now, I just want to sleep.”

“Alright then, have a rest.”

“Thanks, girl. And good luck!”

A was back into the blanket.

And I stepped outside carefully.

I stood on the street feeling like a stranger. After all the weight on my back was gone, I could finally see something—
the unreadable signs, the unfamiliar surroundings, the strangers passing by.

It would be lying if I said it didn’t scare me.

I still needed to buy a SIM card. But after what happened so far, I hesitated.

A sigh escaped me.

Maybe I should just go back and sleep like A.

I could go back.

My mother had said I could return anytime if I feel too hard.

It would be embarrassing—going back to Korea just hours after arriving—but right now, it wouldn’t matter.

The problem was, if I turned back now, nothing would change.

I would return to the same cycle—
doing a job I had no passion for, drinking to cope with stress, resenting the past, wasting time.

Therefore, I had two choices.

Forward—
or back.

I took a deep breath and stepped forward.

One step.

Then another, exhaling slowly.

You’ll be fine.

I repeated A’s words to myself. Gradually, I felt at ease.

Maybe it was just my imagination—but the air, thick with exhaust and cigarette smoke, began to feel oddly characteristic. The hazy sky didn’t seem any less clear than Seoul’s. The strangers living their quiet lives no longer felt so intimidating.

And so, I walked.

Of course—

that day,

I failed to buy a SIM card.