I’m going to climb that mountain. I will see the lake at its summit.

That was the resolve I set out with.

From the very beginning, sleet began to fall. Before long, it turned into a raging snowstorm. Everything before my eyes became a white hell. Meltwater streamed beneath my feet. The wind lashed against me on a path strewn with slippery rocks, urging me to stop. Below the narrow trail yawned a sheer drop. My soaked legs trembled uncontrollably. My nose had gone numb. I could no longer even feel the cold.

One wrong step, and I would slip, falling straight into death. No one would find my body. The few people on this path were strangers who spoke a language I couldn’t even understand. I was an outsider. Completely alone.

If I disappeared like this, what would my mother—waiting endlessly for news of me back in Korea—do? Would she search these treacherous mountains for my body? What about my siblings? Those kind-hearted ones… perhaps they wouldn’t even blame me for breaking her heart.

And my father?

Would he even know I am here?

Maybe I should turn back.

The thought crossed my mind.

Running away to survive, only to risk my life climbing a mountain—for what? Just to see a lake?

Yet every time, a voice rang sharply in my ears:

“You’re always like that. You have never done anything you said.”

Even now, I can still see it clearly—the hand raised in those memories. That rough hand struck me harder than the biting wind ever could.

I thought I had escaped. But I was still bound. All my life, I had lived not by my own will, but by his. In my teens, I obeyed. In my twenties, I rebelled. Therefore, I couldn’t recognise myself anymore. Like the blurred landscape before me, I, too, had become indistinct.

So I couldn’t tell—was this stubborn determination to climb a four-thousand-meter peak alone truly my own will? Or was it just a foolish attempt to defy that lingering voice?

And yet, I kept walking.

The reason was simple: a foolish belief. That if I reached the summit, I would overcome all the wounds of my past and finally move forward, unburdened.

So I’ll climb this mountain. I’ll see that magnificent lake.
And then I’ll go back down, lighthearted, and call my mother—tell her I conquered this great peak.
I’ll write this story into a book, like the travelogues of famous writers.
I’ll leave my name behind as someone who rose again after hitting rock bottom.

But unlike my grand ambitions, my steps were timid.

I already knew the truth. Climbing a single mountain would not make me a great writer. Others may have found themselves at the end of such hardship, but I, standing here, was still nothing. Just an unknown Korean who had run away from home in the final stretch of my twenties, before turning thirty.

In the end, my resolve was easily broken by the storm. The trees grew shorter, then disappeared entirely. Near the summit, not even a blade of grass remained. With nothing left to hold on to, I could go no further. I crouched low and clutched a small rock beside me. My fingertips throbbed. My breath came in ragged gasps. I couldn’t tell if it was from fear or the cold.

As my whole body shook, tears welled up, and I questioned myself. Why did nothing in my life ever come easily?

Through the snow, I could see others near the summit—walking hand in hand, leaning on each other. The sight filled me with a deep, aching loneliness.

If only someone had reached out a hand to me.

But I was alone. And not ruthless enough to claw my way to the top at any cost.

So, I gave up. As always. I turned back just before reaching the goal.

It couldn’t be helped, I told myself.

But it stung. Because it felt like that voice had been right all along.

Why did I even come all this way? What for?

The mountain gave me no time to be sentimental. The descent was even more dangerous. I made my way down the slippery slope, half-crawling, terrified of falling into the endless valley below.

My ragged breathing echoed in my ears.

And then—my foot slipped.

My heart dropped.

There wasn’t even time to shout. My vision narrowed. My body tilted. Time seemed to stretch like a slow-motion through my eyes. In my mind, I was already falling.

Then—

thud.

My body stopped.

A strong hand had grabbed the back of my neck.

I heard words behind me—Chinese, which I couldn’t understand. A middle-aged man held me firmly until I regained my footing. Even after, he didn’t let go. I kept murmuring “thank you” as I leaned on him and moved forward. Ahead of us, a middle-aged woman glanced back repeatedly, offering her hand to help me down.

These strangers stayed with me until I reached safer ground. Then, as if nothing had happened, they passed me with light steps, waving casually.

I bowed again and again, calling out,

“Thank you, xiexie, bye-bye!”

I had never known that the touch of a stranger could be such a source of strength. The air was freezing, yet my heart grew warm. Their smiles spread through me like heat, and blood began to flow again through my cold body.

Only then did I realise:

I had never truly been alone.

I had left Korea by myself, but from that moment until now, I had met countless people—people who helped me along the way. My life had always been like that. Whenever I struggled, there had been those who offered me shelter and comfort.

And yet, I had always believed I was alone.

After all, I’m still such a fool.

I had spent my life chasing to be accepted by someone. It’s never enough; therefore, always ashamed of myself. And when I finally realised I could never satisfy that expectation, I lost my way entirely.

Only after everything had fallen apart did I understand—
I had lost something essential to my life.

And now, through a single act of kindness from a stranger, I understood once more.

I don’t have to reach the summit.
I don’t have to be perfect.
I don’t have to achieve something grand.

I am alone—
But I am not alone.

As the tension left me, the rest of the descent became easier. The snow still fell relentlessly, yet somehow, the path ahead no longer felt obscured. I stopped, letting the snow fall over me, and took a long, deep breath.

Instead of looking at my feet, I lifted my gaze toward the distance.

I wanted to breathe.

So, I ran away.

I wish I could say it was for some grand reason—to see the world. But the truth is, my journey began as an escape. After twenty-eight years, the base of my life collapsed. Cornered, I didn’t have the strength to face it—I just fled.

Because if I didn’t, I felt like I might give up on life altogether.
I wanted to live.

That’s why I came all this way.

But no matter how far I went, I couldn’t get away from my issues. Each time the shadows of my past caught up with me, it felt like my throat was tightening again. Even as I ran farther, those chains followed—like ghosts hiding in my shadow.

Let me find a place to reset.
Just for a while—forget everything, gather strength… then I’ll face it.

Wandering with that thought, I ended up here—on this snowy mountain in a foreign land called China. And after being rescued from the edge of death by complete strangers, I finally came to my senses.

So for now, I chose to go down. Slowly. Carefully. Safely.

At the place where I had begun, I turned back one last time. The snow-covered mountain. The summit I never reached. Now hidden behind clouds, no longer visible.

I turned away without regret.

Snow swirling around me, my body shivering in wet clothes—yet strangely, my chest felt warm.

And only then,

I was finally able to breathe.