Jung Yunho was never a big fan of Kathmandu, especially during summer, regardless of having travelled there numerous times and knowing the city like the back of his own hand. Autumn was just around the corner, yet summer had hit the region like a brick, bringing with it an unbearable tidal wave of heat.

He was wiping away the sweat on his forehead while sitting in front of his office’s ancient metal fan that blowing the tiniest breath of wind on him when a call came in. Yunho groaned when he caught his boss’ number on the display. It was their day off, nobody came to the office, and he was only there waiting for the small pub across the street to open. They did not have a fancy air conditioner, but at least they would always have pints of chilled beer.

“Yeah, Boss?” he drawled, kicking back his folding chair and propping his feet up on the desk.

“Hey, Yunho,” a familiar voice of a middle-aged man said, “Where are you? I need a hand.”

“I’m at the office, what’s up?”

“Can you fetch a client in Thamel, like right now?”

Yunho frowned and glance over at a steno pad list taped to the wall beside him, “Do we have one?”

“Yes, we have,” his boss stopped and reminded of something, “Oh, right. You weren’t here when I announced it during our staff meeting last week. Sports Chosun is sending one of their best reporters to join us and cover this year’s charity climbing event.”

Yunho narrowed his eyes. He felt like his suspicion was well-placed. “Climbing experience?”

“Kosciuszko and the Matterhorn.”

“With guides.”

“Yep.”

Suspicion confirmed. “I bet he couldn’t put a crampon on if he tried.”

“Not at all,” his boss’ said, “But her company’s paying way more than normal. It’s an ambitious attempt, I may say. But the money is good and it’s a free, nationwide advertisement for our Hankook Ascent.”

“And how much are we talking?” Yunho raised an eyebrow.

His boss snickered, “That got your attention.”

“Boss.”

“Without getting the climbing permit and excluding the cost of insurance, camp, equipments, and porters, we’re talking like fifteen-k right in your pocket.”

Yunho felt like someone had knocked the wind right out of him, “What?”

“You heard me,” Boss said, “Fifteen-k for a guide, and that’s base price. That’s not counting after she summits, which I dare say any tip she leaves is going to be the envy of all guides worldwide.”

“Geez, what the hell is Chosun up to?”

“They want an exclusive coverage of South Korea’s team. I think they’re aiming for some international news and documentary awards. She’s done pretty well for herself as a young sport journalist. Olympics, World Cup, she has got an impressive résumé.”

“How young are we talking?” Yunho asked with a wince. More often than not, a young age meant inexperience and bravado verging on stupidity. For someone who had only ever climbed Kosciuszko and the Matterhorn, it would speak even further for her if she was young.

“About your age.”

Yunho had to think, really had to think about it. Twenty-nine years old, zero experience of climbing an eight thousander, but apparently worth her weight in gold. There were so many risks, it was damn near blinding to try to sort through them all. There would need to be more Sherpas to cater her needs, and a wider window of time to actually get to the summit and climb down, even on a mountain where time was a very precious commodity. That wasn’t even counting if there would be more people climbing with them on summit attempts. It was an enormous headache, really, but fifteen thousand dollars could pay the rest of his student loan in lump sum and, in all honesty, that was a very soothing thought.

He looked across the street and noticed an open sign by the pub’s window.

“Alright, what’s her name?”

...

Thamel was a colorful labyrinth, Sandara thought. Every direction she faced, there was always something else to look at. A rainbow of handcrafted rugs here, prayer offerings and statues there, and a steady invisible stream of market smells coming from everywhere at once. Above her, lines upon lines of plastic flags in every color ripped in the wind, forming fluttering banners beneath towering crooked buildings. For a crowded, commercial neighborhood with only a few actual streets, it was almost impossible to find the place she was looking for, and she couldn’t have looked more lika a tourist if she tried.

The thing was everywhere she looked, there was something about Mount Everest. It was in the name of at least half a dozen hostels, its image was pasted to shop windows like it was a god in itself, and mountaineering equipment hung from awnings at the same frequency as the amount of off-brand purses she had seen. It was all dizzying, so she tried to focus on the map in front of her, her nose practically pressed to the paper.

“Park Sandara?” a voice interrupted, and Sandara nearly tripped for turning around so quickly.

Before her was an East Asian male of her age with a chilled beer bottle in one hand, one eyebrow raised expectantly. Sandara almost did not recognize him without a winburnt face and goggles, but he fit the bill otherwise; tall, athletic, and tan. Instead of mountaineering gear, though, he was simply clad in a white t-shirt that had ‘Hankook Ascent’ written on it, gray cargo shorts, and black sandals.

“Jung Yunho?” she chanced back, hopeful that there was someone who could lead her to the end of the maze of Thamel.

“You got that right, Miss,” Yunho affirmed before taking a sip of his beer. “Welcome to Kathmandu!”

“How did you know it was me?”

Yunho grinned knowingly, “Hiking backpack and an appearance that scream ‘I’m a tourist’. And you looked lost.”

Sandara looked down at her map before tucking it away in a pocket of her backpack. She smiled sheepishly before gesturing Yunho to lead the way, which the man seemed more than happy to do.

He expertly wove through the crowds like it was second nature, giving Sandara a short while simultaneously gulping his beer.

“Well, you’re in Thamel, which I guess you knew. Pretty busy place. Thamel has been the center of the tourist industry in Kathmandu for over four decades, starting from the hippie days when many artists came to Nepal and spent weeks in here. Eventhough Thamel has been referred to as the ghetto by some, most low-budget travellers consider it a tourist heaven. Large sections of this area were devastated in April 2015 earthquake, but it’s the only place around that has WiFi everywhere, which is pretty cool. You can find anything you want here, and some stuff you don’t. Like that!” he gestured with his half-empty bottle to a small building tucked unceremoniously between two larger ones. Sandara couldn’t read the Nepalese script painted on the window, but she definitely could make out the word ‘’ underneath it.

“Oh,” she said.

“Yeah, Thamel caters to all crowds. But you’re here for different reason. Fortunately, Thamel also has all the mountaineering equipment money can buy and enough trekking agencies to guide you anywhere.”

Yunho lead her around a corner to a street that looked more like an alley. Down the street, Sandara could see the familiar gold roof of a Buddhist temple, painted blue-ringed eyes peering down at the street from the highest point. Below it was a small market that was bustling.

Images of the mountain were fewer here, save for one building that Yunho walked up to. It was smashed between a pub and a religious goods shop, and if Sandara hadn’t been looking for it, she might have missed it completely. The front facade was plaster save for one small window that was pasted over with an image of Mount Everest and the logo for Hankook Ascent.

“Home sweet home,” Yunho said cheerfully, opening the front door