From the novel: I Promise You a River of Stars
The road ahead was every bit as difficult as Ba Yunye had said. The downhill stretch rattled like a washboard, jolting everyone in the vehicles nearly to the point of vomiting. Once they’d finally made it to the bottom of the slope, the ground bristled with stones — upright, like awls — an unimaginable concentration of razor-sharp rock clustered right here of all places.
Xiao Zi had barely stopped dry-heaving from the rattling when she understood why Ba Yunye had told Ye Xun to lower the tire pressure. As expected, Ye Xun’s vehicle was the first to blow a tire. Then, while crossing the Red Mountain pass, the pickup truck’s rear wheel blew out too; and then a warning light on yet another vehicle’s dashboard suddenly lit up.
Crossing Qiang Tang is an extreme challenge for trekkers and off-road vehicles alike — not one person, not one vehicle, comes through unscathed. Or rather, perhaps no one should be here at all — why else would the land’s human ancestors, who spread to every corner of the world and took root in every extreme environment imaginable, have left no trace of ancient human activity in Qiang Tang?
Even if crossing Qiang Tang gives you a story to tell for the rest of your life, in the vastness of Qiang Tang itself, you are nothing more than an utterly insignificant, fleeting passerby.
Everyone got out to make repairs. The fierce highland wind raged wildly, sometimes carrying grit that pelted against exposed skin and left a sensation like ants biting. The physical discomfort was extreme, yet the surrounding scenery was breathtakingly beautiful — truly like paradise. Along the way they passed several small lakes that shimmered in the sunlight like sapphires laid flat on the ground; their surfaces drifted with fragments of ice that hadn’t yet melted. Wild animals appeared with increasing frequency: plateau hares, white-rumped antelope — not to mention the “internet celebrity” Tibetan fox, stolid-faced, poking its head around and passing by with an air of nonchalance.
By evening the convoy reached the “Sheep Lake.”
“Yamdrok Lake?!” Xiao Zi was a little bewildered. She might have had no concept of Qiang Tang, but she at least knew Yamdrok Lake wasn’t here.
Ba Yunye shook her head. “Sheep Lake is an abbreviated name for Yamdrok Lake, but this really is a genuine ‘sheep lake.’ Its layout and orientation are the mirror image of Yamdrok. We’re now in the western section of the Hoh Xil mountain range. If Zou Kaigui made it to here, it means he’s successfully crossed one third of the route.”
Standing and looking out, the water, mountains, sky, and earth seemed frozen together, like a scroll of ink-wash painting unrolling outward to infinity in all four directions.
“How much further do we have to go…” Xiao Zi asked with a touch of exhaustion. Her body and spirit had both reached their limits. This wasn’t a journey with a clear destination; if the person was never found, they would turn around and drive out of the no-man’s land the moment supplies ran low.
Seeing Xiao Zi’s low spirits and hollow expression, Ba Yunye said: “From here on we can only follow this path forward. Whether or not we find Zou Kaigui is down to fate.”
While everyone was making fires and preparing food, Ba Yunye hopped into Diao Zhuo’s tent. “Captain Diao, we have buns, we have air-dried mutton, and you’re a Xi’an native — how about making everyone a pot of mutton bread soup? I remember there’s a song that goes: under Xi’an’s city walls runs Xi’an’s train; a person from Xi’an, no matter where they go, cannot go without their bread soup…”
Diao Zhuo sat without moving, listening to her fumble along in her stilted Xi’an dialect. He found it quietly amusing but kept his face composed, and answered her in proper Xi’an dialect: “I can’t go without my bread soup — but you’re not from Xi’an, so you can do without.”
Ba Yunye perked up again. “But I—”
“Stop right there.”
“I haven’t even said anything yet.”
“I know what you’re going to say.”
Ba Yunye blinked. “What am I going to say?”
Diao Zhuo looked at her and communicated with his eyes: whatever it is, I’m sure it won’t be anything sensible.
Ba Yunye raised an eyebrow at him. “Captain Diao is getting to know me better and better.”
“Proximity to ink makes one black.”
“Not close enough.” She said.
Diao Zhuo looked away. “Could even stand to be a bit further.”
Ba Yunye took a deliberate step back and put on an exaggerated look of disgust, pinching her nose shut. “Fair enough — you’ve been three or four days without a wash, haven’t you?”
“So have you.” He gave a slight smile.
She covered her mouth with a look of theatrical horror. “I had no idea Captain Diao was keeping such close track of whether I’ve bathed!”
Diao Zhuo, knowing she was at it again, walked to the back of the vehicle and with one hand lifted out a bucket of water. “Do you want a wash or do you want bread soup?”
Ba Yunye sat cross-legged on a camp stool, her smile thoroughly wicked. “Which of those options can you personally be involved in?”
Diao Zhuo didn’t blink. “The wash.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ll take the bread soup.”
“Break all the bread into pieces about the size of a thumbnail — not bigger, not smaller.”
Ba Yunye pulled off her gloves, raised her fingers, and examined her bright red nails, then turned her hand around to show them to Diao Zhuo. “Ten nails — which one is the standard?”
He held up his thumb and tilted it left and right. She held up her thumb too and held it alongside his. A man’s hand and a woman’s hand — the comparison was unmistakable. Her bones were slender and long, but her skin was a shade darker than city girls her age; the honey-toned skin was gilded by the last light of the setting sun. Diao Zhuo thought back to the first time they’d shaken hands — slightly rough but soft — and then found himself thinking of the wet heat of her tongue brushing his earlobe.
Absolutely damned.
Out in the no-man’s land with limited resources, Diao Zhuo’s promised “mutton bread soup” amounted to nothing more than dropping the air-dried mutton into a pot and boiling it into a broth; everyone broke their own bread in. Ba Yunye had no patience for careful tearing — she’d barely broken two pieces before she was ripping the bread apart in big chunks like she was tearing paper, tossing the pieces in her tin, then shuffled over behind Diao Zhuo and gave him a firm slap on the shoulder, grinning mischievously as she tried to draw him into conversation.
“Captain, don’t shoot — it’s me.”
Diao Zhuo glanced at her, then raised his hand, extended his index and middle fingers alongside it, and lightly pressed them to her temple — delivering a mock “headshot.”
Ba Yunye put on a show of clutching her head. “You have absolutely no regard for the fairer sex…”
“‘Fair lady’ I haven’t seen. Right in front of me there happens to be a Conqueror of the West.”
“You’re calling me the King of Western Chu? Flattering.” She clasped her hands together in a mock salute. “If I’d had even a third of the Conqueror’s bravery in the army, I’d probably be a female general by now.”
Diao Zhuo returned the clasped-hand salute. “I stand corrected.”
Ba Yunye let out a laugh, then deliberately played on his words by mixing up the homophone: “Something that minor makes you lose bladder control? Too bad there wasn’t enough preparation for this trip — no adult diapers packed.”
Diao Zhuo, mid-throw with the half-broken bread, looked for a split second as if he was about to swing around and take a proper swing at her — she bolted and vanished.
He watched her retreating figure, equal parts exasperated and amused, looking thoroughly at his wit’s end… Not as if I could actually hit her.
Ye Xun — probably having caught a chill after falling through the ice the previous night — was complaining of a bad stomach all day. After hearing Da Qin’s ordeal, he went to find a sheltered spot to relieve himself; but he’d barely gone a few steps before his eyes went wide and he came sprinting back, excitement barely contained in a lowered voice: “Hey! I saw Tibetan antelope! Lots of them!!”
“Impossible.” Ba Yunye shot forward, following the direction he pointed, and took one look — then walked back while already chuckling. “Those are white-rumped antelope, not Tibetan antelope.”
Ye Xun, out of breath from running over, asked: “What do you mean white-rumped?”
“Tibetan gazelle.” Ba Yunye said, then added: “Tibetan antelope aren’t that easy to spot. Stop hoping.”
“I’ve heard that Tibetan antelope gather in one place for a period of time — is that true?”