Mingmei Yip - Song of the Silk Road

After another half hour wandering in the forest, I spotted a boulder with highlights of red, yellow, and green—an unusual color combination with high yang energy. Curious, I ran my finger over it and, to my surprise, its texture felt extremely sensuous. Now suddenly I could see Alex’s taut body filled with youthful vigor and sensed its desire to be touched—by me.

Tears swelled in my eyes, and this time I let them fall. Now I wished my young lover were here so we could make love on this lofty mountain overlooking a low-lying lake and shaded by the dense foliage of a thousand-year-old tree. Beneath my young lover’s hot, writhing torso, I could peek up at the universe through the cracks between the leaves, thinking of eternal love. But I quickly shook Alex’s image from my mind. I really didn’t think there’d be any future for us. I doubted I was more than a fleeting infatuation for him. Besides, I had no idea where he was now. Probably he was having such a good time traveling across China that he’d already forgotten me.

No longer elated by the forest around me, I began to drag my tired feet back to find Lop Nor. Twenty minutes later, a melodious tune sung by a sonorous male voice floated toward me. Echoing in the deep, empty woods, the voice possessed a penetrating sadness. I strained my ears to listen; it was the popular Xinjiang folk song, “In the Distant Land.”

I was transfixed not only by the powerful voice but by the tenderness and passion embedded within. The singer must have experienced a deep, poignant love. I continued to move forward and listen while imagining a love so strong that the man, a herdsman, was willing to be a sheep so he could be whipped by the woman he loved. Then suddenly I saw Lop Nor’s back behind some leaves, and I was shocked to discover that he was the singer.

Entranced, I held back so as not to disturb him.

When he finally finished, I clapped enthusiastically. “Wonderful, Lop Nor. How come you never let me hear you sing before?”

My friend turned around, looking taken aback and, to my surprise, a little shy. As I was considering how to inquire about the poignant love story, Lop Nor suddenly displayed shock as if he were seeing a ghost in broad daylight. Like lightning, he dashed over to me and, with his hat, swept the flowers from my hair in one careful flick.

Before I had the chance to protest, he shouted, “These are poisonous! Luckily you piled your hair high so they didn’t touch your scalp!”

I was too stunned to say anything.

My friend went on. “Sorry, Miss Lin, I really shouldn’t have let you go off by yourself.”

“It’s not your fault, and I’m fine now.” Suddenly the impact of his words hit me. I touched my hair and cheeks. “Am I OK?”

“Yes, otherwise your face would have already swollen up like a pig’s.”

I laughed. “Why not a boxer’s?”

“Miss Lin, please don’t joke. This is no small matter. Fortunately you’re all right.”

“OK, then are we done here?”

He nodded. “Now we’ll start the most difficult part of this journey—climbing higher to where the snow lotus grows. It is three thousand meters above sea level. Are you up to that?”

Since there was no easier way to get the snow lotus, I responded loudly, “Sure!”

“All right, then put on your jacket and your hat. It’ll be cold in the high altitude.”

The climb was not as bad as I’d expected. Since the weather was very pleasant, I actually enjoyed the strenuous but uplifting exercise—especially when the earth was bidding me farewell and the sky welcoming me. I wanted to climb all the way to heaven and leave my earthly troubles behind!

Lop Nor was a good companion—attentive, gentle, precise, taciturn. On our long ascent, we met one young, skinny Uyghur man and they chatted in their strange language. It must have been me they were talking about, since the young man turned a few times with curious glances. I had no idea if the encounter was between friends or whether any human contact in this isolated place would be considered friendly. But I was a little out of breath, so I did not ask Lop Nor who the man was or what they had talked about.

Striding up the mountain, my Uyghur friend looked refreshed. His eyes were bright, his face ruddy, and his usual pained expression replaced by a relaxed, almost happy one. I could see that the mountain was his natural habitat where he moved like a fish in water or a monkey in a tree. As for me, although my backpack was light in comparison to Lop Nor’s, I still sweated heavily, feeling sharp aches up and down my back and legs. My breathing came quick and shallow as I moved fast to stay with my friend.

Finally, he announced our arrival. I was feeling chilled and had tightened the jacket around my chest and pulled down my hat. Before my eyes extended an infinite expanse of crushed stones above which stretched a lonely blue sky.

I turned to Lop Nor. “It doesn’t look like anything will grow here.”

He cast me an annoyed look. “Miss Lin, I know very well the plants and their locations on this part of the mountain.” Then his tone and expression softened. “You breathing OK?”

“I’m a little winded, but otherwise fine.”

He went on. “Snow lotuses are extremely rare and hard to find, for they only grow between cracks of ice and rocks at very high altitude.” He gave me a glance, his expression serious. “You stay here and I’ll go get them. Believe me, it’s too dangerous for you to come with me. You’ll be much safer here.”

I could tell from his tone that this was an order, not advice.

After my herbalist friend threw down a “Be careful, I’ll be back soon” and disappeared from sight, I took out my camera and began to walk around, looking for anything interesting to shoot.

Many hours later and Lop Nor had not reappeared. Had something happened? My imagination saw him losing his grip on the cliff and plunging to his death. Or falling so that he was wedged and crushed between rocks.

But I had no idea how or where to find him. There was not a soul around to ask for help, and I didn’t think I could even find the route back to civilization. Just when I felt my heart almost jump out of my chest, a loud, harsh Quuuuiiiiik! penetrated my eardrums. I looked up and saw a huge hawk slashing the sky with its wings like two sharp blades. Just as I was wondering what to do, the bird plunged toward me.

“Ahhhh!” I ducked to avoid a possible hit and run. It was indeed a hit and fly, albeit the prey was not me, but my camera!

The damned bird made another triumphant Quuuuiiiiik! then disappeared into the distance, the camera between his talons. I picked up some stones and hurled them at the air the hawk had flown through, but they landed pathetically with defeated thuds.

I dropped to my knees, covered my face, and started to cry. Was Lop Nor dead? Would I also soon join his family in death?

I didn’t know how long I’d been crying when I felt a touch on my shoulder. I looked up and saw the herbalist’s flushed and worried face.

Involuntarily I flung myself at his big torso, laughing and crying. “Oh, Lop Nor… I’m so glad you’re back—and alive!”

But as soon as I felt the stiffness of his body and his awkward embrace, I disentangled myself, muttering a not-very-sorry “Sorry.”