Mingmei Yip - Song of the Silk Road

I said, “I’ll tell you soon. Just give me a little more time, OK? It’s nothing about you, I promise.”

He nodded. Then he took from his pocket a red silk pouch, slid out the object, and placed it in my hand.

It was a silver Chinese amulet. One side was carved with a dragon and a phoenix and the other side had the words “Peace and Longevity.”

“I hope you like it,” he said nervously.

“Alex, it’s beautiful.” I was so touched that I didn’t know what more to say.

He tied the amulet so it hung from a belt loop on my jeans. “It’ll protect you on your trip.”

“Thank you so much, Alex.”

“Promise me you’ll wear it every day so you’ll be safe.”

“Of course I will.” I kissed him on his cheek, then asked, “Alex, are you hungry? You want something to eat? Why don’t you rest on the bed and I’ll cook you something.”

“But I have my food right here,” he said, then lifted me up, carried me to the bed, undressed me, and gently set me down. In a swift motion like a cursive calligraphic stroke, he pulled off his shirt, jeans, underwear, and shoes and threw them on the floor. His eyes, hungry and greedy like a wolf’s, wandered over my naked body, lingering on my breasts, my stomach, my legs and the mysterious valley in between, then slowly back up to my face. He kissed my forehead, my eyes, my cheeks, my lips, and my neck while holding me lovingly.

I could feel his young, firm body sending waves of energy into mine as heat surged in my hidden valley. Eager, his swollen sex hardened against my groin. Hungry, we became entangled like an octopus and its prey.

His tongue, like a hot desert snake, pried open my lips, slid inside my mouth, and devoured its target. Then the two snakes, each encountering its long-awaited rival, engaged in the thousand-year-old Art of War: attack and retreat, press and release, contract and relax. Ah Hung’s sayings popped into my mind:

“Alex…” Now my doubts dissipated and I felt myself dissolving in his arms, floating in a gilded dream. I wanted to turn this endearing moment into eternity, like the golden sands of the desert forever shifting and singing happily under a timeless sky. I wanted my young lover to enter deep inside me, so I wouldn’t feel the miserable hollowness of my twenty-nine-year-old existence. I wanted my body and soul to be filled by his innocence, passion, strength, thoughtfulness, and his qi -radiating sex. I wanted all of him.

As I was enjoying my worthy rival, his lips moved down to my nipples, sucking them like a hungry baby his mother’s life-giving milk. I squirmed and moaned and screamed, digging my nails deep into his shoulders. Encouraged, his hands moved all over me like a mapmaker working on unexplored land. My lips trembled and murmured endearing words, as my private area experienced a painful ecstasy I had not known existed.

In a delirious state, my lover muttered, “Lily, oh, Lily, love me, please love me back.”

“Alex….” I couldn’t talk, for I was already plunging into sexual oblivion under his relentless advances.

He finally entered me. The thrusting was painfully comforting and strangely therapeutic. All my worries, miseries, loneliness evaporated, leaving a love as deep as the desert valley. Then he came with a long, heaven-shattering howl, shaking the small room like exploding fireworks. I was so touched by the joy and pain embedded in the cry that when he pulled himself out and lay beside me, my cheeks were flooded with tears.

Alex wrapped one arm around me, his other hand wiping my face. “You all right, Lily? Did I hurt you? Am I too rough?”

I looked at his young, concerned face. “No, Alex, you’re a wonderful man and lover. It’s just that I felt so overwhelmed by your love.”

“Then… marry me.”

Feeling too overwhelmed to respond, I nestled my head against his chest.

Hours later when I awoke, Alex was still asleep beside me, his innocent face belying our recent activities. The air was starting to cool as I looked out on the endless sand, thinking reluctantly of my next task: to venture into the Taklamakan Desert and retrieve an item of utmost importance.

Taklamakan means “Go In But Never Come Out,” but if this does not give a clear-enough idea, it is also referred to as “The Ocean of Death.” So I planned to hire a local guide. However, now that Alex and I were reunited, he could accompany me. He was ecstatic when I suggested this, but when he asked why this particular place, the best answer I could come up with was an evasive “I’ve always been fascinated by the desert.” I was sure Alex knew that something unusual was cooking—but by now he had learned that it was wise to just leave it at that.

Alex, despite his age, was careful and detail oriented. As we prepared for the trip, he spent long hours studying maps, reading books, and meticulously noting topography, routes, weather and winds, dangerous animals and insects, even stories of earlier explorations, not all of which ended happily. The day before we left, I cleaned and packed while he went to Urumqi to rent a cross-country truck and shop for camping gear and other necessities.

The morning of our departure, we woke up at four so we could leave before the weather got unbearably hot—sometimes up to 120 degrees at this time of year. Quickly we checked the house and the truck one last time before we set out on this journey of a thousand fears.

As Alex was backing up the truck, I cast a farewell glance at the cottage—just in case I couldn’t make it back “home.” But, I reassured myself, Alex was with me and he was smart and cautious. Besides, I had the amulet hanging from my belt to protect us. Like a wheezy lion, the truck roared and lunged onto the desert highway, shaking in the 30-mile-per-hour wind. On both sides of the highway were squares of scrubby vegetation planted to keep the sand from burying the road.

Although I’d seen the desert so many times by now, I was still amazed at the flat, immense horizon with no foreseeable vanishing point. Surveying the dunes of golden sand, I mentally formed their emptiness into all sorts of images: robust, curvaceous women; sleeping dragons; even ruined cities with long-forgotten names. Above, in the cobalt blue sky, a few clouds swam like shiny white fish, and exotic birds chirped their shamanic chants. Here and there the monotony was relieved by pleasing bits of green—tamarisk, poplar, pomegranate trees, mulberries, and others whose names were unknown, at least to me.

Not a car or truck was in sight. For thousands of years, these same sands, like huge whales, had swallowed caravans entire—merchants, wives, children, camels, goods for sale, everything. Even towns with their settlements, monasteries, fortresses, rivers, and lakes were said to have vanished without a trace. Over the centuries, desert explorers, whether veterans or not, met horrible deaths from thirst, heatstroke, starvation, sandstorms, bandit attacks, poisonous snakes, even demons. It was told that in the Tang dynasty, merchants and adventurers could simply follow the trail of skeletons and other remains of perished travelers to find their way. Now a few of these unlucky travelers again see the light of day—as mummies lying in museums, oblivious to their reincarnation.

But there are more reasons for a person to live than to die, so I brought my thoughts to Alex and turned to appreciate his living face.

“Alex, you like it here?”

“Of course,” he said, his eyes never leaving the road, though I didn’t see how accidents could happen on this highway as straight as an airport runway.