Chapter 43 Around noon, they entered…

Around noon, they entered Xinlong County. The car traveled along the Yalong River, and the mountains on both sides began to become steep and precipitous.

The canyon is deep, with the river rushing through the valley floor, and light and shadow shifting on the jagged rocks. The road clings tightly to the edge of the cliff, winding and twisting.

Ren Xiyao parked the car at a relatively open viewpoint. The two got out, and the mountain wind immediately filled their collars, stinging their cheeks. They wrapped their clothes tighter and walked to the edge of the cliff. Below them was a bottomless abyss, and on the opposite bank were layers of snow-capped mountains. Sunlight pierced through the clouds, casting interplay of light and shadow across the valley.

"It's truly magnificent," Kwon Ji-yong exclaimed sincerely.

Ren Xiyao's voice sounded somewhat ethereal in the wind: "Legend has it that the river is the tears of a goddess. She wept for a thousand years while waiting for her lover to return, and her tears formed this great river. I don't know if I remember it correctly."

"Another legend about waiting and love?" Kwon Ji-yong turned his head to look at her, the wind ruffling the stray hairs on his forehead.

Ren Xiyao gazed into the distance: "It's probably because the environment here is too harsh and life is too fragile, so people need these stories to express their emotions and give themselves the strength to persevere."

Kwon Ji-yong listened quietly to Ren Xiyao's story, opening his arms as if to embrace the biting wind and the empty canyon: "Here, all the troubles and noise seem insignificant."

The wind was strong, making it difficult for people to stand steadily. Quan Zhilong subconsciously turned to the side, using his body to shield Ren Xiyao from some of the wind, and naturally put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer to him.

After having lunch at a local restaurant, we continued our journey. As we got closer to Seda, a different atmosphere seemed to emerge in the air.

These past two days, while Ren Xiyao drove, Quan Zhilong sat beside her, studying the car's music system. He played some of his own demos or personal favorites, creating a soothing and atmospheric sound. Ren Xiyao would occasionally hum along to a familiar melody, and Quan Zhilong would look at her with delight, then they would exchange a smile.

As the sun sets, a dense patch of red begins to appear on the distant horizon.

"We're almost there," Ren Xiyao said softly.

“Xi Yao,” he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of barely perceptible amazement, “this place… truly gives people new shocks every day.”

Ren Xiyao nodded in agreement, feeling the same way.

When I parked the car in front of the guesthouse, the guesthouse's wooden sign was swaying in the wind, with "Tashi Delek" written on it in both Chinese and Tibetan.

"Oh my, you two have finally arrived! Was your journey smooth?" Boss Dorje said with a smile as he helped them with their luggage. "What a coincidence, tonight is our Tibetan New Year, which falls on the same day as your Han Chinese Spring Festival! We'll have our New Year's Eve dinner here tonight and have a lively celebration together!"

Ren Xiyao nodded and thanked him, "Thank you, boss, you've gone to so much trouble."

"No trouble at all! It's fate that we're here!" Boss Dorje pointed to several brand-new Tibetan robes hanging next to him: "If you'd like to try them out for dinner tonight, you can change into our clothes and wear whatever you like!"

Kwon Ji-yong gazed curiously at the brightly colored, exquisitely crafted Tibetan robes, his eyes shining. Ren Xiyao understood his thoughts and quietly explained the shopkeeper's meaning. He immediately became excited and nodded repeatedly.

Inside the room, after changing into a slightly oversized crimson Tibetan robe, Ren Xiyao felt as if she had become a part of this land. She deliberately let down her hair, which she usually wore in a bun, and braided it into a plait. Looking at herself in the mirror, so different from usual, and then at Quan Zhilong beside her, also wearing a Tibetan robe and looking both curious and somewhat handsome, a slight smile involuntarily crept onto her lips. Quan Zhilong, like a child who had received a new toy, excitedly looked at himself in the mirror from left to right; the deep blue Tibetan robe made his skin appear even whiter.

Ren Xiyao looked at him and suddenly burst out laughing.

"What are you laughing at?" he glared at her.

“It’s nothing,” she said, reaching out to straighten his collar. “I just didn’t expect GD to look like this in a Tibetan robe.”

Her fingers brushed against his Adam's apple, and Kwon Ji-yong suddenly grabbed her wrist: "Ren Xiyao, you did this on purpose. Haven't you been going too far lately?"

"What did I do?" She smiled slightly. "Are you hallucinating because you're lacking oxygen?"

The downstairs lobby was already bustling with activity. A long wooden tablecloth with Tibetan patterns covered the floor, laden with a sumptuous feast: large chunks of yak meat, lamb chops, fragrant tsampa, golden butter tea, and stir-fries incorporating Sichuan flavors. Besides Dorje and his family, there were seven or eight other guests—tourists who had driven there like them, and a few who appeared to be resident practitioners or volunteers. Different accents of Mandarin, Tibetan, and even a few words of English mingled together, creating a strangely harmonious cacophony.

Dorjee warmly invited them to sit down and poured them warm barley wine. No one recognized Quan Zhilong; in this secluded place, they were simply ordinary tourists filled with curiosity about western Sichuan. This made him feel incredibly relaxed. The fire in the hearth was burning brightly, and more than twenty people sat around a long table.

They were seated next to a couple from Guangdong. The husband, a photographer, squinted at him and asked in English, "Foreigner?"

“South Korean.” Kwon Ji-yong spoke somewhat reservedly, while Ren Xiyao exchanged candy with the shop owner’s daughter not far away.

"Are you husband and wife?" the wife asked curiously.

“Not yet,” he said, staring at Ren Xiyao’s retreating figure. “We’re working on it.”

The conversation at the dinner table was lively. Some shared their travel experiences and impressions of Seda. Someone shared a stunning sunrise they photographed in Xinduqiao, another complained about altitude sickness in Litang, and yet another earnestly spoke of their longing for a Buddhist academy. Kwon Ji-yong had also made some progress these days, understanding two or three sentences out of ten. Ren Xiyao would occasionally translate a few sentences for him in a low voice, and he tried his best to participate with body language and simple words. He could feel that there was no urban isolation or indifference here, only a pure, genuine kindness and curiosity between people.

After several rounds of drinks, the atmosphere grew increasingly lively. Dorje's daughter, a little girl dressed in beautiful Tibetan attire, was shyly ushered forward to dance a lively Guozhuang dance. Her steps were light and graceful, her skirt fluttering, like a Gesang flower blooming on the snowy plateau.

Then a guy from Beijing sang "Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies" in Cantonese, completely off-key, but everyone joined in, shouting "Forgive me for my unruly and free-spirited life!" Other guests volunteered to play the harmonica, and some even told jokes.

"Hey handsome guy and beautiful girl over there, let's have one too!" someone egged on.

"Yeah, yeah! Sing a song or dance!"

Just as Kwon Ji-yong was about to decline, Ren Xiyao nudged him and said, "Go ahead, he'll sing, and I'll dance."

Kwon Ji-yong swallowed the words he was about to say, stood up, and cleared his throat. Without accompaniment or a microphone, he sang a Korean love song he had written, his voice so low it was like a whisper. Although no one understood the lyrics, the crackling rhythm of the fire unexpectedly became the perfect beat. When the song ended, thunderous applause erupted.

"It's the beauties' turn! We can't let the handsome guys do all the work!" The cheers started again.

Ren Xiyao smiled, got up, and walked to the open space. She put on some music on her phone, and then her arms flowed out like water.

These past few days, Kwon Ji-yong had lost count of how many times he had been moved by Ren Xiyao, whom he had never met before. Unlike the K-pop power and stage presence that Kwon Ji-yong was familiar with, this impromptu Dai dance carried a primitive, expansive, and nature-imitating charm.

Her body was supple and resilient, her arms gliding like ripples on water, her fingertips seemingly able to draw in the moonlight, her eyes carrying a devout and ethereal quality as if conversing with heaven and earth. Her movements weren't perfect, after all, she hadn't practiced in a long time, but that calm dedication, that unique beauty derived from bodily memory, deeply captivated everyone present. The cuffs of her Tibetan robe unfurled as she spun, like a Gesang flower blooming on the plateau.

As the final movement concluded, the entire hall fell silent for two seconds before erupting in applause. Amidst the cheers, Ren Xiyao, slightly out of breath, sat back down beside him. Quan Zhilong handed her some barley wine, which she downed halfway through, the ice blade necklace around her neck shimmering with tiny sparkles.

"I didn't know you could do this," he said, taking the bowl of wine and deliberately taking a sip from the spot where she had drunk from. "Is there anything you can't do?"

"How can you learn figure skating without practicing dance?" Ren Xiyao leaned close to his ear: "Let me tell you a secret, before I switched majors, my folk dance grades were better than my figure skating grades."

As they were talking, Boss Dorjee's daughter suddenly appeared out of nowhere, tugged at Kwon Ji-yong's sleeve, and asked, "Brother, what was the meaning of the song you just sang?"

Kwon Ji-yong understood what he meant. He slowly turned around and said in Chinese, word by word, "It means I want to be with this older sister forever."

Ren Xiyao almost spat out the butter tea in her mouth. Quan Zhilong looked at her amusedly, and the little girl beside him giggled. He suddenly wished this night would never end.

As the banquet drew to a close, Boss Dorje raised his wine bowl and sang a Tibetan toasting song in his deep voice. The song was melancholic and far-reaching, as if it had traveled through a thousand years. The wine bowls clinked in the firelight. Dorje proclaimed, "Tashi Delek! Wishing everyone peace, health, and all your wishes fulfilled in the new year!"

Afterwards, everyone raised their glasses and shared their New Year's wishes.

"I hope I can earn more money next year so I can take my parents on a trip!" a young backpacker exclaimed.

"May my family be safe and healthy!" A middle-aged woman said with a smile in her eyes.

"I hope my graduation project goes smoothly and I can find a good job!" said one college student.

"May our great motherland prosper and flourish!" The man from Beijing said in a loud voice.

When it was Kwon Ji-yong's turn, he held Ren Xiyao's hand and said in broken Chinese, "I hope Bingmian will treat her well from now on."

A moment of silence fell over the table. Ren Xiyao hadn't expected him to bring this up at this time.

"It's your turn." He gently squeezed her fingers.

She looked at the shimmering moonlight in the bowl: "May..." Her throat suddenly tightened: "May we always remember tonight."

As the noise subsided, Ren Xiyao sat cross-legged on the bed, untying her braids. Quan Zhilong walked behind her and helped her fix her hair: "Ren Xiyao, you surprise me every day since I came here."

Ren Xiyao laughed and dodged away, standing up to tidy up her Tibetan robe: "...Hey, what are you doing! Be careful of altitude sickness!"

Kwon Ji-yong suddenly picked her up and spun her around, the wooden floorboards creaking. A few barks came from outside the window, and the faint sound of a conch shell seemed to drift from afar.

“Ren Xiyao,” he placed her on the edge of the bed, knelt on one knee and looked up at her, “I’m especially jealous of Bingmian right now.”

"What?"

“It has seen so many sides of you that I never knew,” his fingers traced the scars on her knees: “You when you fell, you when you won, you when you were exhausted from training…”

Ren Xiyao cupped his face in her hands. Moonlight streamed through the Tibetan-style window lattice, casting a grid-like shadow on his face.

“Now you know,” she whispered, “the me who dances, the me in the Tibetan robe…”

Quan Zhilong kissed her. Downstairs, a drunkard hummed a toasting song, and yak bells jingled in the wind.

People say it takes a hundred years of cultivation to share a boat ride, and a thousand years to share a pillow. How many years of cultivation did they cultivate to be able to see the starry sky of Seda together in this lifetime?