Chapter 41. Kwon Ji-yong is seriously using a camera...
Kwon Ji-yong carefully photographed the details of several Thangka paintings with his camera, as if he wanted to bring this ancient art back to his own world to interpret it: "I have collected some works by contemporary artists who try to deconstruct, reshape, or express a certain momentary emotion. But the art here feels like it is building an eternal and complete spiritual universe."
He thought of his own faith; the murals, sculptures, and stained glass windows in those churches also carried religious stories and spiritual power. Although their forms of expression and cultural backgrounds differed greatly, art, as a medium for communicating with divinity, expressing reverence, and soothing the heart, seemed to share a common essence. He also thought of his own musical compositions; sometimes they were catharsis, expression, avant-garde experimentation, but deep down, did he also yearn for a deeper, more enduring expression?
“It’s amazing,” he said softly. “Both are art forms originating from faith, but the introspection, rigor, and rituals passed down through generations in the East, and the portrayal of humanity, divinity, and dramatic conflict in Western religious art, show completely different aesthetic and philosophical thinking. But they both point to something that transcends reality.”
Ren Xiyao nodded in agreement: "All traditional cultures are rooted in history and faith, embodying the wisdom and emotions of their respective peoples. For example, Tibetan civilization on the snowy plateau continues its sacred tradition. It is a treasure of Tibetan culture and also part of Chinese civilization, which in turn has a long and comprehensive history." She paused, then looked at Kwon Ji-yong: "Of course, what is national is also global. Ancient memories are worth preserving. The exploration and innovation of modern art are equally important; they reflect the thinking and changes of our time."
Kwon Ji-yong looked at her in surprise. He had always known she was intelligent and resilient, but now, listening to her speak eloquently about culture and art, he realized that her world was far deeper and broader than he had imagined. The time they spent together brought him more and more surprises. Beyond the initial, fateful attraction, they were beginning to share a growing resonance of souls.
Ren Xiyao was also getting to know Kwon Ji-yong anew. Looking at the light shining in his eyes, she realized for the first time that he was more than just a dazzling idol on stage; he possessed a sensitive and rich artistic soul. His understanding of art transcended the boundaries of East and West, ancient and modern, exhibiting his own unique insights. He could keenly capture the spiritual core behind different art forms. She had previously thought he might be more immersed in the bizarre, ever-changing world of trends or avant-garde, rebellious artistic expression.
They walked for a while, and then Kwon Ji-yong suddenly said with certainty, "You are very proud of your culture." He had met many people who were proud of their country's culture, but Ren Xiyao's pride was not narrow nationalism, but a kind of love and respect that came from the depths of her heart, open and natural.
“Of course,” Ren Xiyao nodded, “Only by remembering where we came from can we go further.”
They left the main hall and continued up the path. They saw an old woman shakily turning a huge prayer wheel, chanting incantations; they saw young monks carrying scriptures, hurrying past; they saw devout believers prostrating themselves before the Buddha statue, their expressions solemn.
In a small square, an elderly lama passing by saw them, smiled and walked up to them, took out a handful of white hadas from his bosom, put his hands together, recited a blessing scripture, and then gently offered two hadas to them, hanging them around their necks.
"Tashi Delek!" The lama's voice was gentle and kind.
"Tashi Delek!" Ren Xiyao clasped her hands together and bowed slightly in return with a quiet and respectful demeanor. Kwon Ji-yong followed her example and thanked her earnestly.
Ren Xiyao looked down at the hada on her chest, her eyes softening considerably. She gently explained to Quan Zhilong, "The hada is the highest form of respect and blessing among the Tibetan people. White symbolizes purity, auspiciousness, and sincerity."
The pure white hada scarves hung gently on their chests, carrying a sacred blessing. They were outsiders to this land, strangers to the snowy plateau, yet at this moment, they felt the kindness and blessings from this land and its faith.
Kwon Ji-yong stroked the soft texture of the hada scarf, a warm feeling welling up inside him. Looking at Ren Xiyao, whose beauty was accentuated by the scarf, he suddenly felt that his decision to follow her to western Sichuan, regardless of everything, was one of the best decisions he had ever made. In this place far removed from the hustle and bustle of the city, he not only saw breathtaking scenery, but also a more real, three-dimensional, and charming Ren Xiyao, and found a long-lost inner peace.
As they slowly climbed to the top of the temple, they stood on the viewing platform, where the entire town of Litang County unfolded before them. Snow-covered Tibetan houses were scattered gracefully across the valley, with the majestic Genie Snow Mountain range rising in the distance. The warm winter sun shone down, and the thin, pure air was invigorating.
“I think I understand why you chose to come here.” Kwon Ji-yong suddenly spoke, his voice soft but clear: “There is a power here that can calm people down and make them forget the noise and troubles.”
Ren Xiyao didn't speak, but stood there quietly, gazing into the distance. Her eyes were distant and serene, as if all her troubles and pains were being purified and soothed little by little by the sunshine and chanting of the highlands.
Kwon Ji-yong put down his camera, walked to her side, and, mimicking her, quietly gazed into the distance. He could sense the peace in her heart at that moment, a vibrant life force being re-infused into her blood. He could also feel that some invisible emotional bond between them had become clearer.
In the evening, they returned to the vicinity of their guesthouse to find something to eat. Entering a small Tibetan restaurant, the warm lights and the aroma of food dispelled the chill outside. They noticed that the town seemed more lively than when they arrived. Some Tibetans were dressed in their festive best, their faces beaming with joy, and every household seemed busy cleaning and preparing something. A festive and peaceful atmosphere permeated the air.
"Are they preparing for some kind of festival?" Kwon Ji-yong asked curiously.
Ren Xiyao asked a few questions to an elderly woman at the next table who was wiping a butter lamp, then turned to Quan Zhilong and said, "The day after tomorrow is the Tibetan New Year, 'Losar.' For Tibetans, this is the most important festival, equivalent to the Spring Festival. Usually, the Tibetan New Year and the Spring Festival are about a month apart, but I didn't expect that the Tibetan New Year and the Spring Festival would coincide this year, which is quite rare."
"Tibetan New Year?" Kwon Ji-yong's eyes lit up. "What a coincidence! Will it be very lively? How is it different from the Lunar New Year?"
“Hmm,” Ren Xiyao nodded and patiently explained to him, “Before the festival, we have to do a thorough cleaning to drive away the bad luck of the old year; on New Year’s Eve, we eat a kind of noodle called ‘Gutu,’ which contains things that symbolize different meanings, such as pebbles, chili peppers, wool, charcoal, etc. Whatever you find in the noodle will predict your fortune in the coming year; on the first day of the new year, we get up early to grab ‘new water,’ then put on new clothes, go to the temple to burn incense and worship, and then visit relatives and friends, exchange hadas, and wish each other ‘Losar Tashi Delek’ (good luck and happiness in the new year).
Kwon Ji-yong listened with great interest, imagining the scenes of those festivals full of ethnic characteristics: "It sounds very interesting! Will we be able to see it the day after tomorrow?"
“We’ll arrive in Seda tomorrow, and we should be able to see some things then. But most of the time they’ll be at home with their families and friends.” Ren Xiyao smiled. “We can go to the temple to see the scene of burning incense and praying for blessings.”
Inside the restaurant, the Tibetans sang ancient toasting songs. Watching Ren Xiyao speak so eloquently, Quan Zhilong suddenly grabbed her hand under the table: "Ren Xiyao, how many more sides of you are there that I haven't seen?"
The lamplight illuminated her eyelashes, casting dappled shadows on her face. She reached out and grasped his fingers: "Discover it slowly, Mr. Artist."
As they spoke, the ordered tsampa, ginseng fruit yogurt, and other local specialties arrived. Quan Zhilong was filled with curiosity about these novel foods and tried to pinch the tsampa with his fingers, just like Ren Xiyao. He ended up making a mess of it, which made Ren Xiyao's lips curl into a barely perceptible smile.
"This... requires some skill." Kwon Ji-yong looked at his fingers covered in tsampa powder and smiled helplessly.
"Just try a few more times." Ren Xiyao handed him a wet wipe: "Tsampa is the staple food of Tibetans. It's made from roasted barley flour and butter tea. It's very filling and nutritious. We haven't really had any of the local specialties these past few days. Since we're here, let's try some."
"Hmm, the taste... is very unique." Kwon Ji-yong took a bite, the aroma of ghee and the rich flavor of barley flour blending together to create a peculiar taste sensation: "And this, it's delicious!"
"Eat slowly, you might choke."
As the sun sets, its golden rays bathe the small town, casting a sacred glow upon it. Ren Xiyao loves guesthouses; wherever she goes, her first choice is always a guesthouse with local characteristics. So, for the past few days, she has been staying in Tibetan-style inns.
The starry sky in Litang felt so close, almost within reach. It was different from the nights in Xinduqiao. Quan Zhilong, wrapped in a blanket, watched Ren Xiyao identify constellations on her phone. She was much more active today than yesterday. She was no longer like she was a few days ago. That frozen, stagnant state was what he feared most.
Kwon Ji-yong pulled out a pen and notebook from somewhere. The pen scratched on the paper, and a few minutes later, he tore off the page and handed it to her.
On the paper was his drawing of her: a profile of her looking up at the stars, her hair blowing in the wind, against a background of dense star trails. In the lower right corner was a line of small print: "More beautiful than Van Gogh's Starry Night."
Ren Xiyao carefully examined the drawing paper, then suddenly remembered something and smiled, saying, "The note you drew for me at the convenience store seems to still be tucked in my training diary."
"You still kept it!"
Ren Xiyao smiled slyly: "I also need to get to know Mr. Kwon Ji-yong little by little, just like I used to think you could only write songs."
“Seoul is too noisy,” Kwon Ji-yong said, leaning back on the blanket with a satisfied look. “But here it’s so quiet you can hear the sound of inspiration landing.”
The sound of a sutra horn drifted from afar, and the first breeze of the Tibetan New Year swept across the rooftops. Ren Xiyao suddenly leaned down and kissed his forehead: "Happy New Year, Quan Zhilong."
He opened his eyes and saw thousands of stars falling into them.
They come from different worlds, with different backgrounds and distinct personalities—one introverted, the other passionate. But now, on this snowy plateau, in the tranquil night of the approaching New Year, their pure spiritual worlds are quietly colliding and merging, stirring a romance and tacit understanding that needs no words. Outside the window, the night deepens, and the stars in Litang shine exceptionally bright. It's the Tibetan New Year. They will witness this ancient and grand festival as strangers in a foreign land. And their story, on this sacred land, has left a unique bond, full of unknowns and full of anticipation.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
