Si Teng (Rattan) – CH 001

Chapter 1

December 2013, Nangqian County, Qinghai Tibetan Autonomous Prefecture, near Bazha Township.

The sun was shining, but it wasn’t doing much to warm things up—An Man’s feet, encased in the seller’s supposedly “pure wool, polar-cold-proof” boots, were practically frozen solid. Even so, she stubbornly leaned against the car door, holding her phone, moving it this way and that, as if searching for a signal.

A short distance away, several Tibetans stared at her curiously, their faces showing eagerness to approach, but no one dared to actually speak to her. Han people were rarely seen here; although they had seen many on television, they still found it hard to understand: why did Han people wear trousers instead of robes? Why did they wear so many layers of clothing in the cold weather? What kind of clothing could be warmer than sheepskin, wolfskin, or even bearskin?

Just then, the phone signal suddenly went from weak to full strength—perhaps because the phone was positioned correctly, or perhaps it had just been glitching. Several long-awaited WeChat messages arrived one after another; the first few were images downloading, but the last message arrived first: “Hey, the photos are still being edited. Here are a few for you to see; let me know if there are any problems.”

After waiting a while, the first photo appeared on the screen: the beach, the sunset, and her in a wedding dress. This photo studio was truly reliable; the photos were so beautifully edited, they looked like something from a dream.

An Man’s eyes immediately filled with tears.

The other photos were also of her, solo shots: resting her chin on her hand, thoughtfully gazing into the distance; gently smelling a flower she held; laughing unrestrainedly along a tree-lined path; leaning against a bridge, holding an umbrella in the misty rain.

She posted several of the photos to her WeChat Moments, repeatedly editing and revising the caption. The final version read: “There is always one person destined for you in this world. Only then will you understand why things didn’t work out with the others. How fortunate I am to have met you, among millions of people, and to have chosen you, to walk through life with you forever.”

After posting, she put her phone back in her pocket, rubbed her hands together, and stamped her feet repeatedly. She didn’t know how many times she stamped her feet before Qin Fan returned.

When Qin Fang arrived, he remarked half-jokingly, “That message was pretty snarky, wasn’t it?”

An Man, who had probably already seen the WeChat message, retorted with a raised eyebrow, “I did it on purpose, just to annoy those petty people who can’t stand to see me happy.”

Qin Fang didn’t say anything, just gave her a thumbs-up. Seeing his expression, An Man knew the search hadn’t yielded any results: “Still no luck?”

“It’s worse than that. They said that during the 2010 Yushu earthquake, Nangqian was also a disaster area. Several mountains collapsed, and some villages were completely swallowed up. It’s probably impossible to find them now.”

Of course, they were probably gone. This was a family matter for Qin Fang; apparently, it was about fulfilling the wishes of his family’s older generations. An Man didn’t pry further, but she had prepared herself mentally beforehand: it had been seventy or eighty years; the world had changed so much. In just ten years, things can turn upside down. In seventy years, mountains can crumble and rivers can dry up. Finding someone who was almost certainly dead was extremely difficult.

Especially with the unexpected 7.1 magnitude earthquake that occurred during that time. An Man tentatively suggested, “Then… shall we go back?”

People were sometimes a bit perverse; when something you had no hope for suddenly became impossible, you would feel a strange sense of unease. Qin Fang was a typical example. After getting into the car, he turned the steering wheel and said, “Let’s keep looking. We came all this way, and it’s the old lady’s wish to pay respects at her benefactor’s grave.”

He added, “Let’s just enjoy the scenery. You like it, right? Your heart must be as pure as crystal!”

He was teasing her again. An Man rolled her eyes at Qin Fang. Lately, she’d been posting a lot on WeChat and Weibo. She’d never been here before, so everything was new—the snow-capped mountains, the Tibetan people, the monasteries. She often shared her itinerary and sometimes impulsively posted things like, “My soul feels purified; people should live so simply.” It was just something she said, not that she really liked it. Just the UV rays on the plateau, which accelerate skin aging, were enough to bother her.

She smiled and replied, “You know me; I’m just pretending.”

Qin Fang nodded. “Honest.”

She knew what Qin Fang liked to hear and what he didn’t. An Man admitted that she had used some tactics to please him—but what was wrong with that? Didn’t men use tactics when they gave flowers or arranged romantic dates? What mattered was the result. No matter who Qin Fang loved first, or who he loved most, she was with him in Nangqian as his girlfriend, and she would be the only one in his future.

When their relationship was formalized, Qin Fang had said, “An Man, I like that you’re sensible.”

So An Man knew that with Qin Fang, she didn’t need to overthink things; being sensible was enough.

An Man, I like that you’re sensible. This sentence was very important.

***

The two stayed in the area for two more days. The WeChat post about the wedding dress received countless likes, and some people suggested that she shouldn’t miss the tourist attractions in Qinghai, such as Animaqing Mountain, one of the four sacred mountains; the main peak of Bayan Kara; and the scenic spot of Gui’de along the Yellow River.

So, besides posting pictures and sharing their itinerary, she spent most of her time looking at maps and planning routes. She learned that south of Nangkam was the Changdu region of Tibet, and further east was the famous Degé Printing House. An Man tried to persuade Qin Fang to go there, but he flatly refused.

“No, I heard that all the Buddhist scriptures in Tibet were printed there. Such a sacred place—do you want to be transformed into a diamond?”

An Man hid her disappointment. When the car turned around and finally left Bazha, she thought about Qin Fang’s comparison of her to a crystal and a diamond, and suddenly felt sad. She thought, “No matter how much I’m polished, I’m still just a lump of coal.”

***

On the third night, the two ate dinner at a Tibetan restaurant in Nangkam. Returning to Nangkam meant they were on their way home. Qin Fang roughly explained to An Man the reason for this trip.

Qin Fang’s great-grandmother was from Jinghua County, Sichuan. Jinghua County left a significant mark in modern Chinese history because of the Sichuan-Gansu famine of 1936-1937. So many cases of cannibalism occurred in Jinghua County that the magistrate, Yu Zhujun, who investigated the cases, was driven insane.

His great-grandmother, along with her family, fled the famine. At that time, most people went east—the prosperous Jiangnan region was thought to have plenty of food. But a small group risked going west to the Tibetan plateau—the road was dangerous, the environment harsh, but fewer people meant less competition for food. When she was displaced to the Nangqian area of ​​Qinghai, her family members had either died or scattered, leaving her alone. Fortunately, she was rescued by kind people at the brink of death, saving her life.

In her benefactor’s family, there was a girl one year older than her who died from an epidemic. The family treated her like their own daughter and later arranged for her to take the place of their daughter in a prearranged marriage.

According to local custom, an unmarried woman who died would be left without anyone to mourn her or visit her grave. To prevent this, it was customary to adopt a living relative to inherit the family name. Qin Fang’s great-grandmother agreed to this, saying, “As long as my descendants visit my grave, your grave will never be neglected. My son will be your son, and I will treat your affairs as if they were my own mother’s.”

However, it was often easier to make promises than to keep them. Later, she moved east with her husband to make a living through business. Due to the turmoil of war, the journey back home became impossible, and she never saw her homeland again until her death.

Qin Fang said, “We were originally counting on my grandfather. He was caught up in the wars, the founding of the People’s Republic, and the various political movements. His background wasn’t good, and who would dare travel to Tibet? Back then, you could be arrested as a spy!”

“My father got married in the 1980s. You know, we were poor then. A factory job was a lifetime guarantee. We saved every penny. Where was the extra money to travel? It wasn’t an urgent matter; we could visit the grave anytime. So we kept postponing it year after year, until my father passed away, and it never happened.”

The topic was somewhat heavy. An Man sighed and poured Qin Fang a cup of butter tea. “My father told me about this before he died. I learned then that our family owed this woman such a debt of gratitude. I said, ‘Okay, I’ll go and pay my respects.’ I even bowed my head to her grave on behalf of my grandfather and father. But my father said, ‘No, wait until you find a wife. Go as a couple; it will give that woman in the grave some comfort. What good would it do for you to go alone?'”

An Man smiled. “So you came here after finding me?”

She paused, then added, “People are really strange, aren’t they? For most people, something like this, after seventy or eighty years, across several generations, they’d just skip it. But some people take it seriously, fulfilling a promise no matter the distance.”

Qin Fang agreed. “I’ve been looking for it these past few days, but sometimes I don’t even know why. It feels pointless, like I’m just wasting my time. What difference does it make if I find it? Whether I bow or not, life goes on, right?”

They were silent for a while. Then An Man said, “Want a drink? Let’s have some barley wine.”

Qin Fang smiled, about to say something, when a loud screech of brakes came from outside.

***

Several cars, all Range Rovers, pulled up. A group of men got out. The leader was bald and overweight, but his outfit was top-notch, all Patagonia brand, probably worth tens of thousands of dollars. They must have stopped for a meal. They came in, chattering loudly and excitedly, and then greeted Qin Fang and his friends enthusiastically: “Are you Han Chinese? Tourists? We saw your car parked outside, with a license plate from the mainland, so we figured there must be tourists here.”

In the coastal areas of southeastern China, people wouldn’t be so overly friendly. In Nangqian, Han Chinese were rare, so people preferred to chat briefly when they met. Qin Fang nodded in greeting. The leader of the group was particularly outgoing; seeing that the food wasn’t ready yet, he insisted on chatting with them, regardless of whether they wanted to or not.

He introduced himself as Mr. Ma, a porcelain business owner from Jingdezhen, Jiangxi, traveling with friends. Qin Fang asked if they were going to climb a mountain. Mr. Ma stared at him, saying, “Climb what mountain? I’d freeze to death!”

He was wearing what’s considered top-of-the-line outdoor gear—a Patagonia jacket with the SV label, supposedly for professional guides. He shivered and huddled in the car, letting his driver do all the driving—more show than substance. Qin Fang didn’t want to talk to him much, but Mr. Ma kept rambling on, talking about his business, complaining about the food, praising Qin Fang and An Man for being a good-looking couple, and then worriedly asked An Man, “Sister, you look unwell. Are you feeling motion sickness or altitude sickness?”

Finally, when his table was served, his companions called him back. Mr. Ma was still reluctant to leave, saying to Qin Fang, “Brother, come to my room tonight. We’re kindred spirits; we have so much to talk about. I’m staying at the Jinma Hotel in the city center, room 188. Please come; let’s chat.”

This Mr. Ma was quite amusing. Even at bedtime, Qin Fang couldn’t stop laughing, telling An Man how absurd it was—they hadn’t even exchanged two words, and this Mr. Ma was already saying they were kindred spirits. An Man forced a weak smile, her face looking very tired. Qin Fang came over and hugged her, kissing her temple. “That guy surnamed Ma was right about one thing: you look terrible. Are you feeling unwell from the travel and exhaustion these past few days?”

An Man nodded, then pointed to the dark circles under her eyes. “I haven’t been sleeping well since we arrived in Tibet. Can I take a sleeping pill tonight?”

“Your constitution is weak, so don’t take too many. Just one.”

An Man teased, “Does that mean people with strong constitutions can take more? How many would you need?”

Qin Fang pretended to be serious: “To knock a tough guy like me out, you’d need at least two… three to be safe.”

An Man giggled. She broke free from Qin Fang’s embrace and went to her suitcase to get the medicine. She opened the box, poured out one pill, hesitated for a second, then poured out two more.

With three sleeping pills in her palm, her hands were sweating profusely. Her heart was beating fast. She looked back at Qin Fang, who was adjusting the volume on the TV. He suddenly burst out laughing and said, “This director Wang is really funny.”

It looked like a scene from “Where Are We Going, Dad?” in China Snow Town. The screen was hazy with snow. Several families were scrambling to the houses. An Man’s lips were very dry. She nervously licked them and said, “Qin Fang, I’ll get you a glass of water.”