Love In No Man's Land

by Duo Ji Zhuo Ga

  They were gunshots – a barrage of gunshots.

  Yongxi stopped humming, dropped the butter-tea churn to the ground with a clang and raced outside. She didn’t even pause to set the churn upright; its contents emptied onto the stove and extinguished the flames with a sizzle.

  A group of gun-wielding men had appeared on the surrounding slopes, seemingly out of nowhere, and were laughing wildly and shooting at the antelope herd.

  Within moments, the herd stirred like a pot of boiling water, and antelopes tore off in all directions, fleeing for their lives. Some were in the middle of giving birth, with a calf’s back leg or even half their body poking out, and even they began to run for their lives. The calves that had just been born couldn’t run, either because their legs weren’t yet strong enough or because they didn’t know how, and they bleated in agony as thousands of desperate hooves trampled over them. The ones who died quickly were lucky; those who had their legs or backs broken could only bleat piteously.

  Beneath the orange rays of the sun, one antelope after another closed its eyes in agony. The cloying stench of blood was everywhere. It was tragic.

  Yongxi waved her arms and ran forward, yelling, ‘No, Jijia, I beg you, don’t shoot, don’t kill them!’ Tajiapu toddled behind, bawling.

  Too late.

  The three surrounding slopes were littered with fallen antelopes of all sizes. Those that hadn’t yet died cried out forlornly. Those that had managed to escape the circle of gunmen kicked up a trail of dust and disappeared into the distance.

  Above the solitary black tent, a line of blue smoke continued to rise, a strangely beautiful sight amid such insanity.

  Yongxi rushed up the nearest slope. At the sight of all the antelope corpses, her legs went weak and she fell to her knees. Tajiapu waddled up behind her, pulling at her clothes and crying; Beibei stood beside them.

  Another gunshot rang out, and a bloody hole opened in Beibei’s neck. Before he could make a sound, he started rolling down the slope.

  Yongxi ran after him, grabbed one of his horns in one hand and made a futile attempt to stem the spouting blood with the other. Before she even had time to call his name, Beibei, the most trusting of antelopes, closed his eyes forever.

  Yongxi glared up at the sky and raged. ‘Buddha, why don’t you destroy these demons?’ Her voice, ragged with grief and anger, echoed across the wilderness.

  Just then, a white off-road vehicle careered to a halt nearby, dragging dust behind it. The gunmen rushed over excitedly.

  ‘We did it, Brother, we did it!’

  ‘This is the biggest kill we’ve had this year, Brother!’

  ‘We hit it lucky, boss! It was a huge herd.’

  ‘You’re too late, boss, there were too many of them. We didn’t have time to wait for you.’

  When Yongxi realised that it was Jijia who was getting out of the car, she leapt up, raced over, snatched a gun from one of the men, and fired off a volley of bullets.

  Jijia was terrified; he jumped back into the car, slammed the door and hunkered down. The bullets rained against the car door.

  The men who’d been riotously happy moments before didn’t know what was happening. They were so frightened, they stood stock still to the side, not daring to fire back.

  When Yongxi had emptied the gun, she dropped to the ground and wailed, hammering the earth with her fist. Tajiapu rolled down from higher up the slope in terror, crawled to his mother’s side and gripped on to her arm, his face streaked with tears. The herding dog raced back from the mountain valley opposite, howling.

  The sun pierced through the clouds, but the valley would not be warm again.

  *

  The evening sun was slanting through the window, but Samu was still not back from gathering herbs.

  Master Zhamu stood on the bare ground in front of his house, his crimson monk’s robes fluttering in the wind, his sleeves billowing to one side. The people going about their business down below couldn’t help looking up at him, and there was admiration in their eyes, for Master Zhamu was their most respected and revered elder. He was the only one not bound by the mysterious laws they all lived by, but he adhered to them anyway. He had willingly and rigorously adopted the laws their ancestors had passed down so as to be an example to the rest of them, a model for how to live a quiet, ascetic life.

  As their ancestors had lived, so he lived, and so would their descendants live. Zhamu had never considered changing and had never needed to change. Their life there was good – it was always peaceful there, in their haven far removed from the outside world. Every so often a lost outsider or two would stumble by, and then he and his clanspeople would do as the Medicine Buddha had decreed and try everything they could to save them before inviting them to stay or leave.

  Zhamu and his clan venerated the Medicine Buddha. When the last of the Nacangdeba soldiers had discovered this Shambhala of the wilderness and sent their wives, sons and daughters there, they made them swear that they wouldn’t leave until the Medicine Buddha reappeared on earth. The Medicine Buddha had always been the protecting spirit of the clan and the Nacangdeba soldiers had found this lovely place in the depths of No Man’s Land under his guidance. Generation after generation, the clan chose the most suitable person to keep the secrets that had endured for so many years.

  Samu was Master Zhamu’s disciple; Zhamu had seen in him a noble and generous spirit, so he’d taught him everything he knew about traditional Tibetan medicine. When Zhamu had to meditate, Samu could continue healing people. Deep in thought, Zhamu watched the path through the valley. The sun was sinking in the west, but the path was still empty. The place where the plant grew was neither far away nor high up; Samu should have been back long ago.

  Master Zhamu began to feel uneasy. For the first time in his life, he felt that something terrible was about to happen.

  The waters of the lake were as calm as ever beneath the gauzy white mist, and the stone houses built into the mountainside glowed a pale gold in the setting sun, looking as ancient as if they’d been present when heaven and earth were separated. But the ascetics’ valley had never been as lively as it was that day. There were lots of people swimming in the lake: adults, children, elders and women were all floating freely. Others were doing their washing by the rocky shore, beating their clothes and splashing water playfully over one another. The sound of singing spiralled out from the scattered houses, the notes rising and falling rhythmically.

  A column of dust rose at the far end of the valley. Then a horse appeared. A figure lay slumped on its back, seemingly about to fall off.

  When Zhamu saw the crimson monk’s robes, he called to two disciples who were standing nearby and the three of them sped down the mountain. When they reached the horse, they helped a bloodied Samu dismount.

  ‘What is it? What happened?’ Zhamu asked anxiously.

  ‘I’d just finished gathering the herbs and was about to come back,’ Samu said with difficulty, ‘when a boulder suddenly came rolling down from above me. I couldn’t dodge it, so I got hit.’ He drew the herbs out of his chuba and handed them to Zhamu.

  Zhamu glanced at them and passed them to his disciple. Samu had lost a lot of blood and his vision was cloudy; Zhamu pulled out a bottle of medicine and put a tablet in Samu’s mouth. ‘Help him home!’

  A line of people carried Samu back to Zhamu’s house on the peak.

  When Gongzha saw them returning, his eyes brightened; then he noticed the state Samu was in and said in surprise, ‘What happened?’

  ‘A little accident; it’s nothing.’ Samu forced out a smile. ‘I brought the herbs back. Master, please.’

  Zhamu nodded, and ordered his disciples to bind Samu’s wounds. He went into another room and began preparing the antidote himself, in the manner prescribed by the formula.

  Feng consumed the medicine and almost immediately began to vomit violently and continuously. As she drifted in and out of consciousness, she kept feeling as if there were drops of water on h
er face.

  That night, neither Master Zhamu nor Samu slept. They came in and checked on her periodically and when at last Zhamu saw that Feng’s vomit had finally turned a pale red, he sighed with relief. Turning to Samu, he said, ‘I need to go out. You oversee the making of the antidote. And remember, don’t let anyone go near that room.’

  Samu nodded.

  On the second day, the purple in Feng’s face began to slowly recede. On the third day, her skin began to look normal again. On the fourth day, Feng finally began to feel hungry.

  Gongzha made tsampa porridge and held her in his arms as he fed it to her little by little. Feng swallowed slowly. After she’d eaten half a bowl, she shook her head to indicate that she didn’t want any more. Gongzha put down the bowl and used his sleeve to wipe the corners of her mouth. He had no words to describe the joy in his heart.

  Feng leant into his body and turned to face him. His beard had grown much longer and his eyes were more sunken. She knew he hadn’t been able to rest for days, so she lightly stroked his cheek and said, ‘Why don’t you lie down for a little while? I’m fine.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Do you want to sleep a bit more?’

  ‘I’ve slept for many days and my body aches; I’d like to lean on you for a little while.’ Feng put her hand in his palm. ‘Have you not slept at all?’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep. Seeing you awake one minute and unconscious the next, I was afraid.’

  ‘Afraid I would be like Cuomu and die suddenly?’

  Gongzha nodded.

  ‘You know what, when I was on my way to find you, I worried the whole time about what would happen to me if you didn’t want me, if you ignored me…’

  Gongzha’s eyes prickled. He squeezed her hand. ‘Silly woman!’

  ‘When I can walk, can we go back to Cuoe Lake?’ Feng said quickly, looking at Gongzha lovingly. ‘I can’t wait to be your bride.’

  Gongzha stared down at her earnestly, trying to hold back his tears. A moment later, he lowered his head and kissed her eyelids.

  *

  The valley of the ascetics had cast off its usual demeanour and the air was filled with laughter and cheerful chatter.

  Monks walked around with buckets of the antidote and brushes of dried grass, sprinkling the liquid everywhere, in front of each stone house and along every path. The scorpions that habitually scuttled all over the place took one sniff and immediately retreated into the nearest rocky crevice, never to be seen again.

  Carrying new clothes and herbs for bathing, the ascetics went down to the lake in twos and threes, chatting and laughing. They ripped off the long robes they’d been wrapped in, exposing their pallid bodies to the sun after years of having kept them bundled up. They felt clean and cool in a way they never had before and smiled delightedly as they rushed into the warm water.

  The youngsters splashed each other, chased each other and playfully shoved each other, examining one another’s bodies with interest, occasionally patting or gripping a friend’s flesh. When they’d finished bathing, they strode confidently to the bank, rubbed themselves with the antidote, then reverently picked up the clothes they’d left neatly rolled up and put them on. Their bodies had never felt so free. The wind gently stirred their sleeves and blew on their skin like the gentlest of breaths. They felt so light on their feet, it was as if they might take flight at any moment.

  Feng and Gongzha stood in front of their stone house, watching the joyous goings-on in the vast, misty lake. A young man in plain cotton clothes came along the path carrying two wooden buckets; when he saw them, he smiled and brought his palms together in gratitude to Gongzha, saying, ‘Teacher Samu asked me to bring you these. Please rub the antidote on your bodies after you’ve bathed, then you won’t have to worry about the scorpions.’ Then he took one of the buckets and sprinkled the liquid all around the house.

  ‘Respected guest, thank you for bringing our Medicine Buddha back and allowing us to bathe in the sunshine once more. You won’t know this, but we’ve never once sat out in the sun.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because of the scorpions. If you got stung, you died – everyone knew that. So we protected ourselves as best we could by wrapping ourselves up as tightly as possible, from the moment we were born; even so, people have still died. But now all is well; the Buddha has returned, so we have a way to avoid the scorpions and we don’t need to be afraid of them any more.’ The young man had a broad grin on his face.

  ‘With this many scorpions, why didn’t you move away?’

  ‘Move away?’ The young man looked at him strangely. ‘We’re the last soldiers of Nacangdeba, we have sworn to follow the orders of the Medicine Buddha and watch over Princess Gesar’s jewels, which are hidden with King Gesar’s treasure. How could we move away?’

  ‘Watch over Princess Gesar’s jewels?’

  ‘Yes, respected guest, our ancestors have lived here a long time, watching over Mount Tajiapu. Even though the Medicine Buddha was lost, no one ever left.’ The young man smiled again, brought his palms together once more, bowed and left.

  ‘What were you talking about? What’s this stuff for?’ Feng asked urgently, pulling at Gongzha’s sleeve.

  As Gongzha explained, Feng tilted her head to one side and said, ‘Some of what he said definitely sounds right. One: there are lots of poisonous scorpions here and they once had an antidote but they lost it. Didn’t you say they found the formula in the belly of the Medicine Buddha? Two: these ascetics venerate the Medicine Buddha and they lost your statue. But I don’t understand why it would reappear on your grassland? Three: they made a solemn vow not to leave because they wanted to guard Princess Gesar’s jewels. That’s made up, I think: the legend of King Gesar’s treasure is just a fairy tale, so how could the princess’s jewels exist?’

  Gongzha rubbed her head and smiled indulgently. He picked up the bucket. ‘Should we go down to the lake now, or after the moon’s risen?’

  Feng blushed. When she’d been unconscious, he’d taken her to the lake countless times to soak her wounds, which meant their naked bodies had touched, but that was because she hadn’t been able to move of her own accord. She dropped her head and said in a voice as quiet as a mosquito, ‘After dark, please.’ Then she turned and went inside.

  Gongzha gazed after her retreating figure in astonishment; he had no idea why she’d suddenly blushed.

  When the moon came up, Gongzha carried the bucket and Feng followed him.

  It was quiet around the lake. The banks of black pebbles gleamed like black pearls at the water’s edge and the bright moon lit the mist that hung above its surface and drifted with the waves.

  The hot springs gurgled and a strong smell of sulphur filled the air.

  Gongzha took off his clothes, threw them on the ground and walked barefoot into the water. When he saw Feng hesitating on the bank, he said, ‘What is it? Come on in, it’s not cold.’

  ‘You… um… could you turn around?’

  The sight of Feng dipping her head and looking at him out of the corner of her eye made Gongzha’s head reel as if he’d been hit with a hammer. In the days since they’d been reunited, he’d watched her struggle between life and death, had supported her, held her and even kissed her, and through it all he’d felt nothing but sorrow. But this sidelong glance of hers electrified him; it was like he’d been struck by lightning. He whipped his head round and stared straight at the lake, his body as rigid as a statue.

  Feng slowly stripped off her windcheater and snow-trousers. She glanced down at her long underwear and thought about taking that off too but didn’t have the courage. She stepped barefoot into the water, kept a few centimetres distance between herself and Gongzha and sat down.

  Their expressions were rather stiff and neither of them dared speak first, so they just sat there aimlessly splashing water over themselves. The atmosphere was more strained than usual, so much so that they could hear each other breathing.

  Feng’s wet underwear clung to her
wounds and itched uncomfortably; she pulled at it every now and then, sometimes turning to glance at Gongzha’s naked torso. He sat there looking serious, his long, damp hair reaching to his shoulders, his eyes deep-set and unfocused. His left hand occasionally sprinkled water on his broad torso, drops of water rolling down his solid chest.

  Cuomu used to frolic with him in Cuoe Lake; they’d been so carefree then. Year after year, when he returned on annual leave, he’d tickle her in the water and she’d laugh the same clear laugh. It would always be Cuoe Lake’s most beautiful sound.

  Gongzha looked mysterious and sensual in the moonlight and there was so much strange tension between them that Feng could barely breathe. She slipped down into the water, stretched out and floated on the surface. The stars gleamed, and the moon, partially hidden behind a cloud, gazed down on the tortured pair.

  Feng’s change of position dissipated the tension and Gongzha let out a long breath, locking his gaze onto Feng’s floating form. He watched her bob up and down with the waves, her long hair as soft as satin in the water, her fingers occasionally tugging at her thick underwear, which seemed to be making her uncomfortable.

  He stretched out his legs on the black pebbles. When he saw her counting the stars like a child, he laughed; it was a game Cuomu had often played. This was the happiest he’d seen Feng in the past few days and that made him happy too. But there was something missing. If Cuomu had been there, everything would have been much better. My Cuomu, are you lonely in Shambhala?

  Feng’s body suddenly began to twist unnaturally, and her hand grasped at the empty air. ‘Gongzha, my leg…’

  ‘What is it?’ Gongzha rushed over, held her hand and noted the creases on her brow. ‘Are your wounds hurting again?’

  ‘No, it’s my leg. My right leg seems to have cramped.’

  Gongzha held her right ankle and rubbed it for a few moments. ‘How’s that? Any better?’

  Feng grunted, moved her right leg a bit, and felt much better.