by Greg Ripley
Before long the dirt road they traveled came to an end. They took the opportunity to dismount and take a break for a few minutes, resting the horses as well as their backsides. At the end of the road a simple wooden guardrail prevented vehicles from continuing past into the hills, but a narrower trail around one side was clearly visible ascending up the gentle slope before disappearing over the next ridge.
Rohini noticed the landscape beginning to change as they gradually gained elevation. First, more grasses and small plants appeared, followed by scrubby brush. The morning passed quickly as they continued to climb deeper into the mountains. Later, small gnarled evergreens began to appear as they followed the meandering trail, sporadically at first, on the shadier sides of ridges, then becoming more numerous as they continued to climb.
They chatted occasionally as they rode, but also spent long stretches in silence, taking in the peace and beauty of the mountain scenery around them. The foothills past the Rainbow Desert had been brown and barren, but once they had crossed a few higher ridges and ventured deeper into the mountain range, the distinctive character of the Qilian Mountain’s ecology began to reveal itself.
Forming the northeastern rim of the Qinghai-Tibetan Plateau, the Qilian Mountains share much of its characteristic flora and fauna. As they continued their journey they passed through small alpine meadows, ringed by small patches of conifer forest, mainly on the north-facing slopes. As they wound their way through the ridges and valleys, the green of the vegetation often gave way to scree-covered slopes that pushed ever higher past the tree line.
Rohini continued to be struck by how similar it was to the mountains of New Mexico, even sharing some of the same flora. She suspected they might be similar species, not necessarily identical, but there was one flowering shrub she thought looked exactly the same, with small buttercup-like yellow flowers and pale green foliage. Shrubby Cinquefoil? There were also some willows along a few of the small creeks they passed, fed by the glacial snow melt.
They stopped often, allowing the horses to rest and drink, taking the opportunity to stretch their legs. By the first night, they were feeling the ride, just as they had expected. At one such stop, Rohini saw a large pile of stones festooned with prayer flags marking the pass which led out of the far end of the small alpine valley they found themselves in. They reminded her of the stupa she used to visit in Santa Fe which sat next to an ancient cottonwood tree festooned with many layers of prayer flags. She recalled the epic New Mexican sunset she’d caught as she was leaving the stupa that day, the sky ablaze in various shades of red, orange, and yellow, with some purple in the clouds. The colors were more saturated, more intense to her in the thin air of the high desert. She’d stood in the gravel parking lot of the stupa until the sun had completely set.
She was brought back from her memory by the crunch of gravel. At first, she thought she was still in New Mexico enjoying the sunset in the gravel parking lot until she realized it was Jane walking over to her across the gravelly bank of the small creek they’d stopped at, deep in the Qilian Mountains. Much of the creek bed was dry, but it was apparent that it would be a much bigger stream when the spring thaw turned the gentle creek into a raging torrent.
“We’re getting ready to saddle up,” Jane said.
“OK, let me fill up my canteen really quick,” she replied.
She took her canteen off her belt, unscrewed the cap and submerged it into the stream. The water looked slightly milky from the grinding of the bedrock by glaciers over the millennia, forming a fine silty powder which became suspended in the water. She took a quick swig from her canteen and remounted her horse, following the rest of her party as they headed up the valley toward the pass.
That night they camped in another valley near a similar stream. They brought tents, but the beauty of the stars kept them out late into the night. They sat around the campfire chatting, learning more about each other, including their guide, Tenzin. He spoke little English, so Guangming interpreted for them.
Tenzin was Tibetan, hailing from Qinghai, to the south of the Qilian Range, where he’d grown up in one of the nomadic clans which still roamed the high plateau. Though Tibetan, when the topic of conversation turned to horses, he became much more animated.
Through Guangming, he told them his family traced itself back to the Xiongnu culture which had lived in the Qilian mountains before being driven out by the Chinese over two thousand years ago during the Xiongnu-Han Wars. He was proud of their heritage as horsemen, mentioning the Shandan Horse Ranch, saying that much of their original breeding stock had come from the Xiongnu horse native to the Qilian region.
“Isn’t that the ranch you told us about before, Guangming, the one started by that general?” Jane said.
“Yes, that’s right, General Huo Qubing.”
Tenzin muttered something in Chinese and spat. He and Guangming had a short conversation before Guangming filled the others in.
“Tenzin does not think too highly of the general, as you might have guessed. Huo Qubing was the general who defeated the Xiongnu and drove them from the Qilian Mountains. Although he is held in high-esteem as a famous war hero in Chinese history, he wasn’t held in particularly high regard during his lifetime. He had a reputation as a very hard man. He was the nephew of Empress Wei Zifu, wife of Emperor Wu of the Han Dynasty.
“There are many interesting stories about him. Jiuquan, a city to the north of here, owes its name to an episode from his life. The story goes that one day after defeating the Xiongnu in battle Emperor Wu rewarded him with a vat of a famous rare wine to celebrate his victory. The general ordered the wine poured into the spring so his troops who were downstream could get a taste of the wine in the now-flavored water. The name Jiuquan means wine spring.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Jane said. “I like a commander who looks after his troops, but I understand Tenzin’s sentiment. History is always written by the victors.”
“Yes, in the eyes of the Han, it was necessary to drive the Xiongnu out after their raids into Han territory became too frequent to be ignored. At least that was their rationale for the war. In the eyes of others, it could have been seen as a war of expansion as the territory held by the Han grew immensely from their victory,” Guangming explained.
“So why did you say he had a bad reputation?” Rohini asked.
“Well, despite the story of wine springs there are other stories which paint a different picture about how he treated his men. It was said that he received special rations which he would not share with his men and that he would order them to engage in cuju games for his entertainment, even when they were short on rations. Cuju is like a type of ancient soccer. But much of it stems from another incident. There was a man named Li Gan who was under the command of Huo Qubing’s uncle, Wei Qing, another general who fought in the campaigns against the Xiongnu.
Li Gan apparently assaulted his commander, Wei Qing. He was forgiven by Wei Qing, but Huo Qubing wouldn’t stand for this slight to his uncle, and killed Li Gan during a hunting trip. The Emperor apparently covered for Huo Qubing telling everyone that Li Gan had been killed by a deer.”
“Whoa, sounds like he pulled a Cheney on him,” Jane said, eliciting a laugh from Rohini. Guangming and the others failed to get the joke. “We once had a vice president who shot his friend in the face during a hunting accident. There’s no indication it was intentional, but this vice president wasn’t well liked, so people always questioned whether maybe his friend had crossed him somehow,” Jane said.
By this time the fire had burned down to glowing coals. Despite being late summer there was a chill in the high mountain air. They decided to turn in finally, knowing they had another long day ahead of them, climbing into the two tents they had brought, the three men in one, Jane and Rohini in the other. Rohini was the last to go, lingering at the fire alone for a few minutes, wanting to soak in the beauty of the night sky for as long as
she could.
The next day passed much as the first, except they found themselves coming across more wildlife the deeper into the mountains they ventured. The first day they mainly caught sight of birds. Vultures circled high above and a few geese flew overhead. There was hawk being harried by some ravens, a familiar sight anywhere, but something about it struck Rohini as strange. The hawk had flown over them several times before the ravens had finally chased it away for good. Persistent, she thought, the ravens must have a nest in this valley.
There were many smaller birds. Rohini wasn’t so good with small birds. She wasn’t sure if she knew her finches from her swallows or her nuthatches from her chickadees. She knew cardinals and blue jays, and woodpeckers were easy, but a lot of the little birds blended together. She was lost in thought trying to remember her small birds when a sudden shrill noise and a flurry of flapping wings shook her back to her surroundings. They had flushed some Tibetan eared pheasants, which had suddenly flown out of the grass ahead. The horses remained stoic, but their riders, especially Rohini, were quite startled by the unexpected sight.
The second day they first heard and then saw a few marmots standing in the rocks above, their high piercing chirp carrying quite far in the high thin air. Rohini couldn’t resist the urge to wave as they passed through what must be the marmots’ territory.
“Don’t mind us, we’re just passing through,” she said, smiling at the furry critters.
The second day also brought them glimpses of some of the larger animals of the range. White-lipped deer fled their appearance as they entered one valley, and what must have been gazelle jumped quickly out of sight in another.
Guangming said snow leopards—the major predator of the plateau—were still known to roam the mountains, though seeing them was increasingly rare as their numbers had dwindled over the years. Their numbers had rebounded slightly as demand for their pelts dropped after the Dalai Lama and several other prominent Buddhist Lamas called for the practice of wearing their furs to stop. Apparently faux snow leopard fur was now all the rage across the Qinghai-Tibetan Plateau. PETA would be so pleased.
When they set up camp, Rohini was filled with anticipation for their arrival the following day. The closer they got, the more her curiosity about this mysterious figure, the Guanzi, grew. As they sat around the fire that night, Rohini began to pick Guangming’s brain about him.
“So tell me more about the Guanzi. I know you said you’ve never met him, but what have you heard, what is he like?”
“Well, to begin with, the current Guanzi is a woman, not a man,” Guangming replied.
“Really? Wow, somehow I assumed the Guanzi was a man. Maybe because you always say ‘the Guanzi’ which could refer to either gender,” Rohini said.
“You know what happens when you assume,” Jane joked, leaving the rest unsaid.
“I always liked the one from that movie better,” Jimmie said, joining in. “Do you know what happens when you make an assumption? You make an ass outa you and umption. Such a classic.”
“The Long Kiss Goodnight. There were a lot of great lines in that film,” Rohini said, smiling at her friends in the firelight. “So, what else, Guangming?”
“Well, I actually don’t know what else to tell you about this particular Guanzi. I know more about the position than the person. I am as curious as you are to meet her. It’s quite a rare privilege, as it’s usually only the inner circle of the society that interacts with her personally. Throughout our history the Guanzi usually spend a great deal of time in retreat.
They spend much of their time studying the lore and history of the society and Daoist scriptures. Although the society is secret, the core of the society, as well as the Guanzi, are also ordained Daoist priests, so much of their time is spent in self-cultivation. What I will be most curious to learn, is what the Guanzi thinks about the Elders, and whether the scrolls from Dunhuang shed any light on them and their possible connection to the society.”
“From the story you told us, I assumed you knew all about those old texts.” Rohini said.
“There you go making assumptions again,” Jimmie said, eliciting more smiles in the firelight.
“I only know about them in the most general terms, not much more than what I told you about before, that the chest was full of old writings from the early years of the society, and of course the Jade Scepter.”
“What Jade Scepter?” Jane asked.
“Yeah, I don’t think you mentioned that before,” added Rohini.
“Oh? Well, in the chest found by Priest Wang, with the manuscripts was a Jade Scepter wrapped in a scroll. As the story was told to me, it looked like it was simply a rolled up hanging scroll, but when Wang unrolled it, he realized that what he thought was simply the roller stick from a hanging scroll was actually the Jade Scepter. The scroll it was wrapped in contained information about what it was. It is said to be kept by the Guanzi as a symbol of authority. That’s all my mentor ever told me about it.”
“Well, as my uncle Ragnar likes to say, I guess we can get it straight from the horse’s mouth tomorrow,” Rohini said.
Tenzin’s ears perked up at “horse.” Turning to Guangming in Chinese, he asked what had been said. After a brief exchange, he nodded. “Hao hao. Zhe shi yige hen hao de yanyu.”
“Tenzin said this is a very good saying.”
Later that night, Rohini was again the last one into her tent, although this time Jimmie sat with her by the fire. They chatted late into the night, watching the stars. They even saw some shooting stars. First one, followed by another, then a handful more. Judging by the time of year, Rohini guessed it must be the Perseids or else the Leonids. She could never remember which, but she knew one of the meteor showers usually fell in the late summer.
The first time she had seen them was still clear in her memory all these years later. She’d taken a canoeing trip to the Boundary Waters with her parents one summer when she was ten. It was about this same time of year. They had been prepared for the worst, the mosquitos that time of year being legendary—Minnesotans jokingly called them the state bird—but they hadn’t been bad at all.
It had been quite cool that summer, so perhaps the early cold had suppressed them that year. The climate in northern Minnesota being quite temperamental that time of year—you could have eighty-degree days or an early frost—you never knew from one year to the next. The entire trip had been memorable, paddling through the Boundary Waters for a week, camping out on the banks every night. That had been the first and only time she’d seen a moose in the wild. They’d even seen a mother black bear with two cubs. What stuck with her was how the wildlife hadn’t paid them much mind as they silently glided by in their canoe. It was different than hiking where wildlife, hearing you coming from a long way off, gave you a wider berth.
But it had been the spectacle of the night sky that had formed her most vivid memories from that trip. They caught the tail end of the meteor shower over the first few nights. Living most of her life in the city, where the night sky was obscured by so much light pollution, she hadn’t realized before that trip how solidly packed with stars the night sky was. She didn’t realize you could see the Milky Way in a band across the sky.
The end of their trip had been just as memorable. A strong solar storm began during their last night which provided the fuel for an amazing display of the Aurora Borealis, the Northern Lights. She remembered it scaring her at first, seeing a giant green ribbon of light suddenly snaking across the sky, followed by occasional flashes of yellow and pink. She was terrified until her father had explained what it was. After she lost her fear, she found it fascinating. To think that she could see the electro-magnetic field of the Earth still blew her away.
But tonight, she was seeing sparks of a different kind. After she and Jimmie had both gone to their respective tents, she still lay awake thinking. She was beginning to feel really comfortable with Ji
mmie. She could tell something was brewing between them. Thinking back, she realized she felt something between them from the first moment she got on the Gulfstream. She had chalked it up to being a bit star-struck at the time, but now she realized it was something else. They had a connection.
35
As the party approached Qilian Shan the next day, they dismounted and bid farewell to their guide, Tenzin. He would be returning to his home in a nearby valley on the Qinghai side of the range, less than a day’s ride to the south. When they were ready for the return trip to Zhangye, he could be summoned by raven and be ready to go on a day’s notice.
Shouldering their gear, they began the hike onto the mountain. Qilian Shan lends its name to the entire mountain range, but Guangming told the group this particular mountain was also known by that name, as well as Xigui Shan, Western Turtle Mountain.
They trudged along the single track across the scree-covered slopes, angling ever upward toward the craggy peaks above. As their route took them to the north side of the mountain, they began to see more patches of snow, some of the last remnants of the previous winter slowly melting in the late summer sun. At one point, Rohini thought she heard a faint rumbling. Being in the mountains, her first thought worried her. “That’s not an avalanche, is it?” she asked.
“That’s what I was thinking,” Jane said. “Or a rockslide.”
“No, but it is a sign that we’re getting close,” Guangming said, enigmatically. “That is the Rou Shui.”
“The Rou Shui River?” Jimmie said. “The lazy river that passes through the Hexi Corridor?”
“Yes, the same Rou Shui that irrigates the corridor before disappearing into the sands of the Gobi Desert,” Guangming explained. “The headwaters flow from the slopes of Qilian Shan. Closer to its source it is known as the Hei He, the Black River. It is not as gentle as it cascades through the mountains. We should be able to see it shortly.”
