I recounted, like a mathematician, that time when the line was passing through Kunlun, sweeping past Hoh Xil, spanning across Wudaoliang, climbing the Fenghuoshan Mountain, stepping into every detail of the First Bridge of Yangtze. The old man seemed amazed. I rose to take my leave, and, not without regret, I mentioned that tomorrow morning when they were set to leave, the sun would not have risen, and they wouldn't be able to take a picture outside the gates of the Golmud Office of Tibet, as they had in the old days as a form of proof, and to capture their memories.
Yin Fatang nodded in acknowledgment. I bid him farewell—I would see him off in the morning.
I didn't sleep that night, and at the approach of daybreak I closed my eyes, only half asleep. At about 6am, I hurriedly got out of bed. Lonely and desolate, the cold, just before dawn pierced my bones, and the accompanying staff who had been sent by the government of the Tibetan Autonomous Region were already waiting in the corridor. I entered room No. 601 to help Yin Fatang with his luggage, and helped him to find the Nagqu District leader's essays and manuscripts, and to pack them into the off-road vehicle downstairs. After helping the elderly man into the car, I stood under the eaves to wave goodbye, the vehicle's swirling emergency light slowly disappeared into the distance, and I quickly returned to the room, lying down while still dressed, again continuing my pre-dawn dreams of Kunlun. I had only just closed my eyes when, my mobile rang suddenly, and I heard Yin Jianbai's urgent voice, "Secretary Xu, are you asleep?"
I leapt out of bed, and asked, "Did you forget anything?"
"No!" Jianbai said anxiously on the telephone, "Dad wants you to come to the Golmud Office of Tibet to take a group photo in front of the gate!"
"What?" I was surprised. Yesterday evening I had mentioned a small regret, but Yin still remembered it. I immediately washed my face and hurried downstairs, leaving the hotel. The wide streets of Kunlun were quiet and empty, yet fortunately there were taxis driving past in the dark street. Alighting the cab, I said breathlessly, "Tibet's Golmud Office!"
The taxi galloped along the dawn-hued street, and the outlines of the faraway mountains appeared to be sketched in graphite pencil, like an inlay in the ink-wash painting of the curtain of the eastern sky—desirous of dawn—jutting out with an ethereal beauty. Upon arrival at the gate of the Office, Yin Fatang had already had his breakfast. The main entrance of the Golmud Office had already sunk into the depths of the night's final waves of darkness. The Tibetan and Chinese signs vanished from sight. We were at a loss what to do, but then, a journalist from China Central Television's military affairs channel, who had accompanied us, thought of an idea. He suggested lining up the five Nissan off-road jeeps facing the gate, and to turn their lights on full, so that they would directly hit the main entrance. Hand in hand with Yin Fatang and his wife, Li Guozhu, we stood in front of the main entrance for the group photo, and in the background the sky gradually revealed a stream of burning charcoal clouds, and a white poplar that suddenly pierced the early morning sky like a sword.
The jeeps started. Once again, I saw Yin Fatang off in the car, as the vehicle slowly pulled away, I suddenly suggested, when the road crossed Fenghuoshan. That they also take a photo for me to include in the book. Mr. Yin nodded and climbed into the car, speeding away toward the zero kilometer marker of the Qinghai-Tibet rail at Kunlun Mountain's Nanshan Pass.
The rotating lights of a police car flashed on the Golmud street at dawn, laying out a street of neon lights, like prayer flags fluttering in the morning wind, linked together; like a staircase to heaven built of dreams and prayers; like an umbilical cord, linking heaven with humanity, bringing together the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau with the interior.
The vehicle convoy grew gradually distant in my field of vision. The Qinghai-Tibet Railway that Yang Fatang dedicated twenty-four years of his life to appealing, now rose like a city wall upon the Kunlun Mountains.
