My ability to “see” had started when I was a child and my mother was accused of stealing a stack of cash from the church where she worked as a cleaning lady. No one could prove if she had really taken the money or if it had been stolen by someone else. I was four, an age when Chinese believe a child can see through all the contaminations of this world down to the bare truth. So, a church member who was a master of Xuanguang Shu, Magic of the Mysterious Light, suggested they use me to find the truth. Of course no one told me what this was all about. I was just asked to tell what I saw.

So one day, surrounded by the church board members and the minister, the man performed his magic by casting a light onto the wall, then asked me if I saw anything. I told them that a bald man in a checkered shirt went inside a room, opened a drawer, took out something, and put it in his pocket. After that, the accusation against my mother was dropped.

And my reputation spread. But I hated it when a grinning adult face would thrust itself in front of me, and out of its mouth shot the inevitable, saliva-sprayed-in-all-directions question, “Honey, can I borrow your eyes for a sec?”

Once, to spite an annoying, ugly-as-death, middle-aged man, I spat back with a thick dollop of mouth water, “Yes! Now, right in front of me, I am seeing you, your debt collectors, your dead wife, your cooked dogs and cats!”

Unfortunately, at less than four feet in height, I failed to create the arc necessary for my dollop of mouth water to reach his face, so it just landed pathetically on his shoe. However, my dollop’s failed mission was offset by my curse’s successful one. The man dashed away as if he’d just been summoned by the King of Hell with a megaphone.

Seeing him flee, I laughed till tears spilled from my eyes, blurring my would-be-ten-dollar vision—the price he’d offered to pay for the use of my “eyes.”

After this incident, I kept to myself what I saw of yin things trespassing into the yang sphere. In fact, I made a deliberate effort to suppress, or ignore, my yin eye.

But now, all by myself in this remote land, I believed that my other-worldly vision, after all these years, was trying to sneak back like a discarded mistress….


The following morning, I woke up at six to catch the twelve-hour train ride to Urumqi, the capital of Xinjiang—a Muslim oasis city in China’s westernmost province.

I decided to stay at the relatively expensive Welcome Guest Hotel, which cost me one hundred fifty renminbi a night for the cheapest room (the most expensive was five hundred), in the hope that the staff of this international hotel would provide me with information about habitable places near the Mountains of Heaven—the second destination on my Silk Road journey.

After a late lunch of flat bread and milk tea at the hotel’s elegant, blue-tiled, Islamic-style banquet hall, I went back to the reception desk. Scrutinizing the three receptionists—one man and two women—I finally picked the broad-faced young man and asked if he knew anything about villages near the Mountains of Heaven.

He studied me curiously. “There are a few, but why would you want to live in a village instead of at our hotel?”

“I need to be there for business.”

“What kind?”

“Hmm… something personal.” That’s really none of your business!

Now he looked at me suspiciously. “Miss, you traveling alone?”

“Yes.” Damn, I really shouldn’t have told him this!

“Then it’ll be too difficult doing this by yourself. I know most of the villages in that area. Why don’t I take you around?”

I studied his face and thought for a while. “How much does that cost?”

He scratched his big, crew-cut head. “What about five hundred renminbi including renting a car and gas?”

“Why so expensive?”

“Because it may take a whole day before you find the right one.”

After some bickering we settled at four hundred.

Since he worked at this international hotel, I figured he would not jeopardize his job by robbing or killing me. But it never hurt to be extra cautious. “Are you married? Any children?”

He laughed a hearty belly laugh. “Ha, my boy has just turned one year old.” Then he fished a photo from his pocket and thrust it under my eyes.

A chubby baby held by a young woman stared back at me, smiling.

“Very cute, and your wife is very pretty.” I smiled, handing the photo of the two treasures back to its owner.

Good, a family man. I should be in safe hands.

“You bet,” he said, pocketing the photo.

“All right, what about tomorrow, after you finish work?”

“OK, come back here tomorrow at five then.”

As I was about to turn to leave, a familiar voice shouted “Lily!” next to my ear.

I turned.

“Alex, what are you doing here?”

He shrugged, looking a bit amused. “Traveling, like you.”

“How come…”

“Lily, don’t look so shocked. This is a very popular hotel in a very popular tourist city, so there’s always a chance of running into your fellow travelers.”

Seeing that I was not able to respond, he smiled sunnily. “Can I invite you…”

I cut him off sharply. “Alex, don’t you see I’m busy right now?”

Broad Face and a young couple being served by another receptionist turned to look at me disapprovingly.

Embarrassed, I softened my tone. “Why don’t we meet tomorrow for breakfast here. Is eight-thirty OK?”

“Sure, see you tomorrow then,” Alex said, then cast me a deep look before he disappeared into a crowd of tourists.

I turned back to Broad Face. “Now there’s a change of plan. Can we leave here tomorrow morning early—at six?” I needed to get away before Alex woke up.

He nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, of course!”

“You don’t need to work tomorrow?”

“I’ll take care of that.”

Of course, he’d rather miss a day’s work—even if he had to pay a small penalty—to make a fortune of four hundred renminbi.

A mischievous smile blossomed on his face. “That foreigner your boyfriend?”

I was not going to answer a personal question like this, so I asked instead, “What’s your name?”

“Little Fong.”

“All right, Little Fong, remember we need to make an early start. Be here at six tomorrow morning. Don’t make me wait.”

Another belly laugh exploded in the air. “Ha, Miss, if a pretty woman can trust me to have a big, fat baby boy, why can’t you trust me to be punctual?”


My four hundred renminbi proved to be well spent. Little Fong, though nosy, did a good job of driving me around the Mountains of Heaven to the edge of the Taklamakan Desert, where I found a tiny village not on my map that seemed suitable. The small village was located along a dried desert river that once flowed from the Mountains of Heaven. Kucha, an ancient Buddhist kingdom that ran along the northern edge of the Taklamakan Desert, was not too far away, and I felt safer being near a city. Moreover, it was also close to a larger, two-thousand resident village with a local TV channel and telephones.

Little Fong even helped me to negotiate renting a mud-brick cottage. However, what I felt most grateful for was that he took me to register in the village for a temporary resident card. Because I intended to stay for a while, I paid the owner, who would also be my nearest neighbor, two months’ rent in advance. The main reason I picked this village was that it cost almost nothing—less than my car ride from the hotel. Of course I could afford something better, but I wanted to be cautious about money just in case. The landlady was a young, stout, and round-faced Xinjiang woman named Keku. Despite our differently accented Mandarin, we actually communicated easily. She told me I would be safe because no one would come all the way here to visit, let alone to steal.

So the village must be that poor.

The tiny cottage was practically empty except for a small lamp next to a “bed” consisting of a brick platform covered with a tattered blanket. Four thin tiles placed at a small corner would be the “kitchen,” once I bought a propane burner. Water for bathing and cooking had to be brought in buckets from a communal tap. Business , be it major or minor, was to be conducted either in a shared makeshift hut over a pit place some distance outside the cottage or in a bucket inside the house.

Staring at this extremely depressing place I would now call home, my heart sank. However, it was not that it didn’t possess any redeeming features: the golden sand dunes receding to infinity; the occasional camels’ cries, remote as the callings of a lover from a past life; in the distance the peaks of the Mountains of Heaven wavering above the desert as if in a dream of paradise.

I made up my mind to turn this cottage into something less depressing, and if possible, even appealing. For an extra fifty renminbi , Little Fang brought me to the neighboring village market to shop. I bought cooking supplies, chopsticks, plates, cups, a tablecloth, canned food, a gas burner and heater, a blanket, two pillows, and a small wooden table with two stools.

It took me a whole week to fix up the cottage. I put up curtains made from old clothes Keku gave me. Then one morning when I went outside to look for plants, I found some thorny shrubs covered with tiny silvery scales. By the road I found two abandoned tires. After dragging them home, I made them into sofas by covering them with Keku’s leftover clothes.