Mingmei Yip - Song of the Silk Road

“Ahhhh!” I ducked to avoid a possible hit and run. It was indeed a hit and fly, albeit the prey was not me, but my camera!

The damned bird made another triumphant Quuuuiiiiik! then disappeared into the distance, the camera between his talons. I picked up some stones and hurled them at the air the hawk had flown through, but they landed pathetically with defeated thuds.

I dropped to my knees, covered my face, and started to cry. Was Lop Nor dead? Would I also soon join his family in death?

I didn’t know how long I’d been crying when I felt a touch on my shoulder. I looked up and saw the herbalist’s flushed and worried face.

Involuntarily I flung myself at his big torso, laughing and crying. “Oh, Lop Nor… I’m so glad you’re back—and alive!”

But as soon as I felt the stiffness of his body and his awkward embrace, I disentangled myself, muttering a not-very-sorry “Sorry.”

He took out something from his backpack. To my surprise, it was my camera!

“Where did you find it?”

“It fell on my head when I was on my way back.”

“You’re hurt?”

“A little,” he said, massaging his scalp.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. A hawk snatched my camera, then dropped it on Lop Nor’s head, maybe to ask him to take it back to me? While I was fearing that he was plunging to his death, actually he was hit by my plunging camera!

“Is this something funny?”

I nodded, and we both laughed.

Some silence passed, then Lop Nor took out a package from his bag and spread open the sheet of rice paper upon which were nestled a few very big, white flowers with green leaves. “Here are the special snow lotuses you need.” He lovingly caressed the plants. “These are extremely precious, their price astronomical.”

“Thank you so much, Lop Nor,” I said, admiring the flowers.

He went on. “My grandfather was a very knowledgeable herbalist. After he died, he left me his secret recipes—including how to cook these snow lotuses—which many people covet but I have never shared.”

“Is it because they are bad people?”

Lop Nor nodded. I knew he was not a selfish man.

“Is that the reason you’ve been hiding yourself in this remote village?”

He didn’t answer my question, but said, “Miss Lin, I am about to ask why you need this. This special kind of snow lotus can cure some very rare diseases, not to mention prolong life. I fear this may end up in the hands of bad people, because only they can afford it. And that’s why I do not share any information about this plant with anyone.”

“Then why were you willing to find it for me?”

“Because I can tell that you’re a good person. And because you’re healthy, so it must be for someone who really matters to you and who desperately needs it—is this person very sick, dying?”

I was really surprised to hear this. Was this Uyghur also a fortune-teller?

“So are you saying that if this person is evil, I should not give him this herb but let him die?” I deliberately let Lop Nor believe that this person was a “he” instead of a “she”—my aunt Mindy Madison.

“You’re a good woman, so maybe you’ll be able to change this person’s heart.”

“Lop Nor, I don’t think I have that kind of power.”

“Whether this person is going to die soon depends on his karma, not yours.”

I said flatly, “Actually I don’t really know this person.”

“Then why are you giving him this rare herb?”

“I’d like to tell you why, but I can’t. It’s just too complicated.”

“Then be very careful.”

“I will, and thanks for helping me so much, Lop Nor.” What more could I say? I was definitely not going to tell him, nor anyone, about my aunt, my Silk Road trip, and my upcoming fortune.

To prevent him from asking more questions, I changed the subject. “So, where are we going next?”

His gaze was penetrating. “Miss Lin, will you walk along the lake with me?”

But what did he have in mind? A strange feeling crept down my spine. Was he trying to seduce me? Or tell me something heart-wrenching? A love story, or a ghost story—or both? Either one would be welcome and would give me a chance to practice seeing with my yin eye, which had been asleep for a long time.

My friend’s voice interrupted my thought. “Don’t worry, it won’t take long.”

Lop Nor and I walked back down to Heavenly Lake Guest House. He had suggested that we retire early to rest up for the next day’s hiking. In the hotel dining room we shared a rich meal of roast lamb washed down with fragrant tea to dilute the grease. After that, we went to our separate rooms.

Early the next morning we hired a car, which drove us along a pothole-filled mountain road between tall pine trees. When we arrived at the edge of the lake, only a few people could be seen. Lop Nor led me through a stone archway into a deep chasm with rust-colored rocks jutting out as if ready to attack. We treaded cautiously along a wet, tortuous path, repeatedly ambushed by splashing water. Just as I began to feel impatient and ill at ease, we reached an opening leading to a flat expanse.

The lake was like a crescent moon—luminous, silky smooth, and elegantly curved. If you are a man in love with a woman, you’ll look at the lake and think of her sensuous curves. If you are a woman in love with a man, you’ll see the lake as his strong, protective arm, which would shield you from life’s wind and rain, storm and thunder.

Though I had read about the crescent-shaped Heavenly Lake before I came to China, I was not prepared for what was before my eyes. The huge, moss-green lake was surrounded by lush pine trees, snow-capped peaks, and oddly shaped rocks. The water looked crystal clear since its source was melted snow from the mountain peaks. In the distance, a herd of sheep was slowly moving across a meadow strewn with flowers. Several boats glided on the lake, accompanied by an exotic melody floating from afar, completing the lake’s fairy tale atmosphere.

I lost myself in appreciating the lake and its reflections of the peaks, trees, and rocks. Lines from a poem by the scholar Guo Moruo came into my mind:

Just as I finished silently reciting the poem, Lop Nor said, “Miss Lin, what I want to show you is not Heavenly Lake, but another. Follow me.”

We walked for about an hour through dense vegetation interrupted by waterfalls before we reached the other lake.

Lop Nor stared at the water, so clear that it seemed that you could see to its very bottom. “This is the Immortals’ Pool.”

Then my friend’s voice, now turning sad and dark, added, “But later evil gangsters took it over so now it is called Black Dragon Pond.”

Suddenly the bottomless lake looked ominous. A chill came over me and I shuddered. When I looked up, to my surprise, Lop Nor had dropped to his knees facing the lake. In the distance, a few tourists turned to stare at this strange sight. As I watched, my friend put his hands together and muttered a fervent but unintelligible prayer. When finished, he stood up to face me. Tears brimmed in his dark, sad eyes, about to spill and join the vast expanse of water.

He locked my eyes with his for a few moments, then pointed to the middle of the lake. “My family’s there.”

My heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean? There’s no one on the lake.”

He wiped another tear with his sleeve. “They’re not on the lake, but under.”

Goose bumps rose all over my body. “They’re dead?!”

“Yes, murdered.” His voice was soft as if he were talking to himself, a small child, or a spirit.

“What? Why?” Now my head felt as if it were being gnawed by hundreds of ants.

“It is a sad story. Do you really want to know?”

I nodded, and Lop Nor led me to sit down on a boulder and began his story.

When Lop Nor was six, his father was killed in a fight with another Uyghur man in whose eyes the father was a traitor because he’d abandoned his own religion and married a non-Muslim Chinese woman. Since then, although a Uyghur, Lop Nor was raised and educated in the Chinese way by his mother and her father, a respected herbal healer.

As a boy Lop Nor, instead of playing with toys, spent his time with plants. What he liked best were his mountain outings with his grandfather. While the grandfather was identifying and collecting herbs, he would let the little boy roam freely among trees and boulders to look for playthings—twigs, flowers, rocks, plants, insects, little animals.

At seven, Lop Nor developed a rare skin disease. Whenever he drank milk, a painful rash would burst out over his entire body. His mother was warned never to let him touch milk again. But one day during another outing with his grandfather on the mountain, Lop Nor accidentally downed some discarded milk and was soon writhing with pain. The boy, in hysteria, grabbed a nearby plant and chewed on it. Miraculously, the rash subsided.

The grandfather deemed this herb a miracle sent from heaven. So, instead of just letting his grandson play on the mountain, the old man decided to train the boy to be an herbalist so one day, when he took over the herbal store, he would repay heaven’s generous gift by curing his customers.

From then on, Lop Nor’s mountain trips with his grandfather were solely plant oriented. The old man would teach him not only how to identify and differentiate herbs, their functions, and locations but, most important, how to use the correct angle and force when picking them.