A gifted child, Lop Nor learned fast, absorbing the knowledge of natural remedies like a desert soaking up a blissful downpour. At fifteen, he began to work as an apprentice at his grandfather’s shop. Five years later, the old man let him have his own patients, and when another five years had passed he had won both respect for his power to heal and a beautiful Uyghur woman who bore him a handsome son.

Soon Lop Nor’s fame spread to a shaman who also claimed to have healing power, though not by herbs, but with exorcisms. Jealous, the shaman demanded that Lop Nor give him his precious herbs and secret recipes. Lop Nor refused, well aware of the shaman’s evil deeds—kidnapping baby boys for sale and even, according to rumors, killing baby girls for offerings. From then on, to avoid the shaman, Lop Nor frequently moved his family while protecting his herbs and recipes.

Later, the shaman tracked down the family and, with the help of his disciples—a group of Kazakh bandits—invaded Lop Nor’s store, ransacked his house, and killed his whole family—his mother, grandfather, young wife, and son. Their bodies were never found, but rumor had it that they carried the bodies up to the Black Dragon Pool and threw them in, each tied with a rock. As superstitious as he was evil, the shaman believed that only by submerging their bodies and suffocating their souls could their ghosts be prevented from coming back to haunt him.

Lop Nor’s life was spared. On that day he was out collecting herbs on the Mountains of Heaven and a few of the most precious herbs and their recipes were safely tucked inside his bag. Some believed that the shaman had in fact deliberately spared Lop Nor’s life, afraid of offending the gods by killing a healer who might, someday, save his life.

After he had lost his whole family, Lop Nor changed his name to the one he used now and came to this remote village. Here, no one knew his past and he was respected as the healer sent from heaven. In the ten years that had passed, Lop Nor had been basically left in peace, though never in happiness.

After my friend finished his story, I was saddened beyond words. Looking at the leathery, tragic face in front of me, I felt tempted to pull him into my arms and rock him like a mother with a sick child. But I only patted his hand to show my sympathy.

He said, “I continue to live only because many people’s lives depend upon me. If I die, I waste not only my grandfather’s teaching but also heaven’s gift.”

Lop Nor healed people’s diseases, but there was no one to heal his broken heart. Even the rarest herb would not do that.

I sighed inside, recognizing the source of the vacuity and chill I had felt in my little cottage and even more now at Black Dragon Pond. I was filled with his immense sadness and emptiness.

From his backpack, Lop Nor took out a thermos, unscrewed the top, and poured hot tea inside, then handed it to me.

I meditated on his story while sipping the fragrant tea. “Lop Nor, I know nothing I say can alleviate your pain.”

“Miss Lin”—his eyes searched mine as he rubbed his white jade pendant—“you’re a gift sent by heaven to hear my story. I have nothing more to ask.”

A long silence developed between us while I felt the steam from the tea warm and moisten my face. “Lop Nor, are you sure your wife and son are dead?”

“Of course they’re dead!” he exclaimed, then paused to think for a moment. “If they’re still alive, why don’t they come back to me?”

That made sense. However convincing this seemed, I sensed something quite different had happened.

Lop Nor looked at me curiously. “What makes you ask such a question?”

“I have the yin eye, sometimes.”

With one raised brow, his leathery face showed, for the first time, a sign of hope. “So you sense maybe they’re still alive somewhere?”

I nodded. “When I felt the warmth of the tea on my face, I felt a presence.”

“Please tell me what you saw.”

“I didn’t exactly see anything. When I go home I’ll try to channel my energy better.”

“Please.”

“Lop Nor, don’t get your hopes up yet. I may be wrong.”

He nodded pathetically.

There was one question I was dying to ask him but had no heart to bring up: If his family was buried in the lake, why did he visit the graveyard in my village?

I feared another sad tale would spring up like a poisonous snake to strike. Were there more murdered relatives?


Lop Nor said little to me during the wearisome trip home. So the next morning, still wondering why he frequented the graveyard when his relatives lay at the bottom of the lake, I decided to ask him.

When I arrived at his store, for once it was closed. Two small notes were pinned to the door, one in Uyghur and the other in Chinese. The latter read:

Miss Lin, I have gone to look for my wife and son. I won’t be back until I find them. Please take care. Lop Nor.

I felt a sharp pang of regret that I had told Lop Nor his wife and son might still be alive. Now he’d left to look for them! But what if I was wrong?


That evening I did something I had always feared—I headed to the cemetery during the yin hours, the only phase of the day when the dead dared to come out to “play” in the yang domain, which belongs to the living. In the past, I’d only gone there early in the day so I could feel the place without risking being swarmed by what I would rather not name. But tonight was different. I wanted to focus on channeling, hoping I could at least sense, if not “see,” something from the other world—someone from Lop Nor’s family.

I wore a thick jacket and hat, wrapped my face with a long scarf, and brought a flashlight and a knife just in case there were robbers or whoever, or whatever. A chill choreographed down my spine as I tried not to imagine what the “whoever or whatever” might be.

I wandered around, casting light on the markers and studying each carefully. After that, I walked to a corner, then sat on the ground facing north, which Chinese believe is the direction from which spirits enter. A pile of rocks hid me from sight in case anyone came in from the main entrance. Arranging myself in meditation posture, I soon fell into a trancelike state.

I became fully aware of my surroundings—the slightest sound, the faintest smell, the smallest movement. But nothing came, no vision, no vibration, not anything like a ghost….

After another fifteen minutes, I still heard only the ubiquitous howling wind, “singing” of the sand, scurrying of small animals, and occasional cries of distant birds. I opened my eyes but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Why couldn’t I sense anything? This was a graveyard and I was supposed to have the yin eye….

Just then, in my peripheral vision I saw something move. I disentangled my limbs from the meditation posture, then crouched down to watch. There was a series of scraping sounds, which I suddenly realized were from a being of the yang world, not the yin one. I strained my eyes to look, and to my surprise saw a man digging up one of the graves.

I quickly realized that this man was a grave robber. Chinese put pearls, jades, and other valuables in the coffin so their dead relative could bribe his or her way to a smooth passage to the other world. I once read that at a funeral home in Hong Kong, a staff member stole a big, expensive jade from the mouth of a rich man’s deceased wife. He was caught because her son noticed her sunken cheeks.

A few minutes later, the man began to spit on the grave where he was digging. “Damn! These people have nothing! Nothing!” Then he slapped the spade on his shoulder and hurried away, still cursing vehemently.

After making sure he was gone, I went up to the graves, turned on my flashlight, and looked around. To my utter surprise, the holes were completely empty. No clothes, jewelry, or even bones, only sand and dust.

I mulled this over for a while, then realized it must be that these were not real graves, just places for Lop Nor to remember his family and pay his respects. For him to go to the lake was too strenuous and costly. Worse, he would risk being seen by his enemy, the evil shaman.

Enlightened, I decided to do something for my friend. I used my bare hands to fill in the empty spaces with sand. After that, I said a long prayer for all his relatives, whether in this life or the next, underground or underwater.


That night back home, I dreamed that Lop Nor was hanging by a thin thread between heaven and hell. Dangling in between, he saw his beautiful, sumptuously clothed wife walking with their son in a busy marketplace. He called out to them. The wife looked up and spat at him vehemently. “Go away and stop bothering us! We are dead, remember?”

Despite the dream, I sensed that Lop Nor’s wife and son were alive somewhere. But where? And why didn’t they come back to him?

I awoke disturbed, rolled over, and went back to sleep, only to have another, even more disturbing dream.

Lop Nor and I were crossing the treacherous Taklamakan Desert together. In the middle of the trip, I first got sunstroke and then was bitten by a snake. Quickly my herbalist friend sucked the poisonous venom from my leg, bandaged it, and shaded me from the fiery sun with his thick torso. He also let me drink the last few drops of water from his flask despite his cracked lips. Then we were making passionate love above the burning yellow sand and under the scorching sun. He wrapped me tightly with his strong arms and entered me with full force like a giant nail cracking thin wood….