Chapter 123: Passing Through Your World

Only upon reaching the destination did Johnson realize a truth: the countless picturesque computer wallpapers he had seen before were actually real!

The lake contains more than ten small islands, some large enough to house five or six families, others barely a hundred square meters. The lake is abundant with fine-scaled fish, Tibetan fractured-tail fish, and highland naked carp.

This place is also the largest waterfowl habitat in southern Tibet. Every winter, flocks of birds migrate southward here, with swans, water pigeons, yellow ducks, fish eagles, and bar-headed geese numbering countless along the lakeshore and on the central islands.

Standing atop a height, gazing afar, the view is an otherworldly scene untouched by mortal dust. The water is azure, the sky pure blue, the snowy mountains pristine white—an entire world seemingly painted only in blue and white.

He recalled Li Shangyin's "The Brocade Zither":
"The moonlit sea sheds tears like pearls,
The warm blue fields breathe jade smoke."

Such gentleness, such tranquility. A light rain began to fall, the mist blurring the view, fog drifting over the lake as if a fairyland. Soon, the sun pierced through the clouds, casting its rays over the shimmering lake, waves rippling beautifully beyond words.

Unable to contain herself, Zhuoma burst into song:
“Heaven’s fairyland, Earth’s Yamdrok,
Heaven’s stars, the cattle and sheep by the lake…”

Devout Buddhists are said to circle the lake annually; horseback travel takes a month. This pilgrimage brings blessings for a year of peace and prosperity.

Souls after death choose the most beautiful and spiritually rich places to inhabit, and Yamdrok is one such haven.

Strolling along the lakeside, the sunlight refracted at different angles, turning the once deep blue water into ever-changing hues, like a maiden veiled in mystery, full of enchanting allure.

There is a leisurely indulgence in slowing down, ample time and open space to embrace the beauty of tranquility. Such beauty seeps into the heart through intimate contact, especially at Yamdrok’s sunset—the snow-capped peaks, shimmering lake, and glowing sunset dots—all spellbinding.

Returning to the city at dusk, though planning to leave the next day, Zhuoma’s strong insistence led them to decide on a detour to Daocheng Yading.

Whispering secretly: there is a place called Daocheng,
Where I want to go with my most beloved,
To see the vast blue sky, the white snow-capped mountains,
Golden meadows, and an autumn fairy tale.

I want to tell her that if I do not dwell in her heart, I am but a stranger dying in a foreign land!
I want to tell her that love means forever together.
Passing through your entire world...

Two years ago, a romantic film starring Deng Chao and Xiao Yueyue became a hit, instantly propelling Daocheng to fame as a trendy tourist destination similar to Erhai Lake.

Though it lies over 1,700 kilometers away, the region has an airport. The young girl was fond of the movie, eagerly clutching Johnson, eyes full of dreams as she enthusiastically recounted: “I remember a scene from the movie—on a morning when the Daocheng snow melts, on a cloud-shadowed hillside, a boy kneels before a girl, loudly proclaiming: ‘Lizhi, I love you!’”

“At that moment, the camera pans to the nearby snow mountains reflected in the valley lake, the morning light casting a thin halo over everything—utterly beautiful.”

“The meadows begin to turn green, wildflowers bloom everywhere. Autumn and winter are even more intoxicating: golden rice fields, pure white snowflakes, colorful prayer flags…”

Watching the girl’s earnest stammering and all-out efforts to please him, Johnson shook his head with a smile—what more could he say?

The next day they set out, renting an off-road vehicle locally and hiring a professional guide. They disembarked at Zhaguanbeng, then trekked ten minutes uphill to Chonggu Temple, followed by a one-hour climb to Pearl Lake.

Initially skeptical, Johnson was deeply moved upon witnessing the alpine lake formed by melting snow. The water’s emerald clarity reflected the sunlight, shimmering waves, and colorful forests along the shore—a vivid painter’s palette.

They then rode an electric cart to Luorong Pasture and hiked to Five-Color Lake, nestled between the sacred mountains Xianuodri and Yangmaiyong, at an altitude of 4,600 meters—the highest lake in the scenic area.

The lake is circular and modest in size, fed by modern glacial valleys reaching its shore, with snow mountains mirrored on its surface. Legend says that when sunlight shines upon it, the lake reflects five colors. The fortunate can relive history and foresee the future!

The guide explained that autumn is the best season, when red aquatic plants flourish along the shores and marshes, painting the landscape a passionate, vivid crimson.

For photographing the red grasslands, sunny days are ideal, as the sunlight enhances the vibrancy and layering of the grass, swaying like a sea of scarlet waves.

That evening, back at the hotel, they indulged in a hot spring couple’s bath to recharge. The charm of Sichuan-Western cuisine lies in its spicy fragrance.

Especially the “Mao Cai,” a dish combining various vegetables and meats, akin to spicy hotpot but distinct in flavor. The most refined way to eat it is with dry dipping sauce.

A small dish filled with prepared chili paste, chili powder, salt, and MSG is used to lightly coat the cooked ingredients before eating, delivering a fragrant and spicy taste that is utterly delicious.

Hand-grasped tsampa is made by mixing cleaned barley with fine sand, roasting over fire, then sieving the sand to yield flour. A bowl is filled with some butter and tea, stirred by hand into a paste, then pinched into various shapes and sizes—self-made sustenance.

Finally, a large bowl of steaming Tibetan noodles with a rich bone broth base, paired with springy noodles, mild flavor, and fragrant toppings of diced yak meat and fresh green scallions—a delicacy. Xia Long and Xia Hu each ate three bowls before feeling satisfied.

They packed local specialty dried beef, crunchy and unique in flavor, leaving a lingering aftertaste.

After tipping Zhuoma, Johnson flew away, only to receive a call from Old Tan upon returning to the capital, introducing a friend—a seasoned fund manager—to meet and chat.

At a cigar lounge, Johnson met Li Yajun, a man in his early forties wearing gold-rimmed glasses, refined and cultured, quite dignified.

“Come, let me introduce you. This is Lao Li, a top private equity fund manager, my longtime comrade!” Old Tan enthusiastically clasped Johnson’s hand. “This is Brother Zhuang, just back from abroad, a capable boss. Fate brings you all together today to get acquainted.”

Johnson shook hands, recalling he had asked Old Tan to find some experts for casual talks. Curious about fund managers, he wanted to gauge the situation beforehand.

When news from Guanghui International arrives and it’s time to select partners, he would at least be well-informed, so no one could fool him!

They sat down, sipping red wine while chatting. Li Yajun appeared relaxed, suggesting Old Tan said little beforehand. The atmosphere quickly warmed, and Old Tan got straight to the point: “Don’t underestimate Lao Li’s humble roots. He now manages hundreds of millions—a classic rags-to-riches phoenix story!”

Lao Li laughed heartily, drew deeply on his cigar, exhaled slowly, crossing one leg over the other: “Who’s like you, kid, born holding a golden key? For me to succeed, I had to risk it all. Otherwise, what else could I do, go sell my soul in Baima?”

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