The Wind Blows the Mulberry Smoke
by Sand
About This Novel
When the train crossed the Tanggula Mountain Pass, I suddenly realized, could I just leave like this? The excitement in the carriage made me want to cry. Most of them were tourists, chirping and exchanging their experiences and feelings in Tibet: Your string of dzi beads is too expensive; I should buy a few more bags of fried highland barley in supermarket bags, which are cheap and easy to carry; the shopping mall where their tour guide took them was too dark, and they spent thousands of dollars to buy a small box of saffron... The complaints and complaints were mixed with bursts of sharp and happy laughter. My tears could no longer be controlled. The first time I took a train on the Qinghai-Tibet Railway, it was like leaving forever! I can't describe my mood at this moment, sadness or nostalgia? Neither seems accurate. I remember seeing one of the most famous painters in Tibet saying in an interview on TV that people will unknowingly take root in Tibet, only to realize that they have to uproot themselves when they are about to leave.
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