"I can't leave this sacred mountain, so you can take the Gesang flower away."
When Jiang Yinan was twenty-five years old, his grandma passed away.
The man who picked her up from a broken marriage and spent the whole summer with a cattail leaf fan left only one sentence in the end:
"Nanny, go take a look at the windy south for grandma."
She came to Shangri-La with her grandma's songs and a stack of old photos.
Staying at a B&B called "Xiangnan", I met a motorcade that goes south every year.
The leader is Shen Muye, a man of few words, with eyes like the clouds that never melt on the top of the snow-capped mountains.
He always keeps a military thermos on his passenger seat.
There is always an empty bed on the third floor, covered with a quilt folded into tofu blocks.
It was left for his dead comrade Luosang.
One looks into the distance for grandma, and the other walks the unfinished road for his brother.
Two people who carried the wishes of the deceased met on the plateau where prayer flags were fluttering.
Until I met Sangji, a girl at the foot of the sacred mountain.
She placed a Gesang flower in the palm of Jiang Yinan's hand and said with a smile:
"I can't leave this sacred mountain, so you can take the Gesang flower away."
At that moment, the road to the south suddenly took on a different meaning——
Intention: All the wishes of the deceased will turn into the wind, carrying the living forward.