The Gesang Flower and the Boy

There are four people in this book, and each can recite a few lines by Cangyang Gyatso.

Xiao recites, “O white crane, lend me your wings. I will not fly far, just to Litang, then I’ll return.” He spends his whole life on the road and never “returns.” Xiaoyu recites, “How can one find a way to satisfy both, to disappoint neither the Buddha nor the beloved?” She learns it at thirteen and recites it for the rest of her life. Chen Xin is an editor at a publishing house who once edited an old edition of Cangyang Gyatso’s poems. He believes, “It would be best never to meet, so we could never fall in love.” Xiaojia loves the line, “Only to meet you along the way.” Later, she plants a pot of Gesang flowers on her balcony and paints mountains blanketed in snow. She paints for forty years.

The story begins with a business call in Chengdu in 1985. The person on the other end says, “We need you,” and she goes. For the next forty years, each of them lives, waits, and follows their own road: Litang, Lhasa, Qinghai Lake. One by one, they travel the same route Cangyang Gyatso took under escort to Beijing.

The book is deeply influenced by To Live. Death is mentioned in passing, and grief is hidden in people’s actions. It never says, “He was very sad.” It only describes what someone does, what they eat, and how long they wait. There is no melodrama, no barrage of quotable lines. Hardship is not put on display, and goodbyes are not shouted through tears. Yet the things left unsaid are the ones that weigh the most.

I won’t say much about the ending. Just this: if you’ve ever recited Cangyang Gyatso, or simply want to know what becomes of a life that cannot answer the question, “How can one find a way to satisfy both?”, you might want to read this. When you finish, you’ll remember a brass token, a pot of Gesang flowers, and someone writing on a rock beside Qinghai Lake.