〈A Love Letter from Lhasa〉3

by Chen Ching-Yang

Chapter Five – The Journey to Lhasa

01

The van sped along the road toward Ya’an.

Zhang Yang said, “The scenery along this route is spectacular—majestic mountains and vast rivers.”

Annie replied, “I know. I’ve seen photos in my father’s album before.”

Zhang Yang said, “I’ve seen pictures of the Grand Canyon in American calendars. It feels different from here, but just as magnificent.”

Annie said, “Public safety here seems much better. In the U.S., guns are easy to get. The news is full of shootings every day.”

Zhang Yang said in surprise, “That’s unbelievable. Here, civilians are not allowed to own firearms.”

Mido added, “America always felt so far away—like the other side of the horizon. If I ever get the chance, I’d really like to go and see it.”

Zhashi sighed lightly. “America isn’t as perfect as you imagine. People of color still face discrimination, and African Americans remain economically disadvantaged.”

Zhang Yang said, “Over the past twenty years, the central government has invested heavily in Tibet. Infrastructure has developed rapidly, and tourism has become one of our main sources of income.”

Zhashi smiled. “That’s why you have steady work as a guide.”

Zhang Yang laughed. “That’s true, Professor.”

02

The van arrived in Ya’an under a misty drizzle. Familiar with the area, Zhang Yang led them to a Tibetan restaurant he and Zhashi had visited before. The owner greeted them warmly.

“Zhang Yang! Professor Zhashi! Welcome!”

Several diners couldn’t help glancing at Annie, with her red hair and Western features.

“Let’s start with a pot of butter tea to warm ourselves,” Zhashi said.

“And two jin of air-dried yak meat, plus a plate of milk curd cakes,” Zhang Yang added.

“Coming right up,” the owner replied before heading to the kitchen.

Zhang Yang explained, “Ya’an is known as the ‘City of Rain.’ It sits on the windward side of the Indian Ocean monsoon zone. The dried yak meat and milk curd cakes are local specialties.”

Mido smiled at Annie. “You’ll like the milk curd cakes. They’re a traditional Tibetan treat.”

Zhashi added, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do. You’ll have to get used to our food.”

Annie nodded with a smile.

The dishes arrived, followed by a pot of butter tea. Annie mimicked the others, pinching a piece of milk curd cake with her fingers and tasting it.

“Not bad, right?” Mido asked.

Annie covered her mouth and nodded, smiling.

03

At dusk, the van arrived in Litang. The group stayed overnight at Litang Monastery.

Inside the abbot’s chamber, Rinpoche Wangxiu and Zhashi sat cross-legged on cushions, their shadows flickering against the paper windows in the candlelight.

“Professor Zhashi, have you made any progress on the manuscript of Tsangyang Gyatso’s love poems?” the Rinpoche asked.

“I’ve searched Lhasa, the Jokhang and Ramoche Temples, and nearby nomadic areas,” Zhashi replied. “But there’s still no trace of it.”

“You might try heading west to Tashilhunpo Monastery in Shigatse. You may find some clues there.”

“I’ve been considering that.”

“The Buddha surely sees your devotion. When the time is right, guidance will come.”

“Thank you for your wisdom, Rinpoche.”

04

Zhashi and Annie walked together in the monastery courtyard.

“Annie, have you heard of the Seventh Dalai Lama, Kelzang Gyatso?” Zhashi asked.

“Yes.”

“He was the reincarnation of our ancestor Tsangyang Gyatso. Litang is his birthplace, which connects this place to our family history.”

“Father, do you think the manuscript might be connected to this place?”

“I investigated that possibility years ago, but found no solid evidence. Abbot Wangxiu has also been keeping an eye out. My intuition tells me the manuscript is still in Tibet—perhaps in Lhasa, a nearby town, or even among nomadic families.”

“That sounds like searching for a needle in the ocean.”

Zhashi looked at her seriously. “If I can’t find it in my lifetime, would you be willing to continue the search?”

“I would,” Annie said softly.

Zhashi smiled. “Then I can die without regret.”

05

At Dongdala Pass, the van suddenly broke down—the battery began smoking. Dusk was approaching, and Mido and Annie grew anxious.

Zhang Yang opened the hood, checked the engine, then retrieved a satellite phone from the trunk.

“My van broke down at Dongdala Pass. The battery’s dead.”

“What? Even from Mangkang, it’ll take half a day to get there.”

“Can you send one over tonight?”

“I’ll have someone bring it overnight. Should reach you by seven or eight in the morning.”

“Alright, I’ll wait.”

After hanging up, Zhang Yang said, “This is the highest point on the Sichuan–Tibet Highway—over five thousand meters above sea level. We’ll have to camp here tonight.”

Mido looked uneasy. “There won’t be wolves around here at night, will there?”

Zhashi reassured her, “Don’t worry. We’ll light a fire. Wolves won’t come near flames.”

They unloaded the gear. Annie filmed the scene—snow-capped peaks towering into the sky, the highway and the Lancang River winding like silver ribbons through the mountains.

Zhang Yang took out bottled water, dry rations, tents, and sleeping bags. Zhashi and Mido helped carry everything to a sheltered hollow.

06

In the lee of the mountain, the two men pitched the tent while the women gathered firewood. Soon a campfire crackled to life.

They shared butter biscuits, dried meat, and bottled water.

Then Zhang Yang took out a huqin.

“Let’s sing a little,” he said.

He played Kangding Love Song. Zhashi and Mido hummed along, while Annie clapped to the rhythm.

On the mountain where the horses roam,
A drifting cloud floats free.
It shines upon Kangding town,
So gentle and so sweet…

Zhang Yang’s eyes lingered on Annie as he sang, tenderness in his voice. Annie didn’t notice—but Mido did. A faint jealousy stirred within her.

He used to dote on me like that, she thought. Now he’s completely taken by her…

07

The next morning, the replacement battery arrived. Zhang Yang installed it, and the engine roared back to life.

They packed up the tents and gear, then continued the journey.

Soon they entered Nyingchi, where the smooth asphalt of National Highway 318 stretched ahead.

Zhang Yang said cheerfully, “Another half-day and we’ll be in Lhasa.”

Half-asleep, Annie gazed out the window at the passing scenery.

By the time they reached the city, dusk had fallen. Zhang Yang dropped them off at the hotel and helped unload the luggage.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight for a city tour,” he said.

“Thank you for everything,” Zhashi said, handing him a stack of bills.

“Don’t mention it—we’re old friends,” Zhang Yang replied, pocketing the money without counting it.

“I’ll take them out for dinner tonight,” he added before waving goodbye.

The hotel clerk handed the keys to Zhashi and Mido. The three went upstairs and settled into their rooms.

Annie stood by the window, gazing at the city bathed in twilight.

“I didn’t expect Lhasa to be this modern,” she said. “It’s far more developed than I imagined.”

Mido smiled. “Lhasa changes every time I come back.”

Chapter Six – An Encounter at Barkhor Street, Lhasa

01

In the morning, Zhang Yang accompanied Mido and Annie as they strolled through Barkhor Street, the bustling marketplace of Lhasa. Annie stopped in front of a stall selling thangka paintings, her eyes fixed on two portraits hanging side by side.

That portrait of Princess Wencheng… she really looks like me, Annie thought. Could it really be such a coincidence?

At that moment, a young man with well-defined features, a tall and upright posture, and dressed in traditional Han-style robes stood beside her, gazing at her intently. His name was Tang Huaimin, known in Tibetan as Degé Gesang.

Annie raised her head and met his gaze. She was struck by how closely his features resembled those of Songtsen Gampo in the painting. At the same time, Huaimin felt that Annie looked astonishingly similar to Princess Wencheng from the sketches he had copied.

Annie pointed at the two paintings.
“Sir, how much are these two paintings?”

The vendor replied, “Those are display pieces—not for sale. Please choose something else.”

Huaimin removed his hat politely and smiled. “Miss, please wait a moment. Let me speak to him.”

Although Annie understood Mandarin, she didn’t quite understand his intention.

Huaimin spoke a few words in Tibetan to the vendor, who immediately rolled up the two paintings and handed them to him. Huaimin then gave them to Annie.

“For you,” he said gently. “A small gesture of goodwill.”

Annie accepted them with a smile, curiosity stirring in her heart.

02

As Annie and Huaimin walked and talked, she carried a paper bag containing the two paintings. Mido and Zhang Yang followed behind them, while Zhang Yang’s gaze never left Annie.

“My name is Degé Gesang. Nice to meet you,” he said.

“My name is Annie. I’m from California.”

“I thought so. You’re from overseas, aren’t you? Is this your first time back in Tibet?”

“Yes. I came back to find my father and return to Tibet with him. This is my grandmother’s homeland.”

“Welcome home. I grew up in Taiwan. My grandfather was Tibetan. After graduating from art school, I returned here to serve my people.”

“You’re from Taiwan?” Annie asked.

“Yes. My grandfather moved there in 1949 and lived in Yangmingshan.”

“I’ve been to Taiwan. I visited Yangmingshan during the flower season—it was beautiful. Why did you return here?”

“Before my grandfather passed away, Taiwan opened travel to the mainland. He returned to Tibet with my father to visit relatives. At the end of last year, I volunteered to work here, helping the Cultural Heritage Bureau restore Tibetan Buddhist murals.”

“Restoring Buddhist murals?” Annie asked with interest.

“The portraits you’re holding—I copied them from the original paintings.”

Annie looked surprised. “You painted those?”

“Yes. When I first saw you, I thought you resembled Princess Wencheng.”

“Really? That much?”

“Yes. If you like, I can take you to Jokhang Temple to see the original Tang dynasty paintings.”

“That would be wonderful. Actually, I came to Tibet to research Tibetan Buddhist murals for my doctoral thesis.”

“Then I can definitely help. Here’s my contact information and the address of my research studio near Jokhang Temple. I have materials you can copy.”

He handed her a small card.

“Thank you so much,” Annie said sincerely.

She felt a strange familiarity toward this young man she had just met. Nearby, Zhang Yang watched quietly, a faint jealousy stirring in his heart.

“Annie, there are more shops ahead worth checking out,” Zhang Yang said, pointing forward.

“Lead the way,” Annie replied.

As Zhang Yang led her away, Gesang watched their backs fade into the crowd.

03

They continued browsing the market. Annie selected souvenirs while Mido offered suggestions. Zhang Yang helped bargain with the vendors. Annie bought two dzi bead bracelets and two necklaces.

They stopped at a shop selling traditional Tibetan clothing. Annie went inside, and Mido and Zhang Yang followed.

As Annie browsed, Mido advised her. Zhang Yang chatted familiarly with the shop owner.

“She’s like my little sister,” Zhang Yang said. “Give her a fair price.”

“Brother Zhang, I’ll add only ten percent over wholesale. I can’t sell at a loss,” the shop owner replied.

“That won’t do. I’ve brought you so many customers—you’ve got to give me some face.”

The shop owner sighed. “Alright, alright. Two hundred yuan, final price. That’s the factory cost.”

“Good. That’s fair,” Zhang Yang said. “Put it on my tab.”

Annie immediately protested. “No! I’m paying for it myself.”

Zhang Yang pulled out two hundred-yuan bills, but Annie stopped him. The shop owner hesitated, then accepted Annie’s money. A woman behind the counter frowned slightly.

04

Led by Zhang Yang, the three climbed the long pilgrimage path toward the Potala Palace.

“Are you okay, Annie?” Zhang Yang asked gently.

Annie nodded, slightly breathless, one hand on her chest. Mido walked beside her, offering support.

“Take it slow—think of it as a stroll,” Zhang Yang said.

Inside the Red Palace, Annie carefully observed the sacred artifacts, asking questions as she went. Zhang Yang and Mido answered patiently.

They arrived at the corridor of prayer wheels, and the women followed Zhang Yang in turning them.

Afterward, they entered the courtyard.

“Mido,” Zhang Yang asked, “do you know the significance of the prayer wheels?”

“I’ve read about it. Turning them accumulates merit, removes karmic obstacles, and wards off illness.”

Zhang Yang smiled. “That’s essentially it.”

“Is it really that powerful?” Annie asked.

“That’s what our elders say,” Zhang Yang replied.

Meanwhile, in a guest chamber of the Potala Palace, Zhashi sat cross-legged across from a senior monk named Sering Tsering.

“Professor, is your purpose for returning to Tibet the same as before?” the monk asked.

“Yes. I am still searching for the love-poem manuscript of our ancestor, Tsangyang Gyatso.”

The monk spoke thoughtfully, “Recently, while observing the stars, I sensed that a young man and woman—reincarnations connected to Songtsen Gampo and Princess Wencheng—have appeared in Tibet. Your journey may bear fruit. If you find them, the lost manuscript may also be revealed.”

Zhashi felt a surge of excitement.

The monk opened a sandalwood box and handed him a token.

“When you travel to Shigatse, present this to the abbots. They will treat you as an honored guest.”

Zhashi accepted it respectfully. “Thank you for your guidance.”

05

Back at the hotel, Annie and Mido shared a room.

After washing up, Annie stood by the window, gazing at the moonlit mountains. Soft singing drifted in from across the street—music from a shop selling Buddhist items. A woman’s voice sang gently and clearly.

Mido, drying her hair with a towel, said, “That’s one of Tsangyang Gyatso’s love poems set to music.”

Annie asked, “You’ve read the poems of the ‘Love Monk’?”

“Yes. If he hadn’t been the reincarnated Dalai Lama, he would have been a romantic poet. Have you heard of Li Yu, the Southern Tang poet-king?”

Annie nodded.

“Tsangyang Gyatso’s tragic romance is similar. Both were trapped by love.”

Annie murmured softly, “Trapped by love…”