Before the admission letter arrived, Lu Wenyuan took the whole family on a trip to Tibet, hoping to dispel the heavy atmosphere that had settled over the house these past few days.
This year, the only way to reach Lhasa was still by old green train. The journey from Nanjing spanned several thousand miles, requiring multiple transfers and a grueling four to five days just to arrive.
As the train’s whistle blared, Chen Annan was unusually excited. The tracks screeched harshly. Once they crossed the Yangtze River Bridge, the scenery outside the window gradually transformed into the sprawling landscapes of the north—vast farmlands planted with fruits and vegetables, farmers walking along dirt paths with carrying poles over their shoulders.
They first had to transfer in Beijing to the Qinghai-Tibet Railway line. Lu Wenyuan had booked sleeper berths; otherwise, even a cast-iron backside couldn’t endure the sitting all the way to Tibet.
After lying around for days, when Lu Wenyuan finally got up to move, he could hear his own bones cracking and popping as he stretched.
Chen Annan was still gazing at the scenery outside. The view now was completely different from anything he’d ever seen before. A holy, pristine blue seemed to merge with the horizon, clear as a pane of glass.
“We’ll go see the Potala Palace when we get there,” Lu Wenyuan said.
Watching the landscape flash by, Chen Annan said happily, “Then Uncle, you have to take pictures for me!”
Lu Wenyuan laughed. “Take them? Of course I will. I’ll take a thousand. Otherwise, wouldn’t it be a waste of our faces, right?”
Chen Annan smiled bashfully. The train passed through a tunnel, and a vast expanse of deep black reflected his smile on the window glass. The further they went, the more enchanting the scenery became. It was July, yet the temperature here was exceptionally cool.
Lu Qingyuan had gone out. After a long while, he suddenly re-entered and said to Chen Annan, “Come here.”
Curious, Chen Annan asked, “Where are we going?”
Lu Qingyuan didn’t say. He took Chen Annan by the wrist and led him out of their little compartment into a second-class carriage. It was noisy and crowded, steeped in years of accumulated smoke and sweat odors.
The aisle grew narrower and narrower, packed with people. This train was carrying an enormous number of passengers. Woven bags and suitcases were crammed everywhere, leaving barely any room to step. Especially at the junctions between cars, luggage was piled up like small hills.
Lu Qingyuan placed both hands on Chen Annan’s shoulders and carefully pushed him forward. By the time the two reached the end of the car, they had broken into a thin sweat from being squeezed.
“Where are we going?” Chen Annan asked again.
Lu Qingyuan didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled him close and reached out to open the door at the rear of the car. A rush of cold air instantly dispelled the heat from their bodies.
The rear door was actually unlocked! Chen Annan nearly cried out in surprise, but Lu Qingyuan quickly stopped him, quietly bringing him inside.
They stood on a narrow, small platform. The noise here was tremendous, the rumbling of the train deafening, but the view was truly expansive.
They hadn’t even reached Tibet yet, but the sky already presented an almost transparent hue, the purest blue without the slightest impurity. Rosy sunset clouds bled from the horizon’s edge, so beautiful it made one want to cry. The vast scenery continued to recede before their eyes, every sight and object painted in the most vivid and captivating colors.
“It’s so beautiful!” Chen Annan rubbed his hands together. He hadn’t brought a jacket when he left and hadn’t expected to come here.
“Are you cold?” Lu Qingyuan asked.
“What?” Chen Annan couldn’t make out what he said over the noise.
The next moment, a warmth pressed close behind him. Lu Qingyuan opened his jacket and wrapped it around Chen Annan, covering him entirely.
Trapped in this sudden gesture, Chen Annan felt his heart, as novels often put it, skip a beat. Perhaps it was just because the scenery here was stunningly beautiful that it stirred such a feeling.
Fresh air rushed straight into his nostrils. Chen Annan was overjoyed, pointing into the distance. “Uncle said we’d pass through Hoh Xil on this route. I remember watching a movie called The Beautiful Legend of Hoh Xil.”
Lu Qingyuan said, deadpan, “That’s Malena, The Legend of Sicily. Did you actually watch it?”
“…Oh.” Chen Annan rubbed his nose sheepishly. He remembered the teacher played that movie in class. He was asleep at the time and only heard classmates discussing it afterwards.
Both fell silent amidst the train’s noise. The setting sun drew a faint halo of light atop their heads.
The wind blew fiercely, stinging their faces. Lu Qingyuan’s jacket wasn’t thick enough to block the pervasive chill. They huddled together, chest to back, shivering, yet it seemed they were both savoring this moment; neither moved.
Chen Annan’s hands had already grown ice-cold from the wind. Lu Qingyuan felt them and clasped them in his own hands. His fingers were long and slender, knuckles prominent. As Chen Annan’s fingertips grazed across them, the distinct texture was palpable.
“Brother, is your admission letter arriving soon?” Chen Annan suddenly asked.
“Don’t know,” Lu Qingyuan replied. “End of the month, probably.”
Chen Annan said nothing more. He lowered his head slightly, watching the railroad tracks continuously recede before his eyes. In a daze, he almost felt like he was the one moving forward.
A sudden weight pressed down on the top of his head. Lu Qingyuan rested his chin on Chen Annan’s head, as if laughing. “You have something you want to say.”
Chen Annan indeed had something to say. He had too much to say, so much he didn’t know where to start, which sentence to say first.
Emotions pushed up to his throat, making his chest feel unbearably soft and warm. Chen Annan laughed too. He cupped his hands around his mouth, and facing the constantly receding scenery, suddenly shouted, losing his voice, “I want to say—I wish Brother a brilliant future!”
The sound was instantly scattered by the wind, lingering in this boundless blue world.
“I thought that wasn’t what you were going to say,” Lu Qingyuan remarked.
“Haha,” Chen Annan laughed freely. “Then what did you think I was going to say?”
Lu Qingyuan didn’t answer. He slowly lifted his chin and tilted his head back. He also cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted even louder than Chen Annan, a voice that nearly pierced the vast sky: “Say it—I can’t bear to leave you—Chen Annan—Say it—I can’t bear to leave you—”
Despite the train’s vibrating rumble and the fierce, hunting wind, his voice was still deafening.
Chen Annan felt rooted to the spot, his mind completely blank. Lu Qingyuan had shouted with such force that Chen Annan could feel the vibrations in the other’s chest.
Yet he didn’t dare turn his head. Within that voice, the rims of his eyes slowly reddened. He opened his mouth several times, but still couldn’t utter a single word. All the scenery seemed submerged in water—shaking, swaying, drifting.
Chen Annan wanted to hold it in, but the wind was simply too strong, making his eyes unbearably uncomfortable. He had to blink.
Warmth trickled down the bridge of his nose, slightly ticklish.
“Don’t cry,” Lu Qingyuan said, using a slight bit of force with his hands to turn Chen Annan around to face him. “Just consider it you comforting me.”
Chen Annan hung his head very low. The wind had blown his hair into a mess. Lu Qingyuan used his hand to brush away the stray strands clinging to his face. Chen Annan said stubbornly, “I’m not crying. The wind is just strong.”
“Is that so?” A hint of laughter hid in Lu Qingyuan’s voice. He leaned down slightly to meet Chen Annan’s eyes. “I almost really thought you were crying because you couldn’t bear to see me go.”
A question he obviously already knew the answer to. How did he become just like Uncle, so fond of teasing? So annoying. He hated him. Chen Annan bit his lower lip, trying to endure it, his teeth chattering slightly. His emotions were on the verge of being exposed.
He felt that if there were the most worthless thing in the world, it was probably his own tears.
But the next moment, Brother took his hand and pulled him forward. Chen Annan’s center of gravity suddenly lurched forward, and he landed squarely with his whole face buried against Brother’s chest.
“Now the wind can’t reach you,” Lu Qingyuan said.
Chen Annan couldn’t hold back anymore. Those damp tears immediately soaked two large patches on Lu Qingyuan’s clothes. His voice came out tremblingly, in broken fits and starts: “You insisted on making me say it. It’s all your fault! Why did you do that? Do you know how long I spent coaxing myself before I was okay? Why did you…”
Lu Qingyuan was tickled into a soft laugh. “Let me hear how you coaxed yourself. I’ll learn from it.”
“…I hate you.” Chen Annan hugged Brother. The emotions that had been pent up for so many days finally burst forth. He buried his face against Brother’s body and cried for a long, long time. Just like when he was little, his voice was filled with boundless desolation and sorrow.
How could he bear it? They had grown up together, lived together since childhood. Brother’s shadow filled every trace of his life. They understood each other intimately, like a tattoo pierced over the heart. The pattern might blur, but the mark would forever seep into flesh and blood.
Yet, they both knew there was no help for it, no matter how much one couldn’t bear it.
By the time the two returned to their sleeper compartment, Lu Wenyuan saw one with swollen eyes and the other with cheeks flushed red from the wind.
“Hey, where’d you two go? How come there’s crying involved?” Lu Wenyuan asked in surprise.
Lu Qingyuan said, “There was an old lady in the front carriage selling tea to raise her grandchild. He was moved by it.”
“Moved to this extent.” Lu Wenyuan chuckled, beckoning Chen Annan to sit beside him. “Let me see, come on.”
Chen Annan, embarrassed by the teasing, threw himself onto the bed and buried his face under the covers, ignoring them.
After a four-day, three-night journey, the train finally arrived in Lhasa. The architecture here was majestic and magnificent, breathtakingly beautiful. Standing on this land, one couldn’t help but marvel at nature’s extraordinary craftsmanship.
Lu Wenyuan hired a local guide to show them around. The guide was a young woman wearing a Tibetan robe. Her skin, like the locals’, was dark and rough, with two patches of high-altitude blush on her cheeks, like blooming Galsang flowers. Her laughter was warm and hearty, and she was very hospitable, treating them to the local specialty, butter tea.
The first night, Chen Annan went to sleep very early. After all, the long journey had exhausted him, and his body simply couldn’t hold out.
Lu Qingyuan lay beside him, listening to the long, drawn-out breathing in the night. In the early morning hours, Chen Annan abruptly opened his eyes. A burning sensation surged up from his stomach. Not even understanding what was happening, and without having time to reach the bathroom, he vomited all over the floor.
The noise woke Lu Qingyuan. He hurriedly got up and turned on the light, patting Chen Annan’s back. “What’s wrong? Let me see.”
Chen Annan’s hand gripped Brother’s arm tightly. His stomach churned, and his head pounded with splitting pain. He couldn’t even complete a sentence before starting to vomit again.
Eventually, when there was nothing left to throw up, he started retching stomach acid. His esophagus burned fiercely. Chen Annan felt like he couldn’t breathe; the vomiting was simply too violent.
Lu Qingyuan immediately went to the hotel front desk to communicate with the staff, also woke up Lu Wenyuan, then returned. He scooped Chen Annan up horizontally in his arms and rushed downstairs.
