When I left Seda for Yajiang, the sun was still shining brightly on the earth, and another tourist bus went straight to the celestial burial platform. Like yesterday, the cow of the owner's house at the intersection blocked the wooden door of the only simple toilet with his head, and his ass pointed at the guest. No matter how urgent his feet were behind him, he shook his head and gnawed at a little grass on the ground. Nothing seems to have changed, over and over again. The only change is that we passers-by who are about to leave, because the palm-sized place on the chest has added a touch of red that belongs only to the Buddha.
Tagongtian Road, Bamei Grassland, cars stop and go on this road connecting the sky. The sky above is cold blue, and the Yala Snow Mountain reflected by the golden dome of the Buddhist temple in the distance is in front of the prayer flags fluttering in the wind.
The prayer flags run through all my memories of Tibet. It's on the mountain, in the river, in the middle of the square, on the side of the road, anywhere I want to think.
Before going to western Sichuan, there was a bridge in my dream, a short suspension bridge with banners wrapped around it and flowing water flowing below. It's just a person standing by the river, watching wild flowers fall off by the river, watching a few small fish play in the river, swimming away for a while, and suddenly it snows again, and the iron rope forms a thick frost, blue sky and white clouds.
Later, we really passed a suspension bridge. The bridge is covered with prayer flags. There are countless ropes wrapped around prayer flags on both sides of the river. The stones in the river and the stones on the mountain are engraved with scriptures. Different from my dream, I stepped onto the bridge and walked step by step from the creaking board under my feet to the other side, towards the prayer flags.
They are floating in the wind, just like they are chanting prayers every time they rise with the wind, and every prayer is received by a devout believer. They are so free, but they all belong to each other after all, and what about us?
It's another day's journey from Yajiang to Aden, and it's deserted all the way. In April, Daocheng is monotonous yellow, Ge Sang is closed, and the grass beach is not red, which makes the already vast world more solemn. There was nothing to say at night, so I went to bed early. Everyone knows that tomorrow will be the most difficult day of my trip.
The next morning, the master warned us: "Be sure to take the car in front, otherwise it will be very uncomfortable." It took me nearly two hours to drive up the hill, and I can't count how many times I turned around. All I know is that the driver must be Akiyama. When I got off the bus, several fellow passengers were dizzy and vomited as soon as their feet touched the ground.
There is still a hill to climb from the bus stop to the battery car. I seriously doubt that this section of uphill is deliberately reserved for tourists, because most of the passengers who are ambitious to climb from the starting point to the colorful sea after climbing this section obediently bought battery tickets, and finally only the four of us chose to walk the whole way.
The way to Luo Rong Cattle Farm is the winding iron plank road on the grass, and the soles of your feet are drumming on the iron plate. Besides, there is only wind. When the wind blows over the top of the mountain, there are more leaves roaring in the silent valley. Boxuan's attention has always been more meticulous than ours. When we are all overlooking the snow-capped mountains and stroking streams, he will crouch in the grass and exclaim, "Look, this bug is so beautiful." He will also stop and stare at a leaf hanging in the air when he passes a branch wrapped with spider silk in the sun, and then quickly take a photo and share it with his girlfriend.
At the corner of the plank road with iron plate transposition, a bird or a heron suddenly flew by the river. I don't know, it's standing on the other side of the river, its long legs are stepping in the water, its head is tilted, and it combs the yellow feathers on its wings with its long beak. When Brother Fei set up the camera, it flew away again, leaving ripples on the water, as if it had never been in the future.
At the end of the boardwalk is Luo Rong Cattle Farm, which can be regarded as a feeding point for hikers. There are wooden stools on three sides of the hut, and only one side facing the hillside has a worn-out small board and some dry horse manure. Visitors can buy food and oxygen bottles here, and they can also make an appointment for horses to carry themselves on a mountain road leading to the milk sea. Too many people, or the cabin is too small. In order to avoid the headache wind blowing from the plateau, the four of us had to squeeze into the broken wooden board at the back of the house, button our hats, curl up, and then take out the thermos cup, canned beef and biscuits from our bags and munch on them. While we were drinking hot water for life, the biscuit box lying on the ground rang for a while. I thought it was the wind. Yaquan just squatted opposite us and quickly swallowed the water in his mouth. "Cough, cough, mouse." The three of us were suddenly awakened by his choking voice and got up and bowed our heads. Yes, a big black mouse is doing it. The mouse has run away, and we want to eat somewhere else, but where can we go? The shelter was full of people, so we had to sit. Everybody hold everything on their bodies and continue to rest. Suddenly, my hand was touched by something. Is the mouse back? I grabbed it and was about to throw it out, but I grabbed it by the neck. It turned out that the bag I hung around my neck slipped into my hand.
After being beaten with chicken blood by mice, everyone was very excited, rubbing their hands one by one, clamoring to compete with the cavalry carrying tourists behind them to see who would climb up first. We were naive to think that the road would be as easy as the plank road at the foot of the mountain, with at least steps, but there was nothing. There is only one dirt road up the hill. After a while, we found that the dirt road was good, at least not slippery. Looking at the road full of feces and broken sand at your feet, you should be careful at every step and watch the leisurely cavalry catch up. This is nothing. The Tibetan boy who led the cavalry was there.
Brother Fei has been reborn since Cedar Van Gogh. After several ups and downs, Yaquan of Wutai Mountain gradually distanced itself from Boxuan. No way, people can't force themselves too much. When it is time to admit cowardice, we have to admit cowardice. We just sat on a big stone by the side of the road to have a rest. The wind blowing from the gap in the mountain makes people dizzy and the eardrums rumble. If we don't sit down, we have to blow out Van Gogh and get up and climb up. When we were climbing and feeling good about ourselves, an unacceptable fact happened to me. An old aunt, leaning on a cane in one hand and carrying a big bag of steamed buns in the other, surpassed us. Oh, my God, we are a little too timid.
Our eyes blurred and we quickened our steps. Fortunately, this pace is gradually transformed into consciousness. We can't control our legs. They moved forward mechanically, surpassing the old aunt and those who had just climbed up the mountain from horseback. After walking the last mountain road leading to Milk Sea, we felt relieved and leveled the road. The rest of it was flattened. What a luxury! Yaquan and Gefei are sitting at the fork in the road in front of us. There is an ocean of milk ahead.
Three Bodhisattvas, Xian Nairi, Yang Maiyong and Xia Lang Duoji, stand proudly between heaven and earth. People's noise has become less and the wind has become less. Snowflakes blowing from the holy mountain quietly fell on our heads. The sea of milk in front of me is like a tear, dripping on Yang Maiyong's chest. It is as blue as the sky in Tibet and as clear as a baby's eyes. Maybe this is the blessing of the bodhisattva. Before going up the mountain, the master said that Aden would not make a weather forecast and it would rain, but it was warm sunshine all the way here.
Two hundred meters further up the milk sea is the legendary five-color sea that has defeated countless people. How many people are exhausted after arriving at the milk sea, and how many people look up at the last two meters and give up. We are actually the same, but the legend of the colorful sea is really tempting. A wooden ladder was built on the way up the mountain. The wooden ladder is specially used to transport mules and horses from camels at the foot of the mountain, two boards at a time, and then unload them when they get here, go down the mountain, transport two pieces up the mountain and then unload them, and so on. Finally, we came up and stepped on the wooden ladder paved by mules and horses. On the other side of the hillside, the cold lake lies peacefully between Xian Nairi and Yang Maiyong. It is said that she is as famous as Yang Zhuoyong CuO, and people can see the past and the future through it.
We lay on the snow beside her, praying to the Buddha that the dark clouds overhead would quickly disperse, waiting for the sun to put on her colorful coat. A quarter of an hour, half an hour, an hour, Buddha is probably on a business trip. As we have to catch the last bus down the hill, we have to regret leaving. When we climbed back to the top of the slope, the sun was already out. Although it was only a short 30 seconds, although the clouds quickly covered back, we still saw it. When we saw the colorful moon, she suddenly passed before our eyes.