Contradictory soul

     I've hesitated to write about this trip,

    reluctant to disturb this tranquil and eternal land, the ideal framework envisioned by James Hilton. But I'm here nonetheless.

    The tour guide, an omniscient expert in his field, spent half the journey showcasing the ruggedness, openness, and boldness of the Khampa people, and conveying the past and present of Shangri-La to my heart. His every word resonated deeply. No need for pretense; you had to be profound!

    From the moment I boarded the tour bus in Lijiang, I surrendered myself to the guide, a robust, dark-skinned young man named Losang. Losang was the first university student from his village, shouldering the powerful mission of showcasing this remote and sparsely populated village to the world. Of course, it was also about achieving the desired prosperity and escaping poverty.

    The road stretched on and on, extending into this long-undeveloped yet now burgeoning "tranquil realm, sacred land." The road the bus traveled along could be seen as a powerful tool for integrating a people. As the individuality of a people is constantly permeated and eroded in its transmission, I felt a profound heaviness. Yet, in that instant, I felt a sense of relief. This relief, I believe, is the right thing to do. Undoubtedly, it is for the sake of prosperity, stability, and unity.

    Once, a lone young girl embarked on her trekking journey. Upon arriving here, injuries, hunger, and exhaustion trapped her on the grasslands. The optimistic, sincere, and kind-hearted Khampa people, even at great personal cost, gave her a chance for a "new life." But where did this girl go afterward? The disdain and contempt revealed in Losang's words were shameful.

    When foreign merchants with keen insight cheaply acquired the ancient town houses of Shangri-La passed down through generations, the Khampa people, skilled in ancient tea trade, were pleasantly surprised. Now, as this land of "broken bricks and tiles," dormant for many years, rapidly expands in the money, the lovable Khampa men regret their actions. Losang said, "We were so naive and foolish back then."

    When a wealthy young man looked at Losang with disdain and boasted about owning several villas, Losang replied that he had hundreds of acres of grassland and cattle lying around for miles. Those yaks, leisurely eating cordyceps and fritillaria, drinking mountain spring water, never had to work. Wasn't this a kind of irony and retort? I was somewhat surprised: weren't the Khampa people supposed to be serious, composed, and simple, yet somewhat dull and not good at debate? The car moved on, the tourists laughed, and I couldn't tell if their laughter was mockery of the wealthy young man or approval of Losang.

    A fire can change the landscape of an era, or destroy a mere old town. Dukezong, the "City of Moonlight," also lost much of its former glory in the "smoke" of intense commercial competition. How can its restored rebirth reveal the vicissitudes and cultural heritage of this hub of the Ancient Tea Horse Road to the world? The transformation from an ancient city to a commercial center seems to have happened overnight. Where can we find eternity now? I wonder: how can this kind of eternity adapt to the pace of the times? And once it adapts, how can we reminisce and trace the footsteps of the past?

    Tourists from all over the world pour money here, exchanging it for the excitement of travel. In the end, each bill is exchanged for dried yak meat. And then, these people disappear from this land. Losang frankly said, "Where will you find so much 'yak meat'? The *Lüshi Chunqiu* records: 'The most delicious meat is the meat of the yak and elephant.' Is the hot pot you're eating any different or unique?" I can't taste anything unique, because I believe in that purity. But I can't help but wonder: is the gap between backwardness and civilization only measured by "money" acquired through various means? I'm lost. When the most sincere passion of the Khampa men is forced to succumb to materialism, I feel even more perplexed.

    The scenery is still beautiful. The Jinsha River crashes against the shore at Tiger Leaping Gorge; the millennia-old ice and snow of Meili Snow Mountain inspire awe; the lush grasslands of Zhongdian, dotted with grazing cattle, stretch across Pana Lake; the majestic and solemn Little Potala Palace exudes classical charm; the incense smoke of the ancient city's temples allows Buddhists to immerse themselves in meditation. It seems that everything before my eyes displays the harmonious coexistence of humanity and nature.

    My camera captured the spectacular, unforgettable natural landscape. But when Losang, with a smooth yet subtle, intimidating yet pleading gaze, attitude, and language, revealed a hidden yet undisguised eagerness to sell me, the beautiful scenery in my mind vanished instantly, and the simplicity of the Khampa men was suddenly forgotten, completely and utterly forgotten.

    At the end of the trip, Losang and I drank a few glasses of strong liquor. He said, "Actually, I'm very reluctant to take my brothers and sisters out of this ancient land. Although I yearn for integration and prosperity, I don't want spiritual poverty." I didn't respond, because I didn't understand.

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