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Chapter 21: The Zan Gods
Today was not a good day for a showdown.
Both sides quickly realized this and restrained their conflict.
Even if they intended to vie for power, it would have to wait until they found the next safe settlement. Pointless clashes before then would only weaken the group’s strength—something both Tenzin Dawa and Pasang Dorje understood. This was merely a small test, a minor challenge from Pasang Dorje to Tenzin Dawa’s authority. Further escalation was unacceptable for either side.
Still, the incident had significant repercussions for Li Xingyuan and his companions. They were now completely excluded from the Tibetans’ circle. A separate vehicle was assigned to them, placed squarely in the middle of the convoy. Tenzin Dawa promised they could use it temporarily until they reached the next town and acquired new transportation. But almost no Tibetans interacted with them anymore; when the Tibetans gathered around campfires, Li Xingyuan and his group were forgotten, left alone in their vehicle.
Inevitably, they had become the spark that ignited tensions between the two Tibetan factions. With the conflict postponed for now, they too were left to be ignored.
Political struggles weren’t exclusive to the clever—it was ingrained in everyone’s DNA, waiting to be activated the moment power came into play. Even a fool would instinctively cling to the scepter of authority.
Though regrettable, Li Xingyuan and his companions accepted the situation. They were never friends, merely temporary travel companions sharing the same path.
When the convoy stopped entirely, the three men spent most of their time in the vehicle. Only Tsering Chokyi occasionally brought them food and water.
“Eat up,” Tsering Chokyi said with a bright smile. “We’re having mutton today.”
This young girl seemed unaffected by the earlier power struggle. She was a simple Tibetan maiden, indifferent to the machinations of power. Li Xingyuan once suspected her kindness might have been orchestrated by Tenzin Dawa—to secure Old Liu and Lin Song’s support in case of conflict. As trained soldiers, the two men and their weapons—a rifle and Old Liu’s pistol—could prove invaluable at critical moments.
But Tsering Chokyi never mentioned such matters. She simply brought food and water, sat with them briefly, and left.
Today’s meal was hearty: boiled mutton seasoned only with fine salt. It smelled delicious, with almost no gaminess. Even Lin Song ate enthusiastically, and Old Liu seemed genuinely pleased. They hadn’t enjoyed such juicy, fatty food in a long time.
Tsering Chokyi watched them eat with a cheerful smile. Lately, she’d been spending more time in their vehicle. Occasionally, when she glanced toward the gathered Tibetans, her gaze carried a hint of sadness.
Li Xingyuan could guess her thoughts but said nothing. This was a matter among the Tibetans, and they had no right to intervene.
“Mr. Li, you’re a journalist—you must have been to Nanjing, right?” Tsering Chokyi suddenly asked, her eyes sparkling as though struck by a thought.
“Yes, I’ve been there,” Li Xingyuan admitted, smiling at her. “Do you want to go to Nanjing?”
“Yes!” Tsering Chokyi nodded, then shook her head, laughing shyly. “Not me—it’s someone I know. He got into Nanjing University.”
The tender affection in the young Tibetan girl’s eyes was unmistakable. “He’s about to graduate and will return to our village.”
“Returning from Nanjing University to here—what a waste,” Lin Song blurted out impulsively.
Li Xingyuan shot Lin Song a glance, but Tsering Chokyi just laughed and shook her head. “He says he misses the sound of yaks.”
Her expression turned melancholic. “But now, even if he comes back, he won’t hear the yaks or see our villagers.”
Li Xingyuan had no words to comfort her and could only silently continue eating the mutton.
“Mr. Li, is Nanjing far from here?” But Tsering Chokyi didn’t linger in her sorrow for long and quickly changed the subject.
“It’s quite far,” Li Xingyuan wiped his mouth, setting down his chopsticks and bowl awkwardly. “It takes several days by car.”
“That’s not so far,” Tsering Chokyi smiled. “After Father and the others find us a place to graze again, I’ll go to Nanjing to find him.”
Li Xingyuan, who knew all too well the dangers of traveling in this era, hesitated. What could he say to a hopeful young girl?
“Good luck.”
Tsering Chokyi then peppered them with questions about Nanjing. Some Li Xingyuan could answer, but surprisingly, Old Liu chimed in on the tougher ones. It turned out he had visited Nanjing before to see an old comrade, staying longer and exploring more attractions than Li Xingyuan.
The atmosphere in the vehicle warmed up. When it was just the three men, their journey was mostly silent. But with Tsering Chokyi present, everyone felt inclined to chat more.
As departure time approached, Tsering Chokyi grew reluctant to leave, eager to hear more stories about the outside world. But her father had warned her not to stay in the vehicle too long.
Just as she opened the door to leave, a strange sound echoed from the wilderness around them. Tsering Chokyi’s face paled, and she slammed the door shut.
“It’s the Zan gods,” she whispered, trembling. “The Zan gods are here.”
The sound wasn’t wind, rain, or anything a human or animal could produce. It was like countless stones dragging across the ground, mingled with the low moans of something massive and the growls of ten thousand starving wolves. The noise pierced through eardrums, resonating deep within their skulls. Even Li Xingyuan’s body began to tremble involuntarily.
Old Liu tossed the rifle to Lin Song and drew his pistol, turning toward the source of the sound.
“Brother Liu, it’s useless,” Tsering Chokyi shrank into her seat, shaking. “The lamas say the Zan gods are malevolent spirits—they have no physical form. Your bullets can’t harm them.”
Old Liu said nothing, quietly chambering a round. He tilted his ear, listening closely.
“There are about a hundred of them,” he said in a calm but firm voice. “Their weight is similar to humans, maybe slightly lighter.”
He glanced at Tsering Chokyi and gently patted her head. “They’re not spirits.”
“And bullets will likely work on them.”
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