The village of Zangpo is built on a hillside backed by a steep mountain peak. From a distance, under the dark blue sky, dozens of white stone houses are scattered on the slopes of several swarthy and strange peaks, which is quite like the alien tribe in Hollywood blockbusters. There are still more than 40 miles from Zangbo Village to the foot of Mount Everest, and it is the last village on our trek.

I set off from the ranch early this morning, climbed the mountain beam behind the pasture, and found that there was a flat river on the mountain beam. I wanted to take a shortcut, but I ended up walking around the swamp on Hirakawa and couldn't find a way out for half a day. Fortunately, in this season, the swamp was frozen hard and tight, and only a small river was flowing in a thawing way. I followed the creek until I turned out of the pass and found a place on the ice that I could cross the stream. It was supposed to be a two- or three-hour journey, but I didn't arrive until about four o'clock in the afternoon. Although I spent a few more hours in the swamp, I was impressed by the scenery of the marshland. The grass was still a little green and covered by half-melted snow and ice, and the distant mountains were golden in the sun, and the soil beneath their feet was black. On the swamp stood many boulders of strange shapes, as red as jade, which seemed to fall from the sky. Walking on the grass, the grass is very hard and sharp, and if you touch it with your hands, you will accidentally cut your hands. Clusters of raised grass and puddles of residual snow are set against each other, and the space is full of life. Later, I talked to Geng Xin about the feeling of walking in the swamp, and every step was like walking in another world.

When I arrived at the entrance of Zangpo Village, Geng Xin, who had already arrived, had been waiting at the entrance of the village for a long time. From the point of view of time, the plan to rush to Rongbu Monastery that night to spend the night came to naught, so he had to recuperate temporarily in Zangbo Village.

We borrowed and stayed in the village commissary. There are two rooms in the commissary, and the smaller one holds the goods. The large one outside is a hall, and on the left hand side of the door are placed against the wall two Tibetan-style sitting beds, which are unique Tibetan furniture, which can be used as chairs during the day and sleep at night. When I turned around the corner, there was also a bed, and from the side of the bed to another corner, there was a Tibetan-style handloom. Next to the loom, there are two beds sitting side by side. Beyond that was a cabinet with a TV and DVD player. In the middle of the hall is a Tibetan-style stove, which is used to boil water for cooking or to make a fire for warmth. On the most conspicuous wall of the house hangs a Tang pagoda painted with a Buddha image. There was a middle-aged woman in the commissary with a girl of fifteen or sixteen years old and a little boy of two or three years old. The middle-aged woman can't understand Chinese, but the girl can speak Chinese, she goes to middle school in the county seat, and now it's at home after school during the winter vacation. This makes it a lot easier for us to communicate. After inquiry, we learned that the commissary was opened by the village chief of Zangbo Village, who went to the county for a meeting and would not return until a few days later. The little girl is the daughter of the village chief, the middle-aged woman is her mother, and the little boy is the son of her sister. In addition to this commissary, there is also a temporary inn in the backyard of her house, which can accommodate about a dozen people.

We negotiated with the hostess the price of the accommodation, thirty dollars for one night. Later, at dinner, Geng Xin and I ate half a pot of potatoes and a bunch of sausages from her house, but she refused to ask for money. To put it mildly, in the end, a symbolic person charged five yuan, which made Geng Xin and I embarrassed.

After dinner, it was already dark, and the little girl turned on the electric light. Every household in the village uses this solar energy. The hostess sat down in front of the loom and began to weave wool felt. The little girl turned on the TV, which was playing Tibetan songs and dances. The little boy, who had been quiet, suddenly stood up on the Tibetan bed on the side, singing and dancing along with the song and dance on the TV. At first, I thought it was just a child's commotion, but after a closer look, I found that although the little boy had a young voice, he sang well and danced in a very orderly manner. He dances with light steps, and seems to be more agile than walking. Geng Xin and I watched this two- or three-year-old boy change his dancing posture from time to time while sitting on the bed, enjoying himself and self-absorbed in his small appearance, and our hearts were greatly moved. No wonder Tibetans can talk and sing, and walk and dance.

In the evening, when Geng Xin and I were about to rest, the little girl turned off the TV, picked up a hand-copied Buddhist scripture and began to recite it. Very late, I heard the voice of the little girl chanting, the melodious, crisp and bright voice, echoing in my heart one by one, until I dreamed.