Spirit System Lop Nur

Author: Chai Hu
Editor-in-Chief: Yang Ye
Publisher:
Publish Date: 1999-06-01
Features: In 1999, at the turn of the century, it coincided with the 2000th anniversary of the opening of the Silk Road and the 100th anniversary of the Western Regions exploration. The historical coincidence reveals the inevitability of history. Lop Nur, once a cradle of early human civilization and later a sea of death, serves as a warning at the threshold of the new century: how humanity succeeded and how it failed. With a devout pursuit of history and a humanistic concern for the nation and humanity, the author Chai Hu joined a group and trekked from Dunhuang's Yumen Pass through the Lop Desert, meticulously recording everything that happened, was seen, and was reflected upon. He poured his perilous experiences and profound thoughts into writing, presenting them to readers, and for the first time, disclosed the detailed circumstances of explorer Yu Chunsong's death there. In the face of the remains of ancient civilization, modern people must have a foresight and wisdom beyond their ancestors in terms of survival and the meaning of survival. Unfortunately, in the vast desert and oases, modern people in the hustle and bustle of the world have long been lost. The author looks back and gazes into the future, contemplating the meaning and space of modern survival from all angles and perspectives, singing an ancient song of life in modern language. Excerpt: There were night markets and snack stalls, which reminded me of Shenzhen. I ate very little for dinner, leaving half my stomach for the night market. From the beginning of the street to the end, I didn't even finish a single cigarette. The honest greetings of the vendors made those who didn't eat feel a strange sense of guilt, but I really had no appetite. Every stall offered the same things—lamb skewers or large pieces of dark and light meat. There were far more handicrafts than snacks—brand-new souvenirs and seemingly ancient objects. This historic city must be filled with antiques, perhaps even relics from the Tang Dynasty. Seeing my interest in old items, the vendor thought I was an expert and showed me a piece of jade. I took it and examined it closely, unable to determine its authenticity, but ultimately, I was not moved. The large and small clay ocarinas stopped us in our tracks. They had a simple, rustic appearance, with small holes seemingly randomly placed. Before even bringing it to my lips, a fragrance of earth filled the air. It was easy to blow, but playing it to a tune was not. The young man selling the ocarinas played a piece for us, the sound was primal and distant, easily drawing one in. On a quiet night, playing an ocarina on the singing sands could awaken Dunhuang from the past. Dunhuang had no discotheques, and it was not modern at all. It was natural that young people did not stay in Dunhuang. Writer Wang Jiada discussed the feelings of young intellectuals at the Dunhuang Academy in his book "Love for Dunhuang": "He never expected Dunhuang to be so quiet. If it weren't for the wind every day, there would be no sound at all. There were no cultural or entertainment activities, no social events, no festive atmosphere, not even anyone to date. In the summer, when it was too hot, everyone rode their bicycles to a pool 30 li away to swim. The girls wore skirts and dipped into the water, which was the greatest joy." In the center of Dunhuang City stands a tall statue of the goddess, inspired by the murals of the Mogao Caves. She became a symbol of Dunhuang after the performance of the dance drama "Silk Road Flower Rain." Every day, she repeats a beautiful and ancient melody, but how many people love to listen, and how many can still understand it? For some reason, during my two days in Dunhuang, my thoughts kept jumping between Dunhuang and Shenzhen. These two cities, one eastern and one western, one open and one closed, one prosperous and one desolate, seemed to share something in common. I felt it. Ancient Dunhuang was like modern Shenzhen, and modern Shenzhen was like ancient Dunhuang. History cannot repeat itself, but it often has astonishing similarities. Based on this, history becomes readable. Dunhuang's history is ancient. Based on the current geological and archaeological evidence, we still find it difficult to accurately describe the historical landscape of the Dunhuang region in ancient times. However, from the large number of Paleolithic, Neolithic, and undetermined primitive cultural relics and remains found in Dunhuang and its surrounding areas today, people have reason to believe that human historical activities in the Dunhuang region can be traced back to the late Paleolithic era, or even earlier. The Dunhuang region, sharing the same latitude as Beijing Man, Hebei Man, and the people, had a more favorable natural ecological environment for human survival and development in ancient times. Moreover, with the simple production tools and extremely low productivity of primitive society, the humans living in the Neolithic era in the Dunhuang region could not have migrated from afar. Then, could Dunhuang and its surrounding areas be another important cradle of human civilization? Geologists and archaeologists are trying to find evidence in the ground. As primitive society entered its later stages, with the continuous improvement of production tools and the increase in productivity, human activities in the Dunhuang region became even more frequent. Later, the Qiang and Rong people, the Yu people, and the Xiongnu people, who lived a nomadic life, successively occupied this land. Afterword: (In lieu of Afterword) I am one of the few "leisurely" people in the city, a writer who sits at home and does things that can be done at home, so "doing" and "sitting" are both fine. No one sets me a quota, I write for pleasure and never accept commissions. I write when I am happy, and if I don't feel like writing, I may not write for days on end. Overall, I spend more time "writing" than "sitting." I sit but cannot stay still, my mind wanders, and my hands are restless, but none of it has anything to do with "writing." The result is that when people just remember "Chai Hu" from the magazine, they can no longer find her articles; and when people almost forget her, she suddenly appears on the newsstands. I am indeed one of those writers who are always hit by a falling stone. But don't underestimate this group, the outstanding ones are among them. It's like stocks—high-performance stocks have already reached a high price and have no growth potential. are always those from low-priced or even loss-making stocks. I envy those who handle big deals with ease, like cooking a meal in three or four moves. Writing is already a skill for them, or they are like high-yield dairy cows, ready to be milked anytime, any amount. Compared to me, I am like a clumsy turtle—when emotions rise, I stick my head out and crawl a few steps, but at other times, I retreat into my shell, never having the desire to catch up with or surpass anyone. But I am stubborn, and based on personal experience, I assert that inspiration flashes in the fields, on the ceiling, on bicycles, even on the toilet—it is the product of relaxation and leisure. A tense pace can produce results, but it can never spark inspiration. Milk is only produced during lactation; squeezing it at other times will only yield non-authentic milk with reduced nutritional value. Leisure is a luxury for modern people. There is a story: A young city dweller went to the seaside and saw an old fisherman sunning himself leisurely on the beach. He asked the fisherman, "Why don't you take more time to catch more fish?" The fisherman asked, "What would you do with more fish?" The young man replied, "Sell them to buy a bigger boat." "What would you do with a bigger boat?" The fisherman asked. "You could catch even more fish." The young man said. "What would you do with more fish?" The fisherman asked again. "Sell them to make more money, and then you can lie on the beach and enjoy the sun comfortably." The young man told the fisherman. "Aren't I already enjoying the sun comfortably?" The fisherman said in the end. The fisherman is me, and I am the fisherman. Except for fishing for survival, I lie on the beach and enjoy the sun. Chai Hu October 26, 1998, Beijing, Rome Garden