I returned to my hometown after winning the koi lottery.

The next stop is Kangding.

In Luding, a place remembered by both history and landscape, sunlight shines on the iron chain bridge, as if gilding the past with a layer of golden glow. After Sister Tao and Li Fugui's journey paused here, they rushed to their next encounter, which was Kangding, a city that has sung love songs throughout the years and is gazed affectionately by the Zheduo Mountain.

Their group of six climbed the winding mountain road in their car. The scenery outside the window switched like a slide show, from the lush river valley to the foggy mid-mountain. When they approached Zheduo Mountain, the scenery suddenly changed.

Zheduo Mountain, like the majestic backbone of the earth, rises from the ground and towers into the clouds. The winding mountain road winds around it like a silver ribbon. Vehicles are like ants, slowly crawling forward in the embrace of this giant.

The higher we go, the thinner the air becomes, and the coldness is like a sharp needle, quietly piercing through clothes, but the magnificent scenery outside the car window makes people ignore this little chill.

Xiao Tao called out to Zhang Nan, "Did you see that? It's so spectacular!" My heart seemed to be captured by something, and I wanted to keep this feeling in my heart forever!

Zhang Nan was busy framing the scene, and the older brothers and sisters in the live broadcast room held their breath, watching them walk into the clouds little by little.

On the mountainside, fog thick as milk surged and swirled. The car plunged headfirst into it, a blanket of white surroundings, visibility instantly reduced. Li Fugui gripped the steering wheel, his expression solemn. Sister Xiao Tao also held her breath, staring intently at the road ahead. Once they emerged from the "sea of ​​cotton," the view suddenly opened up to a vast expanse of mountains, their peaks gleaming with snow, like grains of salt scattered by a god. Caressed by the sunlight, they refracted a dazzling light, dazzling the eyes. In the distance, several snow-capped peaks pierced the sky, their ridges sculpted into a cold and sharp edge by time and snow. On the knife-cut and axe-hewn cliffs, occasional hardy plants stubbornly took root, blooming greenery in the desolate landscape. This vibrant greenery contrasted beautifully with the surrounding white snow, a testament to nature's tenacity.

At the mountaintop pass, prayer flags fluttered, and colorful silks inscribed with scriptures and prayers danced wildly in the strong wind, as if sending human appeals to the heavens. The stones stacked atop the Mani piles bear the travelers' reverence for the mountains and rivers, and their aspirations for life. Each stone, polished to a smoothness, bears the marks of time. Standing here, overlooking the path we came from, the winding mountain road resembles a dragon lying on the slope, with a thousand-foot cliff on one side and a deep ravine on the other. The breathtaking and magnificent scene intertwined, leaving one feeling both insignificant and filled with lofty sentiments.

Their car climbed along the winding mountain road, and the scenery outside the window switched like a slide show, from the lush river valley to the cloud-shrouded mid-mountain. When they really saw the whole picture of Kangding City, it was like entering a colorful folk scroll.

Li Fugui waved his hand and prepared to enter the city. Zhang Bei took over the task of filming and passed everything to the brothers and sisters in the live broadcast room.

There are shops on both sides of the street, and the signs are written in both Tibetan and Chinese. The wind carries the scent of Tibetan fragrance, which gently stirs people's hearts.

An old woman in a Tibetan robe twirled Buddhist beads in her hands and chatted with others with a smile. The wrinkles carved by time hid her simple and deep love for life; young girls and boys, dressed in bright and exquisite clothes, with colorful silks at the ends of their braids dancing in the wind, just like lively flames on the plateau.

Sister Xiao Tao was bewitched by this rich atmosphere, her eyes shining like stars, and she pulled Li Fugui into a Tibetan teahouse.

The room was warm, a copper kettle boiling on the stove, and the rich aroma of butter tea filled every corner. Li Fugui imitated the others, picked up the tea bowl painted with the auspicious eight treasures, blew away the floating oil, and took a sip. The initial collision of the rich milk aroma and the salty and fragrant tea made him frown slightly.

Tasting it again, it seemed as if she could savor the richness of the Tibetan mountains and rivers, leaving a lingering sweetness on her tongue. Sister Tao, on the other hand, was much more at ease. She had long heard that butter tea was the secret code of Tibetan life. She immersed herself in the atmosphere, a gentle smile of peace. As she drank, she gazed at the thangkas on the wall. The vibrant colors of the Buddhist world they depicted were mysterious and evocative.

Kangding stands quietly among the towering mountains at the junction of Sichuan and Tibet, like a legendary book written with time, with every page full of stories.

Once upon a time, this place was a crucial point on the ancient Tea-Horse Road. With the clatter of horses' hooves, caravans laden with Yunnan and Sichuan teas set out from the balmy south, traversing rainforests, mountains, and rivers, all the way to this Tibetan border town. They brought not only tea but also the spark of cultural exchange.

On the old streets of Kangding, Han cloth and ceramics are traded with Tibetan medicinal materials and furs. Merchants of all ethnic groups sit around the fire pit, negotiating prices with simple words and gestures. Different local accents and Tibetan dialects interweave, and friendship and trust take root amid the sounds of bargaining.

At that time, Kangding was full of horse inns. Horse drivers would unload their bags, drink a bowl of butter tea, feed their tired horses, and share what they had seen and heard on the road. The wooden beds and coarse quilts in the inn held countless sweet dreams and expectations.

During the Qing Dynasty, the establishment of Dajianlu Hall brought stability under official regulation to Kangding. While legal advisors kept accounts with abacuses, soldiers patrolled the streets, and official decrees were issued, the city remained bustling with activity. Tibetan Buddhist temples flourished, the sound of chanting blending with the hustle and bustle of the market. Devotees worshipped and turned prayer wheels, lending the town a touch of piety.

In modern times, the wind and snow of Zheduo Mountain did not stop the westward advance. Amid the calls for the establishment of Xikang Province, Kangding, as the provincial capital, took on the heavy responsibility of prosperity.

Schools and hospitals gradually sprang up. In these new classrooms, Tibetan children learned Chinese and arithmetic, marking the dawn of knowledge. In hospitals, Tibetan and Western medicine exchanged ideas, and the aroma of herbs mingled with the odor of disinfectant. Despite subsequent provincial changes and Kangding's ups and downs, its resilience remained undiminished.

Today, strolling through the city, one hears the cheerful dances in the Love Song Square, a romantic fusion of past and present. Modern buildings rise alongside traditional Tibetan houses, while the Zheduo River flows gently, bearing witness to the sound of horse caravan bells and reflecting the shadows of today's travelers. Kangding, amidst the music of time, preserves its historical treasures and strides towards a new journey.

At night, the dusk is like ink, dyeing Kangding City, but the Love Song Square is brightly lit and bustling with activity.

The crowd gathered, and the dancers in the center held hands and formed a circle, their skirts flying and their sleeves fluttering. The rhythm of the Guozhuang dance was brisk, like the heartbeat of the earth.

Sister Xiao Tao was swept up in the atmosphere and jumped into the dance formation. Li Fugui was stunned for a moment, looked at her back, and followed her.

At first, their steps were awkward and they kept stepping on their feet, which attracted good-natured teasing from others. Fortunately, the two of them had a tacit understanding like a silk thread, which gradually entwined and tightened.

Sister Xiao Tao spins gracefully, while Li Fugui protects her steadily. A glance back, an outstretched hand, their perfect match seems made in heaven. Every step they take seems to be stepping on the pulse of the Kangding night. Feelings arise between their dance steps, like the butter tea warmed on the stove, quietly boiling hot.

In the following days, they visited ancient temples, listened to lamas chanting under the red walls and golden roofs, and the leisurely Sanskrit sounds cleansed their souls; they climbed many mountains, hung prayer flags at the pass, the wind blew the colorful silks, and the voices of prayers floated to the sky; they walked on the grasslands, watching yaks scattered like ink dots,

Sister Xiaotao was weaving a garland and Li Fugui was pinning flowers on her head, and they were filled with affection as they looked at each other.

But the journey eventually has a return destination. As the car drove out of Kangding and looked at the city gradually moving away in the rearview mirror, the two men agreed that their hearts would be like prayer flags and no matter the weather, they would definitely return to this place of Tibetan charm and love to continue writing the unfinished story and legend of Tibet.