Looking back now, '07 really was a year riddled with troubles. After four stumbling years in the military academy, I was finally nearing the finish line, only to burn out my brain studying right before graduation, spouting nonsense like, "The first half of life for the country, the second half for the home!" And just like that, I vaguely ended up in Tibet. Although I was assigned to a Tibetan area, fortunately, I was spared the truly harsh posting at a place like Gangba Camp, instead being "tossed" into Nyingchi, known as the Jiangnan of Tibet.

When I first heard the news, I secretly congratulated myself. Yet, remembering those events today, I can no longer say whether it was misfortune or good luck!

Enough preamble; let’s get back on track. As I was saying, I was assigned to a communications station under Gangba Camp. The cadre responsible for the assignment was painting a rosy picture of Gangba Camp while we were in the vehicle. The moment I arrived and saw the place, my heart sank instantly. What high-tech unit? It was plainly just a small shack deep in the mountains, housing a few rickety radar and communication facilities or something.

Even though I wasn't from a communications background, seeing that pile of junk that looked like it could be blown away by a slight breeze, I figured it couldn't be anything good.

Upon entering, there were hardly any people in the compound. To be precise, besides me, the technical cadre, there were only seven living souls, and among them, an aged Tibetan Mastiff that looked so decrepit it seemed ready to meet its canine ancestors at any moment.

As time wore on, I realized this was just how the people here were. Except for Xiaozhou, who cooked, everyone else was a veteran who had grown old in Tibet, already possessing that air of having seen through the world. Consequently, outside of their two daily duties related to work, they usually hid away in the equipment room where there was little to do, keeping to themselves. As for what exactly they were doing, I never had the spare energy to inquire.

Nyingchi is China's second-largest timber-producing region, naturally covered in vast stretches of forest. There were barely a few Tibetan households around where we lived, and wild animals frequently roamed—even the Tibetan mountain patrols were a rare sight. Further inside lay the primeval forests along the Yarlung Tsangpo River basin. In essence, we were among the deepest residents within this forest.

Time spent just getting by always passed slowly. Repeating the same routine daily made me increasingly agitated. Occasionally, I’d want to go out for a walk to clear my head, but Xiaozhou would always stop me from going out alone, saying the woods weren't safe. I had originally assumed I would never have the chance to enter that mysterious and perilous forest. Unexpectedly, an opportunity arose when I was least prepared, and it arrived in such a peculiar manner:

It was late in '07, after the third snowfall of the winter. The entire forest was as picturesque as a painting, with faint, gauze-like mist permeating the deep, dense woods, beautifully beyond description. Although I had studied in the North for several years and seen snowfalls larger than this multiple times, none compared to the sheer impact of this Tibetan snowscape. That morning, I woke up early and hauled out the cheap digital camera I bought during school, positioning myself on the concrete roof of the equipment room to snap away. Unexpectedly, just as I climbed onto the roof, aiming to capture some distant shots, I saw several figures walking up the dirt track that only off-road vehicles could manage.

I quickly scrambled off the roof, intending to call everyone to check the situation at the gate; if we encountered ill-intentioned people, it would be a huge headache. Although the communication station was surrounded by three-meter-high concrete walls topped with barbed wire full of barbs, giving it a formidable appearance, those of us inside knew the wire was mostly for show. The surrounding area was dense with trees, and anyone agile could scale the walls in two moves using the branches; they were utterly useless.

I swiftly calculated our fighting strength—we originally had six soldiers, but two were discharged this year, leaving only five including me. As for the sickly old dog, I had never counted it as any significant fighting asset.

By the time personnel were assembled, those people had reached the gate. Looking through the crack, they were all in crisp new military uniforms. A Lieutenant Colonel was leading them, but all of them wore anxious expressions, looking as if something major had occurred.

Seeing they were friendly forces, I let down my guard and prepared to let them in without a second thought. Unexpectedly, Sergeant Major Li Zeng, the third-year NCO stationed here, suddenly stopped me.

Li Zeng, I called him Old Li. Usually, Old Li was a man of few words, but I’d heard he’d been at this station since he was a new recruit, so naturally, he understood many things better than I, a "technical cadre" greener than a recruit.

"Sir, what brings you to the station?" Old Li blocked my path, asking through the door, simultaneously pointing a finger at the old dog. I didn't understand what he meant at first. It was Xiaozhou who was quicker; he immediately rushed over and led the lethargic old Mastiff forward. The dog, for some reason, began barking furiously at the group.

I wondered privately: these people didn't look like enemy agents or anything; after all, in '07, only a handful of better units in Tibet were issued those new uniforms, so they likely weren't fake.

You must understand, our dog, despite its laziness, was extremely intelligent. On normal days, if strangers approached, even those not in uniform, it could tell if they were allies after just a couple of glances. We had never seen it bark wildly at people wearing military uniforms.

I couldn't see Old Li's face from behind, only his hand signals urging me to step back. Utterly bewildered, I followed his instruction and retreated next to the old dog, Shizi (Lion).

If it were a normal day, I wouldn't have feared Shizi much. Although its temper wasn't exactly mild, due to its extreme lethargy, I rarely saw it act aggressively. But at that moment, Shizi showed none of its usual laziness. Its furious barking scared me so much I dared not approach.

Later, I learned that although Shizi wasn't a purebred Mastiff, its origins held a great story—but that's for later; we'll save it for now and reveal it all in due course.

The story goes that Shizi finally quieted down under Xiaozhou’s soothing. Old Li had finished questioning the group and learned why they had come:

It turned out that the new recruits they had brought into Tibet had run away from the station the previous night, and they came here seeking our help to find them...

If only one soldier had deserted, perhaps the subsequent terrifying tale would never have unfolded. Unfortunately, I had just become a cadre, and the foolishness of a student still clung to me. When told, "The leadership requests your presence," I agreed without thinking to join the search party entering the mountains, completely ignoring Old Li’s repeated subtle signals. Looking back now, I suppose it was my destined tribulation; it couldn't be avoided.

Seeing that I had agreed to the request from those men, Old Li stopped insisting. After all, I was the only cadre at the station, and he was my subordinate. Since I, the leader, had spoken, even if he was reluctant, he had to comply.

In truth, I was young and headstrong back then. While I had no major conflict with Old Li, ever since I arrived at this station, Old Li usually took the lead whenever anything came up. The other soldiers below me respected my cadre status outwardly, but in reality, few of them truly saw me as a leader.

So, even though our relationship looked passable on the surface, there was underlying friction between us. Old Li was modest and actually treated me much better than the other soldiers, but for some reason, I always held a slight resentment toward him.

That’s why, when this incident occurred, I made the decision without consulting him. Seeing his frustrated expression, I even felt a little secret satisfaction.

...Old Li told the outsiders to rest, then, under the guise of preparing supplies, he seriously pulled me toward the back of the building. Seeing this, I began to feel a pang of regret, realizing I had been too impulsive just now. If I handled this matter poorly, Old Li might be uncooperative in future work, making my life difficult.

Just as we reached the back, Old Li suddenly grabbed my hand and said, "Technician Luo, you were too impulsive just now... Ah, it’s my fault for not explaining things clearly to you."

His words momentarily left me speechless. I had expected him to angrily question me, but instead, he now looked worried.

I paused, saying nothing. Old Li thought for a moment, then added, "It's too late to say anything now. Technician Luo, give Xiaozhou the key to the storeroom; have him prepare the firearms. I'll get some other things ready. You hurry up and gather a few greatcoats and backpacks, and pack plenty of bedding."

Li Zeng was from Jiangxi, and when he spoke quickly, I couldn't keep up. I only caught the gist, vaguely handed over the key, and was somewhat at a loss about what to do. Then, watching Xiaozhou take the key from Old Li and rush toward the storeroom, I suddenly realized there was something I didn't know. It was only then that I vaguely felt this situation had surpassed my initial expectations—this matter was likely far more than just a deserter.

Furthermore, Xiaozhou and Old Li clearly understood the reason why. A wave of anger washed over me at the feeling of being excluded by them. I quickly strode into the storeroom, grabbed the busy Xiaozhou, and roared, "Why are you taking the guns!"

Startled by being suddenly seized, Xiaozhou jumped, but upon seeing it was me, he said with a look of helplessness, "Technician Luo, you wouldn't believe me even if I told you." He gripped the pistol in his hand tightly and anxiously glanced outside, whispering, "Technician Luo, you don't know, under normal circumstances, our station absolutely never goes into the mountains... because... there are ghosts in the mountains..."

Hearing Xiaozhou’s words, my anger flared, and I nearly exploded right there. Although I knew Xiaozhou, who came from rural Sichuan, harbored some superstitious beliefs, for him to say something like this to me, a cadre who firmly believed in atheism, was a complete disregard for my presence.

However, just as I was about to lose my temper, Old Li walked in, saw I wasn't preparing bedding, and said, "Technician Luo, you take the gun. Zhou Wa, let's get the rest ready."

Xiaozhou obviously noticed I was about to get angry, muttered something, and walked out. I secretly vowed: when we get back, I’ll have a good talk with this kid.

The supplies were quickly prepared. When the others from the outside unit saw us marching out fully armed, they looked astonished. After all, they were only looking for one deserter, yet our preparations suggested we were ready to spend several days in the mountains.

Old Li offered no explanation, just tossing the other two bedrolls to the group and saying, "It's not easy to find people in the mountains; it’s always better to be prepared."