Under the guidance of the young male servant, we wound our way deeper in, finally grasping the supposed authority of their High Lama. Several times I tried to prompt him for even a few fragmented details about the High Lama, but he only stammered and bowed lower, especially whenever I uttered the words "High Lama"—he would immediately halt and bend his waist even further. This happened repeatedly; I figured I wouldn't glean anything useful. So, I ceased wasting words.

The courtyard was decorated with extreme opulence, a dazzling display of vermilion walls and jade-green tiles. The walls, pillars, and railings were intricately interwoven with vibrant patterns of birds, insects, grasses, and flowers in red and green. This, coupled with the constant weaving to and fro of servants clad in crimson Tibetan robes, created a truly magnificent spectacle. I was beginning to believe that Zhuoma Yangjin was indeed a princess—such grandeur was not achievable in the current social climate without being among the supremely wealthy or noble.

“We have arrived,” the young servant said, bowing and gesturing us forward just as I was lost in thought. Unbeknownst to me, we had reached a door of vermilion lacquer inlaid with gold. Beside the entrance, two young maidens, their cheeks naturally flushed with high-altitude color and also dressed in crimson Tibetan robes, bowed deeply with gentle smiles, greeting us with a soft, "Tashi Delek."

Old Li and I exchanged bewildered glances, unsure of the purpose behind assigning these two girls to us.

The male servant, with perfect composure, explained, “They are here to assist you with washing and bathing. Afterward, someone will escort you to see the High Lama. I shall take my leave now…” With that, he did not turn around, but instead backed away slowly, head bowed low, until he was quite distant before finally straightening up, turning, and departing.

The two maidens by the door had already pushed the portal open, gesturing us inside without uttering a word—they likely did not speak Han Chinese. At this point, there was no choice but to enter. Old Li and I braced ourselves and stepped inside.

The moment we entered, we saw two massive wooden tubs situated in the room, flanked by several low tables lacquered in red and trimmed with gold. The two maidens immediately went to the tubs, dipping their hands in to test the water temperature; it seemed just right. They then made motions for Old Li and me to undress.

I jumped, startled, and asked Old Li, “Are they going to bathe us?” I often traded risqué jokes with Old Li and the others, but facing the reality of a strange young woman offering to bathe me, I was completely unable to accept it. Old Li was clearly surprised as well. He quickly used his meager vocabulary in Tibetan to convey that "we can manage ourselves." The two maidens looked at us in confusion for a moment before finally seeming to grasp Old Li’s meaning. Without speaking, they turned and brought sets of clean clothes for Old Li and me, then quietly closed the door and left.

After days of strenuous travel, the prospect of soaking in a hot bath was immensely appealing. Old Li and I wasted no time, leaping into the wooden tubs.

...

The replacement clothes provided were down jackets, wool sweaters, and similar items. Mine fit reasonably well. Old Li’s, however, were slightly too large, suggesting they had been prepared in advance.

Once we were cleaned and dressed, someone immediately escorted us to meet the High Lama. We traversed layer upon layer of corridors and courtyards, finally arriving in a truly solemn great hall.

In the center of the hall sat two chairs carved with golden flourishes. Occupying them were Zhuoma Yangjin and an elderly man whose face was a map of wrinkles. Zhuoma Yangjin’s attire was quite peculiar: she wore a brimless cap banded with a grooved ornament resembling a three-lobed crown. The cap sat slightly higher than those worn by ordinary Tibetans. From her ears hung long, heavy ornaments of coral and pearl. She was dressed in a pure white, glossy goatskin robe intricately inlaid with patterns of every color. The old man was quite tall, wearing a flat-topped, brimless hat and a blue goatskin robe patterned with flowing water motifs. Around his neck hung a golden box, about three inches across, set with a single, perfectly round, translucent emerald-green gem the size of a pigeon’s egg—certainly an object of immense value, I surmised.

As I was observing the pair, Old Li nudged me and whispered, “Where did your mind wander off to? They’re telling us to sit!”

I snapped back to attention to see that servants had already brought forward two chairs cushioned with felted sheepskin to our left, apparently for us. I quickly moved to sit down. Old Li frowned, bowed slightly toward the old man and Zhuoma Yangjin, and then took his seat. The moment I sat, the old man’s gaze never left me, constantly scrutinizing me from head to toe. I suspected that if not for the presence of numerous servants, he would have stripped me bare and examined every inch of me.

“Um…” I felt profoundly uncomfortable under his stare, offering an awkward smile as I asked Zhuoma Yangjin, “And who is this?”

Zhuoma Yangjin replied with composed dignity, “This is my grandfather.”

Upon hearing Zhuoma Yangjin introduce him as her grandfather, the old man quickly and awkwardly turned back to her, saying something deferential. Zhuoma Yangjin waved a dismissive hand, signaling him not to say more. The old man hesitated, then turned his gaze back to me, his eyes holding a distinct air of disappointment and heartache. Not understanding the reason for this reaction, I could only force myself to sit rigidly upright.

Zhuoma Yangjin glanced at me briefly before returning her gaze forward, maintaining her poised reserve. “My grandfather is the Guge High Lama.” The old man immediately bowed deeply toward Zhuoma Yangjin once more. So, this was the mysterious High Lama! Respect naturally swelled within me.

“He has always listened to me speak of you…” Zhuoma Yangjin suddenly paused, “...of your rather marvelous experiences. He was very curious, which is why I brought you both to meet him.”

Old Li and I offered humble smiles to the High Lama. His eyes remained fixed on me, making me exceedingly uneasy.

Zhuoma Yangjin offered us the customary praises. The High Lama offered a few polite words, after which a servant came in to announce that it was time to eat—I guessed this, because moments later, servants began swiftly bringing in dishes with fluid grace; they were all Han Chinese cuisine, entirely lacking any Tibetan flavor.

Zhuoma Yangjin took the seat of honor, with the High Lama seated beside her. Old Li and I naturally sat as guests, with several servants standing nearby, ready to replenish our bowls and serve food. The High Lama remained silent throughout. Zhuoma Yangjin spoke courteously, “I was unsure of your tastes, so I didn't know what you might prefer, so I just told the staff to put together whatever they could manage. Please don’t mind.” Her politeness was overwhelming. However, Old Li and I were famished; we didn't care about the intricacies of the menu—anything edible was devoured in a flurry, clearing the table with the speed of a whirlwind.

After the meal, there was more polite exchange, and then someone led us away to rest. Zhuoma Yangjin seemed reluctant for us to leave, but after glancing at the High Lama, she lowered her head and said nothing more.

Back in our room, Old Li and I finally processed the afternoon’s events.

“Why did that old man keep staring at you so much?” Old Li asked as he sat down, pulling out cigarettes and tossing one to me.

I was pondering the same question, finding the old man’s expression utterly bizarre, yet unable to pinpoint why. We debated for a good while without reaching a conclusion. Old Li suddenly changed the subject: “Technician Luo, don’t you think Zhuoma Yangjin’s attire is strange?”

I answered honestly, “It seems perhaps too grand.”

Old Li let out a cold laugh. “Technician Luo, you are a university graduate, after all. Haven't you seen anything like this?”

I looked at him, astonished. “What do you mean by that?”

Old Li took a hard drag from his cigarette. “I spent some time with Master Banqin. Besides teaching me skills, he would often share old tales of the Guge Kingdom during his downtime—though he never mentioned he was Guge royalty then, just casual anecdotes. I distinctly remember him describing the attire of the Guge King in great detail. I can’t recall the rest of the clothing, but I remember clearly that the hat was described as being bound by a three-lobed crown.” As he spoke, a chill ran down my spine: Didn’t Zhuoma Yangjin wear an identical hat?

“He also told me that the High Lama wears a golden box on his chest, inlaid with sese,” Old Li continued. “Sese, you know? The gemstone from ‘half the river is vermilion, half is red’—an incredibly precious stone.”

This meant—Zhuoma Yangjin was the King, and the old man was the true High Lama? Had we finally met authentic Guge people? But... if Zhuoma Yangjin was the monarch, then... My mind became a tangled mess of excitement and apprehension.

After another round of rambling discussion, Old Li shifted the focus back to me. “Technician Luo, Yangjin has feelings for you, you know that, right?” he asked.

We were both astute enough that I couldn’t pretend ignorance. I admitted I knew, adding, “When we were in the underground tunnel, having her lead the way in front of me made me feel incredibly steady and secure.”

Old Li sighed, giving me a meaningful look without speaking.

Just then, a sudden knock echoed from outside, followed by a voice I recognized: “Luo Lian, Li Zeng. The High Lama wishes to see you.” It was Wangmu.

Old Li and I rushed to open the door. She gave me a flat look. “Let’s go now.” She then moved to help close the door, and we had no choice but to follow her.

This time, we were ushered into a smaller room where the High Lama was softly puffing on a water pipe. Upon seeing us, he politely stood to greet us. Wangmu arranged for us to sit, served tea, and then quietly exited. As she left, she murmured something to the High Lama in Tibetan, her tone suggesting a plea.

“Luo Lian. Yangjin is infatuated. She loves you. But you are an outsider. Our Guge Queen must protect her subjects and cannot marry a Han man of unknown origins.” This was the first time the High Lama had spoken since we met; his Mandarin was fluent and impeccable.

I felt a sudden dryness in my mouth and reached for my tea, but then found myself unsure of how to properly hold the cup. I thought about setting it down, but couldn't decide where.

“Oh,” I managed to reply blankly, noticing how awkward and ill-proportioned my long limbs felt in this setting, how utterly out of place I was. “Oh,” I echoed again.