The man simply stood there, his body swaying incessantly, yet the line of men behind him remained utterly still, frozen in place.” “Strained by tension, Uncle had no idea how long it passed before a sound, like a wolf's howl or perhaps the whistle of a steam train, echoed from the distance. Hearing it, the man muttered something indistinct, turned, and rejoined his ranks.

Then, the entire contingent moved forward again, disappearing into the vast, swirling dust.” “My uncle was drenched in cold sweat from terror. It took a long while before he recovered enough to emerge from under the vehicle once he was sure the group wasn't returning.

But the sight of his jeep instantly paralyzed him with fear. Because the entire door on the driver’s side, starting from the handle, was twisted as if it had been wrung out like a cloth; the whole panel was spiraled into a grotesque shape—something utterly impossible for human hands to achieve.” “Terrified, my uncle scrambled in from the other side, desperately catching up with the convoy ahead and convincing them to turn back together to Ruoqiang.

From that day on, he never worked as a guide again. If you are ever fortunate enough, I can invite you all to visit my uncle’s home; that old model jeep is still parked in their garage.” Hearing this story jolted me fully awake; I hadn't slept a wink.

If this was true, what would have happened if the driver uncle had returned to the car sooner, or if those three backpackers hadn't left the vehicle? The thought was horrifying.

Daxiong was also deeply moved, exclaiming, “Master, this reminds me of something. Back in 1964, a remnant force of over a hundred Kuomintang soldiers under Ma Bufang and Ma Hongkui was discovered wandering the Lop Nur wilderness for over twenty years.

Do you think the group your uncle encountered might have been stragglers from those soldiers?” The Master nodded slowly. “I have heard of that incident.

However, back in the sixties, Lop Nur still held wetlands, home to wild horses and camels. By the nineties, it was entirely desiccated; no one could have survived out there.” We all nodded after he spoke, sinking into contemplation.

I had done some research myself; there were long-standing local legends around Lop Nur about the appearance of strange humanoids—brutish in temperament and impossibly strong—who were said to be invulnerable to weapons, capable of being defeated only by fire. As we pondered this, our vehicle rounded a sharp bend, following the convoy ahead, and a sliver of light appeared on the horizon.

My eyes brightened. Before us rose mountain peaks, straight and sharp as the finger of a Buddha.

Mist wreathed the slopes, and the trees, an inky, profound green like fine silk, rolled over the undulating terrain in a spectacle of ethereal grandeur. I rolled down the window and stuck my head out, revealing a sheer precipice just below the road, where a mighty river carved its path far beneath.

The river’s surface was vast and misty, veiled in a thin fog, resembling a colossal dragon draped in gauze, surging toward the rising sun. Confronted by this scene, feeling the slightly damp morning breeze, my spirits soared, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty.

Our convoy, blinking its hazard lights, threaded through the winding mountain road like the last fireflies dancing before dawn. I lost myself in the view, letting the car move forward.

About an hour later, the sun exposed half its orb in the east, and the mountain peaks abruptly vanished. In their place stretched an immense, boundless grassland.

A vast bird cry echoed from above; I saw three eagles spiraling in the crimson dawn, a scene so beautiful it nearly brought tears to my eyes. Now I understood why those elderly scholars had rushed through the night; this landscape was truly one of the great wonders of the world.

Daxiong, who had stopped feeling sick, stared into the distance with an expression that screamed, ‘Me and my buddies are completely stunned.’ He turned to me and said, “Comrade Xiaochuan, damn, the scenery in your Sichuan is as beautiful as a girl. Old Xiong here really doesn’t want to leave; I might find a girl here and go gallop across the plains.” I laughed.

“Lose some weight first. With your bulk, you’d crush any horse you tried to ride.” Boss Wu, sitting in the front, was also lost in the view, his thoughts unreadable.

The assistant named Wang, however, remained silent throughout, stiff as a wooden plank. Finally, we found an open area and stopped the vehicles.

The old scientists were already restless, pulling out their long lenses and heavy artillery to start shooting photos. I regretted not bringing a proper camera and was left fiddling uselessly with my phone.

I remember that was the last time we saw such a vast expanse of green on our journey. The desert and gobi of Xinjiang later etched themselves into my memory as scenes of pure terror—the nightmare of my life.

Six days later, our convoy slowly but steadily pulled into Ruoqiang County in Xinjiang. As soon as we arrived, I felt the scorching heat of the Gobi.

The average temperature, nearing forty degrees Celsius, left our group struggling to acclimate. It was bearable inside the cars or the hotel, but step outside, and within ten minutes, even our underwear would be soaked through.

We rested in the county town for a day, topping off the auxiliary fuel tanks, which gave us enough supply for five or six days of continuous driving. Then we bought massive quantities of canned goods, Spam, and dozens of barrels of water and salt—enough provisions for thirty-plus people for half a month.

That night in Ruoqiang, we made a special trip to the Tuokexun Hand-Pulled Noodle City for the local specialty beef banmian. Each of us cradled a huge nang flatbread in one arm and held a steaming bowl of mutton soup in the other, eating and drinking until our stomachs were distended, all the while praising how truly delicious the noodles were.

We set off for Lop Nur early the next morning. Our first destination was the Ancient Loulan Ruins, as many of the old scholars were deeply fascinated by the Loulan Kingdom.

Although archaeological work on Loulan had concluded, with many mysteries settled and others left as permanent enigmas, they still hoped to visit and perhaps make a new discovery. I, too, was eager to see the once-flourishing hub of the Silk Road from two millennia ago, so I happily packed myself into a vehicle.

Watching the swirling dust outside the window, the scorching sun baking the earth, the sky an intimidating, dreadful blue—not a single bird overhead, only the occasional skeletal tughrak tree visible in the distance—my heart began to sink. The prospect of spending at least a week in such a place felt like torture.

The car’s air conditioning was blasting, yet whenever I accidentally brushed against the door panel, it felt like my hand was resting on the lid of a pot of boiling water; the temperature differential between inside and out was immense. After a few days of casual chatting, I learned the driver’s name was Nijat; he was thirty years old.

Once we became friends, everyone just called him Old Ni. At this point, Old Ni dropped his usual lighthearted tone.

With a very serious expression, he told us, “Gentlemen, it’s not that I’m nagging, but coming to Lop Nur requires strict adherence to a few rules, or you’ll run into unnecessary danger.” Boss Wu smiled reassuringly. “Go ahead, Old Ni.

I promise to make sure they follow everything you say.” Old Ni nodded and continued earnestly, “Lop Nur has many military restricted zones; they are all monitored. Do not enter them without permission.

Also, do not touch anything in the ruins; if you are caught, things could get complicated. If you get out of the car, do not wander off alone; it’s incredibly easy to get lost on this Gobi expanse.

Most importantly, if we encounter a sandstorm, you must obey me completely. If I say we leave immediately, we leave immediately.” We all agreed to his terms; after all, as an experienced guide, Nijat was responsible for our lives.

We paused briefly at the Loulan site, snapping a few photos of the pagoda ruins and other features, and braved a short walk through the ruins under the brutal sun. Beyond lamenting the desolation of Loulan, we found nothing noteworthy.

Everyone soon wilted under the heatwave and scrambled back into the vehicles. Based on the descriptions provided by * that senior scholar’s maternal grandfather, our primary destination this time was the Kumtag Desert, not far from where the famous botanist Peng Jiamu disappeared.

As our convoy passed Yu Chunshun’s grave and crossed the dry bed of the Lop Nur lake, I felt true desolation. Outside the windows stretched endless, grey-black salt crusts—no trees, no clouds, no people.

The sky was frighteningly blue; the earth lay silent, disturbed only occasionally by the wind whipping up a sheet of furious sand, like a massive yellow phantom sweeping across the distance in a silent, majestic surge.