The company commander shrugged it off. "What ancient tombs? This is Tibet, for Heaven's sake. They practice sky burial here. Where would a tomb come from?" he scoffed. "It must be some damned spies trying to scare us! You lads really need to use your brains more often!"

Old Lama had spent decades dealing with Han people and spoke fluent Mandarin. Seeing the military officer's skepticism, he resolved to accompany us himself. He feared our presence might disturb the mountain spirits or sacred lake - his people revered these natural elements as divine manifestations. While there were holy mountains and sacred lakes, dangerous peaks and ill-omened waters existed too. But all such places had been subdued by Buddhist blessings. The Lama worried we Han soldiers might inadvertently provoke trouble without understanding local customs, so he simply claimed to be guiding us.

The company commander readily agreed when the old man offered to lead. "Fine," he said brusquely, then led our hastily assembled reinforcement team from the 'Budongquan' supply post.

Hearing their conversation, I thought about my commanding officer - a capable fighter but still insufficiently versed in Tibetan customs despite his brief ethnic policy training before arriving at Kunlun Mountain.

Back then I was quite young too, only vaguely familiar with tomb culture and feng shui secrets. Still I knew that among Tibet's five coexisting burial practices (fire, water, earth, sky burials and stupas), earth burials did exist but were considered profoundly inauspicious. Only criminals would be interred underground to prevent reincarnation. Perhaps the abandoned Phoenix Temple really did house such a cursed tomb.

A decade later I learned Tibetan earth burials weren't as simple as I'd thought. Many ancient nobles influenced by Han culture also preferred this method. The Mu Ri Mountain southwest of Qiongjie held dozens of 7th-8th century Tubo Dynasty tombs, known collectively as the 'King of Tibet Tombs'. These square-shaped stone mounds over thirty meters high housed figures like Songtsen Gampo - though often mistaken for stupas, their structure mirrored Tang dynasty mountain burial sites.

But back then in our military unit, such discussions were strictly forbidden. As revolutionary soldiers we followed orders without question.

The distance to Phoenix Temple at the mountain pass wasn't great, but there was no path through the treacherous terrain with dramatic altitude changes. Snow fell on ridges while valleys bloomed in spring-like warmth below. The remote area around Phoenix Temple - once considered a death zone due to frequent disappearances of people and livestock - had only occasional Tibetan herders collecting winter fodder from its evergreen meadows.

The Lama led his packhorse forward, guiding us through winding mountain passes as snowfall intensified suddenly. Overhead leaden clouds blotted out the sky, while Kunlun's peaks loomed like frozen white waves. The blinding landscape offered breathtaking beauty but posed challenges for our group ascending the ridgeline.

Commissar Xu and geologist Lu Weiguo were struggling most from mild altitude sickness as darkness fell. With one final mountain crest to cross before reaching Phoenix Temple, the company commander ordered a brief rest in a wind-protected hollow. Dechen Tibetan medic Gama - her name meaning 'star' in Tibetan - examined them and recommended warm butter tea.

The Lama chipped stones by an outcrop for firewood, burning dried yak dung to boil the tea. He poured steaming portions using his prayer wheel, saying "May it bring blessings."

I'd been freezing since dawn and downed my tea in one gulp. Normally I found the mix of sesame seeds, salt, butter and tea leaves unappealing, but now this hot brew tasted like nectar against the cold.

Noticing my haste, Gama refilled my bowl. "Drink slowly - don't empty it completely," she warned with a smile. "Leaving some in your bowl shows gratitude to the host."

I watched her retreating figure and remarked to Big Man beside me: "Gama's so kind to comrades like spring itself. She reminds me of my sister."

Big Man was surprised. "You have an actual sister you've never mentioned? What does she look like? Show me a photo?"

Just as I began explaining it was only in dreams that such a sister existed, lookout Corporal Chen suddenly called out: "Contact!"

The camp erupted into motion - boots kicking snow to snuff the fire as soldiers pressed low. A chorus of rifle bolt clicks echoed through the silence.

"Where's this contact?" The company commander spat at his radio operator. "Chen Xing, if you're pulling our legs I'll shoot you first!"

"I swear it was real," Corporal Chen insisted. "Those green lights on that peak - they blinked suddenly."

I suggested to the commander: "It might be like in 'The Secret of the South China Tunnels' - enemy signals maybe? Let me investigate discreetly."

"Tak, then," he agreed.

Fifty meters away five green lights emerged through the snowdrifts, shifting ghost-like around us. We raised our half-automatics but the commander ordered restraint. The Lama's horse suddenly reared and whinnied wildly until he soothed it with prayer chants.

"The guardian spirit of livestock has been disturbed," he explained. "It's wolf packs."

I watched those flickering lights - could one be an eyepatch? Earlier at the supply post I'd heard tales about a lone-eyed white wolf king haunting nearby Moor Grasslands, though recent anti-wolf campaigns had nearly eradicated them.

Three wolves circled our position before Big Man shot warningly into the sky. The 56-type rifle's report echoed through the mountains. Frightened by our firepower, the wolves melted back into the storm.

"Maybe that missing squad ran into wolves," the commander speculated. But he dismissed it - with half a dozen rifles we'd overwhelm any pack. More concerning were potential enemy agents lurking in the region...

We pressed forward over steep slopes down to the frost-free meadow where Phoenix Temple lay hidden amidst dead grasses and ancient trees.

Splitting our forces, the company commander led one team while I commanded the second including Big Man, Lama and Commissar Xu. Following the Lama past overgrown temple paths revealed Qing dynasty stone walkways beneath the vegetation.

"Hey Young Soldier," he suddenly halted me. "These steps aren't meant for human feet."

"What, reserved for ghosts?" I challenged.

"You can walk any road in China," I countered.

Commissar Xu intervened: "We should respect local knowledge more."

The Lama produced a rusted iron rod from his multicolored satchel. "I've been the iron staff lama to two living Buddhas for forty years - this path is definitely cursed." He began chanting as he bypassed us toward temple ruins.

We followed awkwardly, me asking: "Lama Ak... if you know so much about temples, why was this one abandoned?"

The old man stopped, his face shadowed. "A final demon queen and her cursed relics were buried here," he whispered. "Even the wrathful Vajrabhairava statue couldn't subdue them."