1
It was early autumn and the lands in the north of Tibet were already covered with a thin layer of snow. In the rolling hills that rose and fell below the snow-capped mountains, the colour of the landscape gradually faded towards the distance as the snow became denser. The effect was like a great, loose brushstroke. The distant, continuous line of mountain peaks looked like gods attired in pure white clothes gazing down upon the world of humans with majesty and coldness. People believed that the mountains of Tibet, like its rivers, were spiritual places: that the lofty, pure, holy mountains are the world in which the spirits reside and that the deep azure lakes are places treasured by the spirits. The birds in the sky, the animals in the mountains are all messengers of the gods; the livestock on the grasslands, the crops in the farmland are all gifts from Buddha and the bodhisattvas.
However, the greater part of this gift was bestowed upon the tribal headmen and the ordinary people always received very, very little. But people rarely complained because the lamas kept telling them: if a person has a large number of livestock, then this is due to the merit they had accumulated in a past life, and if you suffer in poverty, it is due to your sins in your past life. As long as you guard against evil and do good deeds, then you will receive reward in the next life.
The next life was a beautiful hope, distant and dimly discernable, but it followed Tibetans like a shadow.
At that time, the Tibetans who lived here used the stars in the heavens to measure their amount of livestock, used the abundance of the plants to determine the livestock migration, used the cycle of the seasons to determine when to harvest the crops, used the jewellery they wore to show the prosperity of their household, used the offerings to the temple to store up karma for their next reincarnation, used the sun, the moon, the stars, and the names of protective deities to name their children and used the spells of the Buddhist masters and lamas to ward against the interference of evil spirits. They judged a man's honour by his sword and horse and a woman's demeanour by her singing and dancing. Of course, they also used the shadow of the sun cast by a pole on the sand table to measure the passing of the seasons, the agricultural roster and the astronomical calendar; they also lit a stick of incense to calculate the time, determine when it was midday and decide what hours should be used to worship the Buddha and the bodhisattvas and the spirits of the mountains, what hours should be used to work for the headman, weave pulu[1] wool and sew clothes for the nobility and what hours should be used to escape the sinister spells of evil spirits and the oppressive whip of the headman. Ordinary Tibetans were a grindstone, the turning of which was beyond their control.
On the slope of this vast grassland proudly stood a Red Sect temple of a 500-year history with the Three Jewels of Buddhism, the Buddha, the dharma[2] and the sangha[3]. It was a place of spiritual sustenance for Tibetans in a several hundred li[4] radius.
That morning, the first drums calling the lamas to read the morning scriptures had only just sounded when shepherd Acuo was prepared to drive the headman's sheep out of the pen. The starlight in the heavens had not yet completely faded, the dewdrops on the grass were still glittering and crystal-clear, and smoke had not yet risen from the houses. The village was still sleeping. Acuo followed closely behind the light of dawn, catching up with the steps of the sun as it rose, and began a very long journey in which he would take the flock towards mountain pastures.
Not long ago, a snow leopard had killed Acuo's brother Axi, and had also dragged away two sheep. After Headman Wangzhu heard of this, he faced Acuo's dazed father, Jiayang, shook his head and heaved a sigh full of regret for the loss of the two fat sheep. "Oh! I wanted to slaughter those sheep after autumn, but they've died first in the jaws of some wild beast." Immediately after, he added, "So, after this, your family will have to send another shepherd!" Jiayang was an honest and loyal man and his family had been sending shepherds to Headman Wangzhu's family for three generations. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Now the evil spirits came knocking on the door and hiding from them was useless. It was like a stone rolling down a mountain that could not return to its original place. Jiayang had no choice but let his son Acuo, who was only seven years old, replace his older brother as the shepherd.
A piercingly cold wind blew down from the snowy mountains, like a group of malicious spirits rushing down and roaring across the ground. The sheep were scattered on the slope, strenuously searching for herbivorous material beneath the thin layer of snow. The whole world had become cold and desolate; there were no strong, rich colours of the summer pastures and none of the romance of the sweet love songs that were sung in summer. Acuo was too small and was not yet a trained shepherd. His thin body could not bear the fierce, snowy wind that blew through this wilderness. Although it was almost noon and the sun was shining so fiercely it stung at his eyes, he still felt cold and had to pick up a big, fluffy sheep and hold it in his arms to keep warm.
Just then, a herd of black yaks flooded over the hill, their hooves pounding the earth with the sound of hundreds of large drums being beaten.
"Older Sister Yangzong!" Acuo turned towards the yaks and shouted. Even though he had not yet seen the person tending the herd, he knew for sure that behind the herd of yaks was Yangzong, who doted on him and often helped him on the pastures. Ever since his older brother had been killed by the leopard, there was only Yangzong left. She was two years older than him and often looked after him on the pastures.
