When the Snow Fell on Nanshan, I Left Xinjiang

I reserved my last day in Ürümqi for the Nanshan Pasture. By late October, Xinjiang had already entered the season of the first snow. As the car wound its way up the mountain road, the scenery outside the window gradually shifted from autumnal gold to a silvery white. The snow-capped mountains, which had seemed so distant on the map, suddenly appeared before me, their grandeur taking my breath away. The sound of horse hooves echoed in the air. The grasslands at the foot of the Tianshan Mountains were covered with a thin layer of snow, yet a few horses still galloped across the fields. The snow mist kicked up by their strides turned the entire scene into a living, breathing oil painting. In 2023, I visited Tibet—the ancient land of Tubo. Standing before the Potala Palace, it felt as if my soul was gently awakened by the highland winds. In 2024, I finally ventured into Xinjiang—historically known as the Western Regions. From the old city of Kashgar to the snow-capped mountains of Ürümqi, every step felt like walking through the verses of ancient poetry and the threads of the Silk Road. And in 2025, I plan to journey to Inner Mongolia, the northern frontier I’ve always dreamed of—a land of galloping horses, where the wind sweeps through the grass to reveal grazing cattle and sheep. Compared to the tranquility and purity of Nanshan, the pastures of the northern frontier fill me with even greater anticipation. There may not be swirling snowflakes, but there will be endless grasslands and the boundless freedom of the open plains. I once thought travel was simply "moving from one place to another," but later I realized: travel is also a journey through time. From Tubo to the Western Regions, from the Silk Road to the grasslands, I’ve been stepping into the China I’ve imagined, turning those place names into vivid realities and profound inner experiences. As the snow fell quietly on Nanshan Pasture, I stood in the wind, watching a jockey in the distance wave his whip during a horse race. For some reason, my eyes welled up with tears. I knew it was time to say goodbye to Xinjiang. But I also knew that the northern frontier awaited me. There lies an unfinished dream, the bold spirit of horseback riding, and the windswept grandeur I’ve always yearned for.