The incident took place on a sunny afternoon in a Tibetan-style café by a river in Jiangnan, named “Kekexili.” The walls were adorned with prayer wheels and several half-human tall Vajra figures, resembling the Bodhisattva of Compassion. A large gilded incense burner was burning nearby, emitting fragrant Tibetan incense, creating a strong Tibetan atmosphere both visually and olfactorily.

However, I wasn’t particularly fond of this place. Outside the window was a canal park along the Jiangnan river, where I could see some Han-style wooden buildings with flying eaves. Looking at Han Dynasty flying eaves from a Tibetan-style café made me quite uncomfortable. This might also be due to my background in photography, which has instilled in me an almost obsessive demand for stylistic coherence.

Nevertheless, it was clear that the host of this gathering didn’t mind this incongruity. It was a gathering of seven people: two veteran critics, a publisher, a female writer, myself, and two journalists. All of us were local social elites. The gathering had been planned two months in advance, primarily to strategize for the female writer’s upcoming book about the desert. In this era, writing is no longer a solitary endeavor; often, planning and promotion begin as soon as the writer starts working on their manuscript. In fact, she had gone to Danba Jilin for inspiration two months prior, which was even reported as news at the time.

Our roles were clearly defined: the publisher was in charge of publishing, the critics were responsible for recommendations, the journalists handled media coverage, and I was tasked with taking a series of portrait photos of her to serve as promotional material. All of this was to be coordinated under a marketing plan.

The gathering started at 9 AM and continued rambling on until the afternoon. I honestly couldn’t recall what we discussed; the publisher, the writer, the journalists, and the photographer—none of them were particularly reliable, and the conversation often drifted off to topics 1,200 miles away. I didn’t participate much in the discussions; firstly, my role was straightforward, and the planning didn’t concern me much, so I was merely an obligatory listener; secondly, for a long time, my attention was focused on the female writer because she was somewhat unusual.

“Lan Ting, freelance writer,” was what her business card said. It’s rare for a writer to have a business card, which made me chuckle. I was familiar with the name, as it had appeared frequently in various newspapers’ book sections over the past few years, often associated with mystical topics, marking her as a rising star. I had always thought her name was related to “Lanting Xu,” but it turned out to be two different characters.

Lan Ting was quite beautiful, with long, naturally wavy hair and dressed in a bohemian style. Her gaze was both tender and ethereal, a rare kind of beauty that stood in stark contrast to the two scruffy old men beside her. I knew many writers, most of whom were either unattractive or disheveled, and they were all male—clearly, female writers and male writers are two different categories.

What drew my attention to her was that she seemed somewhat uncomfortable. We chatted easily and laughed heartily, but she remained composed, rarely voicing her opinions. I noticed her hands subconsciously fiddling with her hair, which surely wasn’t a reaction to my good looks.

Those who study photography must have a considerable grasp of psychology; they must be able to use language to control the emotions of their models. From my experience, such small actions are generally due to inner tension and anxiety. But in this environment, what could she be anxious about?

The first feeling is that she might have some ambiguous relationship with our publisher, so in this situation, she doesn’t know how to maintain her image or manage her distance from him. However, upon further reflection, what era are we in? It’s rare for a woman to be nervous about such a relationship, especially since the man is married but the woman is not.

Could it be because of her book? But with her current popularity and the level of promotion, it’s almost certain that the book will be a bestseller, so there’s really no need to worry.

I couldn’t help but feel curious. So I kept observing her, but apart from these small actions, she didn’t show anything else.

Later, when I saw that I was getting tired, I thought that writers always have some quirks. Nabokov could only write on cards that were three inches wide and five inches long; Pope could only write when a box of rotten apples was placed beside him. The constitution doesn’t state that female writers can’t be anxious for no reason. This made me feel relieved. Although her anxiety somewhat affected me (I’m easily influenced), I didn’t dwell on it.

We talked from morning until evening, and only after dinner did we achieve a few preliminary results. Since it was a relatively mature team, after further discussion, the plan was quickly decided.

In the end, it turned into a real casual chat. With no psychological burdens, we relaxed and began to talk about things that were far removed from our topic. As night fell and more people filled the café, the atmosphere became lively, and my spirits lifted. In the course of our conversation, we wandered to the topic of the desert.

That was a very interesting trip. Although the desert had no signs of human habitation, it was a photographer’s paradise. The naturally formed atmosphere made anything placed there particularly appealing. At that time, the head of our center said something: “The desert turns boys into men and women into girls.” I found that to be brilliant.

I followed the entire journey, running back and forth in the sea of sand for over a thousand kilometers, most of the time stepping into deep and shallow areas on my own, visiting four or five ancient city ruins, and taking over 2,000 photos. For more than two months, there was no noise or superficial desires around me. That feeling was as if I had been thoroughly washed, with every pore clean.

Of course, this feeling disappeared as soon as I returned to the city. The body that had been purified over two months was re-polluted in just a few hours. I must say, the ferocity of the city is undeniable. Talking about this experience made me very happy; I spoke at length, and the gathering continued until after 7 PM, when we finally dispersed.

At this moment, something unexpected happened.

We were deciding how to share a ride home. The publisher had a BMW 7 Series, which could take the beautiful writer directly back to the hotel, while the two older men and the reporter were preparing to hit the bar. I felt a bit fatigued after chatting all day, so I decided to walk home along the Jiangnan River, letting the cold wind cool my face.

It was a winter night, and it was already dark. The banks of the Jiangnan River were relatively quiet. I walked a few steps in silence when suddenly I heard someone calling me from behind.

“Teacher Guan.”

I turned around and was surprised to see that it was Lan Ting.

“What’s wrong? Did your boss’s car break down?” I asked, half-jokingly and half-curiously.

She smiled helplessly against the wind and, slightly shy, said, “No, I just don’t want to take a car. I want to walk a bit with you, is that okay?”

She was quite tall, almost as tall as me, and under the streetlight, her long dress looked a bit thin, adding a touch of delicate charm. I glanced back and saw that the publisher’s BMW had already started and driven off, looking quite angry. I couldn’t help but weigh whether agreeing to her request would lead to any backlash. Although readers are our bread and butter, that bread and butter isn’t handed directly to us; there’s a publisher in between.

She followed my gaze and looked back, probably understanding my thoughts, and laughed, saying, “Don’t get the wrong idea. I have nothing to do with him; he likes guys.”

“Oh?” I was taken aback for a moment, still somewhat surprised, thinking to myself that I really hadn’t noticed that. Looking at her again, I was even more puzzled, unable to figure out what her sudden declaration meant.

If it were during the innocent days of college, I might have thought I was encountering a romantic interest. However, having gone through more experiences, I knew that such scenarios from novels were definitely unreliable. The most logical conclusion I could draw was that she really didn’t want to take a car and perhaps out of the few people present, she found me the least threatening, so she wanted to find someone to walk with.

However, the subsequent developments proved that my imagination was far too limited.

With a beautiful woman inviting me, I felt I should maintain some decorum, especially since we would be collaborating in the future, so I smiled and nodded. We continued walking along the river in Jiangnan. I wanted to think of something romantic to say, but she was a writer and one who wrote about adventures at that; I couldn’t outdo her in literary flair or in cheekiness, so I really didn’t know how to start a conversation. Unexpectedly, she took the initiative and directly asked me, “I heard you mention earlier…”

I secretly breathed a sigh of relief, thinking, this is something I’m good at. I nodded and said, “It was relatively long, about three months, and it was quite pure. We traveled through uninhabited areas, not tourist routes, so it felt worthwhile.”

She hesitated for a moment and said, “The Badain Jaran you mentioned is actually where I went for fieldwork as well; I stayed there for three weeks. So the things you mentioned bring back memories for me. However, according to our tour guide, it can only be considered a small desert.”

I chuckled inwardly, recalling the panic we felt when our group got lost. At 47,000 square kilometers, it is China’s third-largest desert, which is indeed small compared to the vastness of the Taklamakan Desert, but for individuals, it was already quite large.

She continued to ask, “While you were in Badain Jaran, did you go to a place called Gulongjing?”

I was slightly surprised that she would ask about that location.

In Badain Jaran, I had heard about this place many times; it is somewhat mysterious and located in the uninhabited area of Badain Jaran. I never quite understood why it was considered special. The only explanation from the locals was that it was best not to go there, as it was different from other places. But no one knew why there was such a saying.

This kind of secrecy isn’t just for show; it seems to be a habit passed down from ancient times. Generally speaking, for those in archaeology, this habit should be respected. Therefore, we did not go to Gulongjing; after all, we had already discovered enough during that expedition to support the topic for the next one.”

I searched through a lot of materials at the time and only found a photo of Gulongjing in a French photography magazine from 1998. It depicted a desert lowland with rocky mountains scattered about, and there didn’t seem to be anything terrifying about it. However, the caption mentioned that Gulongjing gave people a very strange feeling. There’s a word in French that describes that feeling perfectly, but it’s hard to find a corresponding term in Chinese. Strangely enough, the photographer committed suicide three years later. Of course, photographers committing suicide is as common as poets doing so, so there’s no reason to directly connect this incident to Gulongjing.

Looking back now, I feel a bit regretful. First, when the beautiful woman asked about it, I realized I hadn’t been there, which was somewhat embarrassing. Second, that trip’s only unsatisfactory aspect seems to be that place, which also makes me a little gloomy. I have a bit of perfectionism; I feel uncomfortable if things are just slightly off, as if there’s a hint of regret.

So I shook my head and smiled wryly: “I’m ashamed. That place wasn’t in my perfect plan, and our guide didn’t want to take us there either. I don’t know why.”

“Did your guide refuse your request?”

“Yes. You see, we were traveling through an uninhabited area. The guide was different from regular travel agency tour guides; he was the leader of a local adventure club. During the trip, he had the most authority, and when he said we couldn’t go to that place, we couldn’t argue.”

Lanting took a breath, looked at me, and said softly, “You’re really lucky to have hired a good guide.”

I looked at her in surprise and then caught her implication: “Did you go to that place?”

She nodded, paused for a moment, stopped walking, and looked at me: “Teacher Guan, I’ve heard many friends mention you. They say you are reliable and knowledgeable about photography. There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask someone, but I don’t want others to know. This matter is very important to me. Can I trust you?”

I felt a bit bewildered and nodded awkwardly: “What happened?”

She hesitated for a moment before saying, “I encountered something strange in Gulongjing.”