1
The farther away from the Karton county town one travelled，the fewer trees there were along the road. The wind rose and the sand on the roadside slopes was stirred up into the sky. Chamsu Dorjee sat in the corner of the truck and looked around. He found he was acquainted with everyone else there. They stuck their tongues out and touched their heads to express their greetings[1]， but they didn't speak to him as he seemed unhappy.
The wind scoured the people on the truck with clouds of sandy dust. Sand reduced visibility and turned the sky yellow. They couldn't even clearly see the faces of the passengers sitting opposite. It seemed as though the wind had brought an unceasing song from far away. When it stopped， the song suddenly rose as though its volume had been turned up.
Chamsu Dorjee felt a bug crawling on his face. He wiped it with his hands only to find that it was sand. He would usually have cleaned his hands on his trousers without hesitation， except today he was wearing a special pair of jeans that were bought in the town. Their colour was so bright that he was reluctant to clean his hands on them. After some hesitation， he finally rubbed his dirty hands on his tightly wrapped backside. He regretted it as soon as he had done it. How he missed the asphalt road in the town . . .
It is often said that your hometown is the place you love best， whether it's rich or poor. Chamsu Dorjee didn't think so. Before he left Pu Village， he thought it was the whole world. After spending some time in the town， he stepped on the asphalt road to go back and found he didn't want to leave. On the way home， he was full of regret. He hated the dirt road with its rampant sands. He hated the barren land. He hated the faces of people singing loudly in the boundless wastes. Were it not for his parents' insistence that he come back for Spring Festival， not to mention a girl he missed very much， he would certainly have chosen to keep his part-time job in the town forever. Sometimes he doubted whether he really had the noble blood of the Chamsu Family. While he was lost in such thoughts， the truck gradually came to a stop. They were near the entrance of Da Village. A huge amount of curious people crowded around the truck.
Not even a tractor could enter Pu Village， let alone a truck. The curving mountain paths were inaccessible to those colossuses. Usually， people had to go by vehicle to Da and then walk to Pu on foot. If you happened to encounter someone from Pu driving a donkey cart in Da， he wouldn't refuse you a ride， especially if you were a stranger or a traveller. Pu villagers were always curious to learn about the outside world.
The people on the truck moved very slowly， seemingly unwilling to get off. At last， the quick-tempered driver couldn't stand it any longer. “You have to pay now，” he said sternly.
“My friend， I only have five Yuan left，” said an aged man with a half-filled bag of chemical fertilizer on his back. “I will send you three Yuan as soon as I have it.” He showed humility by touching his head and sticking his tongue out.
“No way！” the driver replied. “Why didn't you tell me you didn't have enough money when you got on？ You people are really good at pretending to be poor. I still have to pay the truck owner.” The driver was clearly enraged by the old man. Although he spoke very quickly， the passengers could tell he wasn't a native.
“I am a relative of the owner，” the old man said. “You can tell him it's me who owes you the money.”
Dorjee noticed that the owner wasn't in the co-driver's seat where he had been sitting. Maybe he was embarrassed to charge people from his own village and slipped away first. As Dorjee jumped down from the truck， the driver stood in front of him and his hand almost touched Dorjee's nose. “Even though you're a relative of the owner， the owner is not a relative of the Credit Union！” he yelled at the old man. “You damned poor wretch！”
“Charge a relative？” someone chimed in. “People are paying less and less attention to karma nowadays. Moral degeneration is getting worse.” Passengers who had been charged were also fighting against the injustice done to the old man.
“Me？ Not believe in Karma？” the incensed driver shouted at the passengers. “I don't think you paupers from your pauper town would want to pay if you had the money！ Okay. So you want to repudiate the payment. Let's just have a look in your pockets！” He grasped the old man's Tibetan robe. A flame of indignation blazed up in Dorjee. He wanted to beat this outlander to the ground with his fist.
“OK. OK. I'll do it myself. I'll do it myself，” the old man said， taking a plastic bag out from deep inside his robe with a great effort.
“You see！” cried the driver in triumph. “It isn't me who has no sympathy. You're the immoral one. You hide under a pitiable appearance and cheat as much as you can！” He snatched the bag from the old man's hand and showed it to the crowd. A ripple went through the onlookers. They all started criticizing the old man for letting them support him and lose face. No one blamed the driver for his rudeness. Dorjee's flame of indignation also disappeared when the old man pulled out his stash.
The people of Pu Village and Da Village were acquainted with each other but they pretended to be strangers when it came to the exchange of money. No wonder the elder had sighed that social practices were deteriorating and people becoming less and less concerned with others.
“Hello！ You're Dorjee from the Chamsu Family of Pu Village， right？” asked a childish boy who appeared to be seventeen or eighteen.
“Yes， I am. And you are？” Dorjee asked， trying his best to find this boy's name in his memory.
“I am from Riwu，” the boy replied. “I married into your village three months ago. Please give me your baggage and get on my cart.”
Dorjee saw a donkey cart parked nearby. He handed his bag to the young fellow and followed him with an empty plastic bucket in his hand. “So these are all the things you have？” the boy asked with a surprised and confused expression. His confusion hurt Dorjee's pride. “I had to hurry home for Spring Festival so I didn't have time to go shopping，” he replied. “But I think it's a better idea to give my family money， rather than gifts that might not be needed.”
“Yes. You're right. You can buy anything as long as you have money，” the boy said. His flattering words were jarring to Dorjee's ears. Everyone knew how desolate Pu Village was. He started to worry that he would not escape the notice of other villagers.
For people arriving there from outside， the entrance of Pu Village was a place where certain villagers could inspect others. Once you arrived at the entrance， some “kind-hearted” villagers would race to help you with your luggage. This “help” would immediately inform them about what you had brought back. If you had a lot， they would gossip about where you got it from. If you had very little， they would laugh at you and say things like， “A dog went outside and came back”. To counter this practice， those who had not earned much in the town would divide their things into several bags even though one would have been enough， and pretend to return home gloriously.
“Brother， what on earth is the town like？” the boy asked excitedly. “You and Wangchuk are really big men in our village now. How about you let me go there with you to earn some money after Spring Festival？” Receiving no reply from Dorjee， he pretended to have understood and said， “Ah， you're not going back after the festival. You're going to marry Sangjee， right？”
The young fellow's innocent joke did not have the great effect he hoped for. Upon the mention of Sangjee， Dorjee's smile disappeared.One year ago， he had left his home village and gone to the town to earn money. He had no idea at the time whether he wanted to escape from Sangjee or find a way for them to get out together.The only thing he believed was that he could undoubtedly earn money through his physical strength， and his problems would be solved when he had earned it. However， against all his expectations， the town was full of people looking to earn money through their physical strength.
Remembering this， he felt dispirited and sighed deeply. The young fellow's questions were endless. Although Dorjee wanted very much to tell him to shut up， it crossed his mind that he was a guest on the boy's donkey cart， so he answered “yes” or “no” carelessly. At length， the young fellow gradually became conscious of how vapid his questions were and stopped his gabbling. Neither of them spoke for a long time. The lonely mountain road was silent except for their breathing and the squeaking of the wheels. They sustained this silence all the way to the familiar entrance of the village.
The huge mountains around the village blocked their sight but strangely failed to block the invasion of the strong wind. It blew all year round up there， especially in the winter when it covered the entire village in sand. The mountains could not block water either： during the dry season they had to climb for water， while in the rainy season sudden floods razed houses to the ground. These frequent natural disasters made young men uneasy. However， the elders—the most obedient group in the village—sang the same songs and did the same work as their ancestors had. They never thought of leaving their hometown， no matter how hard life was there. Last year， news of “poverty alleviation through relocation to other places” had scared the elders deeply. They invited some Lamas from outside to pray for them and hoped that the news was not true. They were there because of the efforts of their ancestors； their ancestors' breath was there and they had their ancestors' blessings there. They couldn't survive without their ancestors' protection.
Some sharp-eyed villagers spotted Dorjee as soon as he arrived at the entrance. Several runny-nosed boys gathered at the gate of Chamsu's house before Dorjee came in. The news that he was back spread around the village in an instant. Penjee had been playing near the entrance. She hurried home when she heard the news.
The sun was just setting. The flagstone on the skylight had been dropped down and the whole house fallen into darkness. Ama Chozom's eyesight was getting worse and worse. She wanted to help her children do the housework but it always ended up a mess. She felt as though she might as well just go to bed early. When Penjee rushed in and told her that Chamsu Dorjee had come back， she became a little excited. Her dearest daughter Sangjee lost her smile when he left. On second thoughts， Dorjee's mother had always been indifferent to Sangjee， and had even started to look down on them after Norbu Tenzin married Blacksmith Tashi's daughter. Besides， Dorjee's sister-in-law， who already had two husbands， always told people that Dorjee would be her husband too. Soon， Ama Chozom fell into disappointment after her brief excitement. She turned over in bed and said casually， “Whether he's come back or not is none of your business.”
“But you know he's dating Sangjee，” she replied. “He went to the town without telling her and it broke her heart.” Penjee was not as beautiful as her two elder sisters. Her eyelids and lips were too thick and she lisped when she spoke. Now some fuzzy balls of the woolen quilt clung to her fluffy hair.
“Nowadays， people only care about money，” Ama Chozom said with dissatisfaction as she turned her back on her daughter. “As the old saying goes， there's no smoke without fire. We poor people can never be relatives of the rich.” Although she said so， Ama Chozom knew that Dorjee's family disliked Sangjee because she came from poverty. She forced herself to believe this reason because it would make her feel better. In her inner heart， she fully refused to acknowledge the truth.
Finding her mother turning away from her in bed， Penjee dared not say any more. She sat in the dark corner and waited for Sangjee. In her eyes， her eldest sister was the most tender girl in the village and also the one who cared about her the most. She had never seen Sangjee show hatred to others but often heard her sobbing in bed on quiet nights.
In the evening， young men usually got together at the well in the east of the village. Girls who had been busy all day came to the well with empty buckets. Even if the water vat at home was full， they would still try their best to go out with an empty bucket. To the young men of Pu Village， the well was an attractive place. Girls put their buckets on the stone and leant against it， chatting and sharing such snacks as fried highland barley and quark. After a while， some boys would appear. The girls and boys would play and chase each other unscrupulously. It was inevitable that they would end up holding each other and wrestling， which were the happiest moments in their boring lives and also opportunities to fall in love. Sometimes， such a get-together would turn into a dancing party or even an art show.
Sangjee had a round face inlayed with a pair of melancholy eyes. Her braids were tied with a red and yellow silk ribbon. Some faint wrinkles could be seen on her full forehead. A suit of black Tibetan pulu displayed her elegant figure， the patches in the skirt neatly hidden in the pleats. A pink shirt was visible at her collar.Sangjee was a commonly recognized beauty in Pu Village. Her beauty perfectly suited the aesthetic standards of the villagers. Ama Chozom had even heard the marriage proposals of young men from villages in Jum Township. However， Sangjee had fallen in love and her mother was satisfied with her choice； claiming kinship with such nobility as the Chamsu family had always been her wish.
The girls sitting beside the well became very excited when they saw Sangjee coming over. They had been waiting for her for a long time. They wouldn't usually pay her much attention as she was very shy and never played with boys. As she approached， one girl shouted out sharply， “Sangjee！ I heard Dorjee's back from the town. Did you know？”
Sangjee's mind suddenly blanked under such astonishing news. She didn't remember what she had answered or how she came back with the water bucket. She didn't even realize that she was crying until she arrived at the gate of her house. Standing on the threshold with the water bucket on her back， Sangjee looked at Dorjee's house for a long time. How she wished he was coming for her！ It was a wish mingled with desolation， shyness and joy that made her lose control in sobbing. Thinking that her love may not have a happy ending， Sangjee felt extremely helpless and desperate. Her heart was bitterly hurt.
It was only a few days until the Spring Festival. Everyone said that the past should be cut off and forgotten before the New Year. However， what would her Spring Festival be like now？ It was unpredictable. She doubted whether Dorjee really had any affection for her. If he did， why hadn't he sent her a letter since he had been gone？ Sometimes， she even tried to persuade herself to marry another man who was in love with her. Be another man's wife， she thought， have a child together and everything past will remain past.
2
The Spring Festival was nearly upon them. Dorjee was desperate to give Sangjee the gift he bought for her in the town but his mother kept a close eye on him. Even if he went out for a short moment， she would still demand an account of everything that had happened to him. One day， Dorjee took the gift from its hiding-place and lied to his mother that he wanted to visit his friend Rigzen， his best friend in the village. His mother had her suspicions but she couldn't find an excuse to keep him home.
Dorjee stood in front of Sangjee's house without daring to enter. He hadn't even said goodbye to her before he left and he knew that Ama Chozom would scold him for that. While he stood hesitating， Sangjee appeared before him like a breeze. Looking into each other's eyes， they both felt flustered and didn't know what to say. Dorjee's bewilderment soon disappeared. “I've come to see you，” he said.
“Please come in. Don't just stand outside，” Sangjee replied， hardly daring to look at Dorjee for a second before her eyes darted to the distance. Even if Sangjee had a great grievance， she would bury it deep in her heart and never speak it out loud. She exposed her crying heart to no one. In fact， Dorjee saw the grievance in her plaintive eyes at a glance. Her silent pain made him feel guiltier than stormy complaints or endless weeping ever could.
Sangjee led him to the kitchen. The walls were blackened from smoke. The skylight in the roof was open and the pot over the furnace reflected a beam of sunlight， making the kitchen bright.Dorjee had been to Sangjee's house before but it was still strange to him. This simple， messy house made him sad. Ama Chozom sat beside the furnace with a rough porcelain flagon in her left hand and a string of prayer beads in her right， muttering under her breath. The sunlight through the door shone on her unkempt hair and made her look old and gaunt.
Since Norbu Tenzin had married into the Blacksmith family， Ama Chozom had felt as though everyone was acting against her. The way Chamsu Dorjee left without saying goodbye made her even angrier. She cursed him secretly. However， upon seeing him she underwent a great transformation in her attitude. “Is that Dorjee？” she asked courteously. “Is everything going well in the town？ Sangjee， go fetch Dorjee a bowl of wine.” She handed over the flagon as she spoke. Dorjee accepted it， then looked around the house again. “Where is Penjee？” he asked.
“Probably off playing with some of the neighbours' children. Who knows？ She's such a mad girl.” Ama Chozom seemed to become angry when Penjee was mentioned， and she twiddled her prayer beads more quickly.
“Mom， she told you this morning that she was going to collect cow dung，” Sangjee said with a tone of mild reprimand. She took an enamel wine bowl from the square table and wiped it on her apron， then put a spoon of tsampa in and took the flagon from Dorjee. As soon as the highland barley wine mixed with the tsampa， a lot of bubbles sprang up. It looked tasty. Dorjee wetted his ring finger in the wine， flicked it three times[2]and drank it back. He passed the empty bowl to Sangjee who lowered her head shyly.
Ama Chozom was embarrassed to complain about Penjee too much in front of Dorjee. She stopped twiddling her prayer beads， thought for a while and said， “The town must be very boisterous. Why would you want to come back to this rural place after staying such a long time there？”She deliberately raised her tone to emphasize the word “rural”， seemingly wanting to touch Dorjee's sore spot.
Sangjee understood her mother's behaviour less and less. Since her brother moved in with the Blacksmith's family， she had been getting increasingly unreasonable. She scolded Penjee as a foolish donkey. Every time she heard kids playing outside she would run and drive them away， declaring that they were gloating over her. If a neighbour showed concern for her health， she would call him a hypocrite.
Sangjee caught Dorjee's eye and shook her head to ask him not to mind， but he hadn't caught Ama Chozom's meaning. “The town is not as good as we imagined，” he replied. “You can't earn any money unless you work extremely hard. I didn't find a good job this time and I didn't earn enough money to bring you much back.” Dorjee had originally intended to discuss this with Sangjee alone. When he encountered diffculties in the town， he had missed only Sangjee.
She took the bag from Dorjee and handed it to her mother. Ama Chozom did not open it immediately， but held it for a while in her arms. She didn't care how many things Dorjee had brought her. The only thing she wished was for him to marry Sangjee as soon as possible and stop being infatuated with life in the town. She wanted to show the other villagers that the Chamsu family looked up to her. Although Sangjee was the backbone of her family， she was willing to let her marry as long as Dorjee agreed. She thought they both mistakenly judged her to be materialistic. In her opinion， nothing was more important than reputation. She said nothing， sighed deeply and went on twiddling her prayer beads.
After Dorjee went to the town， Sangjee missed him torturously. She wished for him to come to her even in her dreams. Now she felt a little unfamiliar with the man sitting in front of her. She wanted to tell him how much she had missed him and what had happened to her family， but she couldn't say it out loud. She didn't even dare to look at him directly， but kept her head down and rubbed her apron.
Dorjee didn't know what to say to Sangjee either， and he just sat in silence for a long time. Her worn rubber shoes upset him. Finally， he couldn't help standing up and saying goodbye. Sangjee was a little depressed that he was leaving but she was careful not to show it. Ama Chozom didn't want to seem too enthusiastic. “Sangjee， go and see Dorjee off，” she said indifferently， turning her back to him， shuffing in her seat and continuing with her prayers.
Outside， the sun was too dazzling for Sangjee to open her eyes. She leaned on the door with no intention of accompanying him back. Dorjee stopped and magically produced a tartan handkerchief，asking， “Isn't this beautiful？” When she reached out to take it， he said in a low voice， “I want us to have a date someday. I have something to tell you.” Then he walked away immediately， afraid to be seen.
Sangjee stood in thought outside her house. Pu Village in the winter was deathly still. The leafless tree at the entrance of the village appeared rather lonely. The strong wind from the remote valley stirred up a layer of loess and blew it through the sere branches. The smoke from the kitchen chimney was occasionally blown away. The cow dung pasted on the wall was too dry and almost dropped off. Dorjee's words had left her with many possibilities to imagine. She could not stop guessing his mind.
3
New Year was drawing nearer and nearer. The silent village gradually came to life. A group of housewives gathered beside the well in the chill wind. They used gravel to wash pots full of greasy dirt， as though they wanted to wash them to destruction. The butcher's house was much busier than it was the rest of the year； during these cold days， many people took their cows and sheep there to have them slaughtered.
Aside from several rich families， most households in the village had no major preparations to make before the Spring Festival. For families with no cows and sheep， it was just like any other day. At most， they might fry some oily treats for the children or exchange some highland barley for candy at the supply and marketing cooperative.
The goods on offer at the cooperative were generally more expensive than those in the town but it also had its advantage： you could pay with highland barley. Several kilograms of highland barley would get you one or so kilos of candy. Half a bag of barley was enough for a pair of rubber shoes. The people from Pu Village who took their purple highland barley to the cooperative were usually looked down on by the salesclerk. They had to offer double or triple the barley for the same goods. Some naughty kids stole barley from home to exchange for candy on the sly， and their families often ran out of tsampa by the end of the year as a result.
Highland barley wine was the most important commodity for the people of Pu Village during the Spring Festival. It didn't matter if it tasted good as long as there was enough. To this end， housewives usually extracted the barley five or six times. You can imagine how tasteless it was. There weren't many other requirements for celebrating the occasion. Suffcient highland barley wine and tsampa would be enough to make it joyful.
Sangjee's family's festival was more cheerless this year than usual. Their brother was celebrating it with Blacksmith Tashi's family and they hadn't heard from Dhajee since she left with Uncle Tsering. On the night of December 29th by the lunar calendar， only Sangjee， Penjee and their mother were sitting around the furnace. Their “Guthuk” (the traditional dinner for Spring Festival Eve) was boiling in a porcelain pot over the three-legged stove. The flame in the stove lit their faces. Ama Chozom kept the same pose： a rough porcelain flagon in her left hand and a string of prayer beads in her right， muttering in a low voice， “Om Mani Padme hum. Om Mani Padme hum …”
“Mom， let's start，” Penjee pouted. “The Guthuk boiled ages ago！”
“Take it off the stove. Put the Hanyang pot on for tea. Guthuk is always more delicious before you eat it”， said Ama Chozom， twiddling her string of prayer beads.
They could hear the exorcism going on outside. A voice cried， “Get out， you evil succubae！ Get out！” As the sound grew louder and louder， the whole village became active. Penjee rushed out and leaned against the door to watch the flickering flames. The night sky was lit up， leaving no dark place for succubae. The village kids rarely experienced such a lively time on any other night of the year. They all were very excited， laughing， playing and following behind the adults.
The exorcism was the business of village men. On this night，all the women and girls were succubae. During the exorcism， the female villagers had to stay inside， or else they would be declared succubae and have their pigtails burned off.
Accompanied by the intermittent “Pa！-Pa！-Pa！-Pa！” of fire-crackers， Penjee saw a man with a torch coming towards her house. She immediately closed the door. Pu Village didn't keep the custom of setting off firecrackers during the festival because most families couldn't afford them. When Blacksmith Tashi's son Wangchuk came back for the festival last year， he brought fireworks that really captured the village kids' imaginations. The sound was almost loud enough to wake the dead， and the smell of black powder permeated the air for several days. Today， the sound of firecrackers seemed not to come from Tashi's house. Penjee could not help looking outside through a crack of the door.
The voice crying， “Get out， you evil succubus！ Get out！” was getting closer and closer. “Sister， it's firecrackers！” Penjee shouted. “Firecrackers set off by Chamsu Dorjee！” Full of excitement and surprise， Penjee could not even express herself clearly. She had no idea that Dorjee had come to see her sister.
“Why are you surprised？” Sangjee replied. “He was here a few days ago. He brought us some candy and soap powder.” Sangjee pretended to be indifferent and even used the irreverent term “he”. After saying this， she regretted it a little.
“Why didn't you tell me？ You all treat me like a fool！” Penjee said and ran to her room angrily. The voice of the exorcism outside was gradually becoming fragmented.
“The exorcists have already gone， right？” asked Ama Chozom expressionlessly.
“It's finished. And we're the only ones who haven't eaten dinner，”Penjee complained. Even she wasn't sure who she was angry with.
“Sangjee， time for dinner！ Offer a sacrifice to the Buddha first and put it on the shrine. Don't forget Dhajee.” Finally， Ama Chozom put her flagon on the ground. She twiddled her string of beads and prayed again by putting them to her forehead. Then she handed them to Penjee who hung them on the pillar.
“How about a bowl for brother？” Sangjee asked tentatively.
“Absolutely not. He's not my son anymore！” Ama Chozom almost roared， and immediately began to cough. Sangjee stopped her work， patted her mother's back gently and poured her some wine. After a long time， her cough finally ceased.
In past years， eating Guthuk with the kids talking and laughing around her had been Ama Chozom's favourite time. Guthuk was thick and contained a lot of meat. Every year before the festival， she would try to save enough money to either buy mutton or get it on credit. The aroma of meat pervadeing the house as soon as the lid of the pot was lifted. Some of the dough balls contained wool， pepper or salt that were supposed to comment on the finder's character. Every time one of her daughters found one， she would tell everyone and the family would laugh together. At those times， she could feel the Buddha's blessing.
This year， Ama Chozom bought some oily desserts instead of mutton， their Guthuk was made with soup boiled from last year's sheep bones and there was no stuffng in the dough balls. She was indifferent to the dinner. Sangjee still made succubae with dough and put them beside the broken pot.
Sangjee and her mother both had matters weighing on their minds. They ate slowly. Penjee alone ate ravenously， continually smacking her lips as though she were eating the most delicious food in the world. “Could you stop smacking your lips？” Ama Chozom shouted suddenly with a furious glare at her youngest daughter. “Haven't you ever eaten food？” Penjee was full， but started licking her bowl.
“Why did you finish？ You should have some left，” said Sangjee and filled her sister's bowl.
Ama Chozom could not help picturing the scene in Blacksmith Tashi's house： his family and her son eating Guthuk together. No matter how hard she worked， only very little would be left over from the dinner. She asked Sangjee to take out the three pieces of paste they had prepared and to give everyone a piece each. She rubbed the paste again and again， touched it to her head and prayed， “There are twelve months in a year， three hundred and sixty-five days and nights. There are four hundred and sixty kinds of pains and diseases and more than eighty kinds of evil influences. Please take them all to the other side of the East Sea.”
Next， she tore a thread from her shirt and stuck it into the paste. She held the paste tightly until her fingerprints were left on it. Then she spat on it and threw it into the broken pot. At last she poured the leftover Guthuk on the succubae in the broken pot and murmured， “This is not the food we saved， but the food we left.”
Sangjee and Penjee followed their mother， putting the paste that had touched their bodies into the broken pot and pouring their leftovers onto it. As there were no men in the family， Sangjee didn't know whether she should light the torch for the exorcism. However， Penjee took out the barley-straws they had prepared. “Forget it，”said Sangjee. “We'll send the succubae away without the torch.”
“Definitely not，” Ama Chozom said firmly. “The succubae must be driven away. We've suffered so much this year. We should drive them away carefully. Sangjee， you take the pot and walk ahead. Penjee， you hold the torch and follow your sister.” Ama Chozom suddenly felt excited， as though the torch could drive their bad luck away from the house. “Throw the porcelain pot. Don't turn your head back. Make sure you don't turn back，” she enjoined her daughter again and again.
“Get out， you evil succubae！ Get out！” the girls cried. Penjee walked around the yard holding the torch. In Ama Chozom's mind， the succubus was Tsomo who stole her son from her. Feeling that Penjee's prayers were not fierce enough， she sat on the ground and joined in：“Get out， you eye-protruding succubae！ You doughkneading white-handed succubae！ Get out！” Her face was contorted with excitement and hatred， making her look horrific. If Tsomo had been present， she would have been scared to death.
They brought the rite of exorcism to its conclusion. In the quiet night， the yard was lit only by the torch in Penjee's hand. The footsteps of the two sisters sounded heavily. The endless darkness made Penjee tremble with fear. Holding the broken pot， Sangjee walked ahead looking up at the sky. There were no stars tonight. She could not help shedding a few silent tears. On the same day of previous year， Sangjee had walked ahead with the pot but her elder brother followed her with the torch. The simple but powerful sound of the exorcism gave Sangjee a feeling of warmth on her back that spread over her whole body.
4
The people of Pu Village had a crazy crush on New Year's Day. If families argued on that day， they would have no harmony for the rest of the year. If anyone worked on that day， they would remain busy for the rest of the year. If you visited your relatives on that day... Because of these taboos， no one knew how to kill the time. No work， no visits and no communication with each other made Spring Festival especially cheerless. The laughter of local kids playing games drifted through the door and stirred up the empty minds of the mother and her daughters.
Ama Chozom felt sick to her stomach. Her breakfast was “burning up” in her stomach and hurting her chest. She stopped twiddling her beads and put them around her neck. Leaning all the way forward without leaving her chair， she pulled over the box of tsampa and accurately threw a spoonful into her mouth. This action was totally unlike her usual awkwardness. She closed her eyes and waited for it to put out the fire in her stomach.
This day of inactivity made Sangjee very agitated. She kept expecting the door to open and reveal Dorjee. The annoyance of waiting made her forget the taboos. She opened up the board of the weaving machine， sat lightly beside it and began to work. As soon as she started， however， her mother's sharp voice stopped her. Just then， a thought seemed to occur to Ama Chozom and she deliberately softened her tone. Sangjee left the weaving machine and took out a heap of wool. She sat beside her mom and started splitting the wool up. Ama Chozom grasped a handful and joined in.
Penjee was also annoyed and visibly so. A film projection team from the County visited Pu Village at this time every year to show films. It was a village tradition that no one wanted to miss. Of course， the outdoor movies wouldn't start until night began to fall but that wouldn't stop the villagers from getting dressed up. In past years， her mother had usually gone to the supply and marketing cooperativetoexchangesomethingforapairofgymshoesorashicooperative to exchange something for a pair of gym shoes or a shirt for her. However， since her elder brother left this year， her family's livelihood was as messy as her hair， which could not be tidied no matter how you combed it. She went off in dejection to look for some clothes in the room.
The year before last， her sister made her a Tibetan robe and she had never worn it. She wanted to wear it today but she was afraid that her mom would blame her for her ignorance. She gave a deliberate theatrical cough. When her sister turned around， she beckoned silently for her to come in. Sangjee was also a little excited about the movies that night. Dorjee would surely be there. He loved the lively event. He liked to go anywhere that was lively. Sangjee helped her sister find the robe and let her borrow her own apron. In the new robe and her sister's apron， Penjee turned herself around and around. Her annoyed appearance turned happy for a moment but quickly fell back to dissatisfaction. “Sister， my shirt is worn，” she complained. “I am too ashamed to wear it.”
In Penjee's eyes， Sangjee was much more amiable than their mother. She acted like a girl to her mother in front of Sangjee. When Sangjee looked at her younger sister's innocent appearance， love rose up in her heart. She rummaged among the things that they had just tidied up but she still couldn't find a decent shirt. She suggested that Penjee should ask to borrow a shirt and a pair of zomba shoes[3]from one of their neighbours.
As they were whispering， the door opened slightly and the dark red face of Norbu Tenzin appeared. Ama Chozom could not see clearly who was coming in. “What are you two doing in there？” she shouted. “Come and see who's here！”
Spring Festival in Pu Village was a festival for men and children. The naughty kids looked forward to days without scolding， while the men who loved drinking looked forward to days when they could drink as much as they wished. During Spring Festival， the air itself was scented with highland barley wine. When Penjee ran to the door and， to her surprise found her elder brother standing there， the unmistakable breath of a drunken man overpowered her. “Mom， it's my brother！” she shouted excitedly and as loudly as if her mother's ears worked as poorly as her eyes.
“You still remember you have a mother？！” Ama Chozom asked in feigned confusion. Her lips quivered with rage.
Dressed in a black pulu and a pair of dust-covered high boots， Norbu Tenzin stood stiffy in front of his mother with a bag in his hand. He was thinner than he used to be， but better dressed. The high boots in particular made him look more vigorous. When he was at home， Norbu Tenzin had begged her many times to buy him a pair of boots. None of the men in Pu Village disliked boots， and wearing a pair of boots to dance was their dream. While Ama Chozom could not make that dream come true， Blacksmith Tashi could.
Norbu Tenzin was duller now after nearly a year away. He sat in front of his mother and slowly spread the bag out on the ground， saying， “Here are some steamed buns with mutton stuffng that Tsomo made for you.”
Sangjee felt like laughing at her clumsy elder brother， but she also felt sad in her heart. She poured a bowl of barley wine for him. At that moment， Norbu Tenzin seemed to realize that his two younger sisters were also there. He gave them a strange smile. His caution immediately distanced him from the family.
“I've eaten mutton buns！” Ama Chozom snapped. “Don't show that damn Blacksmith's buns off before us！ Even though I'm poor， I will not accept his food.” She had become embittered following the calamity in her family. Over the months， her hatred for her son had lessened. Now， it was all directed at Tashi. She wore no smile for anyone and every word she spoke was acerbic.
When Tsomo suggested sending Ama Chozom some buns early in the morning， Norbu Tenzin had expected the current situation. He knew his mother well and he feared the sharpness of her tongue. However， with his father-in-law's persuasion， he had drunk several bowls of barley wine to boost his courage.
He intended to tell her that Tashi's family was not as insidious as she thought and that they asked him to bring her the buns， but on second thoughts he felt it was useless to tell her any of that. She was too stubborn to listen to a word. In the end， he just drank silently. Penjee felt a bit sorry for him. She took a bun from the bag and moved it towards Ama Chozom's mouth， saying， “Brother brought us buns because he misses you. Take it， mother.”
“You famished punk！ Haven't you ever seen buns？” Ama Chozom shrieked， clearly infuriated by Penjee's actions. She snatched the steaming bun and threw it in her daughter's face. Penjee burst into tears. Standing aside， Sangjee and Norbu Tenzin were too stunned and surprised by their mother's reaction to know what to do. “Stop your crying！” Ama Chozom shouted. She stood up to beat Penjee but her joints were creaky from staying in her chair too long and she had to sit back down again. Penjee's crying grew louder， prompting a surprised neighbourhood boy to climb the stairs and peer in. Ama Chozom became even more infuriated. “Keep crying then！” she snarled. “See if I care！ Just tell everyone that your mother is dead， you unlucky famished punk！”
Ama Chozom's scolding of Penjee was like a whip lashing Norbu Tenzin's heart. He got up slowly and walked to the door. Sangjee ran to him hastily and said， “Brother， stay a little longer. Mother will get better in a while.”
“I'm sorry， I...” he started， then stepped out without finishing. Sangjee could tell that he was choked with sobs. As the door creaked closed， she felt so sore inside that she couldn't help sobbing too. “Sangjee， don't cry，” Ama Chozom said， showing her partiality for her eldest daughter. “Today's the first day of the New Year. It's unlucky to shed tears.” She had a hazy sense of guilt upon seeing Sangjee weeping， so she softened her tone. “Take the ornamented Tibetan robe and borrow some shoes from the neighbours. Let Penjee wear them to see the film. Wash your face and go with her if you want.” She wiped her wrinkled eyes on a yellow silk handkerchief and continued twiddling her prayer beads as though she had seen through earthly life.
5
The news that the film projection team were coming swept over Pu Village a few days before. The head of the township wanted the projectionist to be picked up before noon on the first day of the year. Who could do it？ The head needn't have worried about it because every family wanted the glorious job； to jauntily drive a donkey cart or a carriage to pick up the projectionist and bring him to the village flatland in full view of all the people. How proud they would be！ However， the Village Head， Ajya Tinga still had her doubts. The task used to be assigned to Norbu Tenzin who was now the son-in-law of Blacksmith Tashi. The villagers wouldn't have had any complaints about dispatching him to work on an ordinary day but the Village Head felt it improper to send him to work on New Year's Day. Hence， she removed his name from her mind for luck. It also seemed improper to assign the task to a seventeen-year-old. They were energetic but unsteady. After thinking for a while， she finally decided to choose Chamsu Dorjee. He had recently bought new wheels for his cart and he always used horses to draw it， which looked quite decent.
The children of Pu Village looked forward to seeing a film more than anything else. When Dorjee left the village to fetch the projectionist， their anticipation grew. In order to divert their attention from anxious waiting， they began to make stools with mats， mud bricks or stones and to look for the best positions. Some wore jet-black pulus and some wore new clothes. Others remained unwashed and unkempt. It was unwise to judge a Pu Village family by their child's clothes； they had a custom that people without new clothes could borrow them from their neighbours on festival days. For the poor， borrowing clothes from the rich was as ordinary as borrowing a broom.
Sunset finally came. Except for those who were blind or sick in bed， all the villagers gathered on the flatland one after another. In Pu Village， seeing a film was a good excuse for a grand gathering. Before it， the women took the chance to compare clothes with each other and feast their eyes on their collective finery. On this day， the ornate headdresses of the rich that had been stored for a year were brought to light again， stimulating great envy in all the women of the village. Whether they are from big cities or remote villages， women seem to share a surprisingly similar understanding of happiness that nice clothes and expensive ornaments are the ultimate goals of their lives. Afterwards， the main topics of conversation between girls and housewives would be： Whose apron was the most beautiful？ Whose shirt was the brightest？ How many coral beads had been added to this or that girl's headdress， or how many of her turquoise beads had been lost？
As for the men of Pu Village， they seemed born to the barley wine. They would drink whenever they could， despite labouring or having a meeting. On this cold New Year's Eve they sat in a circle and passed around silver bowls filled with wine. They talked about whose bowl was the largest or whose had the most gorgeous and complicated carving. Only the children went there for the film. For a whole year they had been waiting to see the words “August First”[4]sparkling in the middle of a yellow star emblazoned across the screen. They believed it heralded a war film worth seeing.
In Pu Village， everyone knew their Village Head Ajya Tinga was born with the characteristics of a man. Today， however， she expressly dressed herself up and brought a very shiny wine pot. For fear of being despised by the County projectionist， she ran to wash it especially in the cold stream. The wine in the pot was the good stuff that she denied herself a taste of at ordinary times. When the orange-yellow liquor poured down the spout and into the tsampa-filled bowl， bubbles sizzled up and suffused an exquisite fragrance all around. Although it was good manners to compliment the flavour of the wine， the haughty projectionist made no attempt to express his thanks at all， leaving Ajya Tinga somewhat disappointed.
As both village head and ordinary villager， she had become accustomed to the attitudes of people in the County. She kept her affable smile and sometimes helped them pass things， sticking out her tongue all the while to show respect. Still， some people could not understand her. With drunken， devilish grins on their faces， they said， “Our duteous village head. If you fill the wine bowl more diligently， speak more sweetly and smile more brightly， there will be some good for you after the film.” A riot of laughter followed. Despite even this， she maintained the bearing of a village head. She seemed not to hear their teasing and smiled affably as though she were an actress on the stage， dispiriting anyone who tried to embarrass her.
Dressed in new clothes and scented with camphor， Penjee came to
the flatland feeling unnatural. Her new clothes， still creased， and her rainbow-bright apron seemed too much for a dull girl. Sometimes she touched the apron or looked down at the borrowed shoes and felt extremely ill at ease. She simmered with this unnatural feeling to such an extent that she forgot her sadness.
Today， Chamsu Dorjee stole the show. When he jauntily drove his carriage bringing the projectionist to the flatland， people spontaneously made way for him as though they were welcoming an eminent monk. The attention of the crowd made him proud and his vanity willfully swelled. He was flattered to the utmost. He indulged in pride like an innocent child and deliberately lifted his head up high. In his eyes， there was disregard towards the crowd. Even his beloved Sangjee had disappeared from his mind. He wore a pair of dark-blue jeans under his black pulu to show his connection with the city. However， it was the jeans that made him cut a swathe.
Just as he was approaching the projector stand， Dorjee noticed some glints of mockery in the eyes of the onlookers which was unbearable for a man from a rich and eminent family. He was staring back defiantly when he spotted someone pointing at his crotch. He wondered if there was something wrong with his jeans but he dared not look down to check in front of everyone.
“Someone propped up a tent and its pole seems hard. A girl will suffer tonight！” cried a voice in the crowd. This woman's vulgar joke caused a burst of fitful laughter. Dorjee involuntarily lowered his head and saw that he had risen as high and proud in his jeans as he had upon his carriage. “More than one girl will suffer，” he replied， attempting to conceal his embarrassment with a joke. These jeans that linked him with the town had failed to function properly； they halved his pride in his finest moment.
No matter how much women disliked the dark night that obscured their dresses and no matter how much the men drank， to the delight of the children， it finally fell dark and the film began. The title was an unexpected and unfamiliar group of curving letters.The flatland resounded with the sound of “hush”. Children sitting in the front put their fingers in their mouths to make shrill whistles. Some people at the back stood up to watch. Due to a commotion in the front row， clouds of dust were raised on the flatland. However， none of this influenced the projectionist or his assistant at all. They sat indifferently beside the projector like two deaf men， seeming not to hear the “hushing” at all. On one side， however， the village head stamped her feet with anger， itching to slap any child who brought shame to Pu Village before people from the county town.
A beam of light lit the screen and a man and woman appeared，both of whom had blonde hair and blue eyes and spoke in the elegant Lhasa language. Another commotion arose in the crowd but it was soon drowned out by the clicking of the projector. People could neither clearly hear nor guess what the two characters were saying. However， they calmed down after a while and their own imaginations slowly blended with the desiderative plot. In Dorjee's plot， he was the very handsome hero and the woman twining herself around him was none other than Sangjee. Immersed in this fantasy， he felt waves of desire pulse through him as his plot unfolded.
The hero and the heroine were lovers. It seemed that only through a lingering kiss and a blistering sex scene could they express their deep love for one another. The fervent onscreen kiss roused chaos in the crowd. The children grabbed handfuls of sand and threw them at the “shameless” people on the screen. Men and women with relatives present lowered their heads in deep embarrassment. Elderly people attempting to join in the fun made their excuses and set off home. The Village Head was the most embarrassed of all. She thought her recent warnings to the children to be quiet and pay attention would be understood as her encouraging them to watch this kind of film. She ceased to say anything when they threw sand at the screen and sat there hoping and praying that the projector would break down.
Sangjee's quiet home contrasted sharply with the bustling flatland. Pacified by barley wine， her enraged mother had fallen asleep. Sangjee snuffed out the oil lamp. What had happened today made her heart tremble， and it kept flashing in her mind no matter how hard she tried not to think of it. The unchangeable past and the unpredictable future were like the long， cold winter nights in Pu Village， making her shiver constantly. She heaved a great sigh and buried her head in her arms.
6
That small flatland witnessed almost every Pu Village ceremony：the welcome ceremonies for County leaders and working teams， the celebration of Ongkor Festival and Losar， the Tibetan New Year. On the second day of the year， the flatland became lively again. People gradually gathered there after lunch. Besides their clothes， their baskets wrapped in headbands was another way for people to stand out. Fried barley occupied a large space in the bottom of the basket； above that were the milk slices that were daily snacks for Pu villagers； only several candies and dried fruit on the top layer could really distinguish its owner from the others. Why？ Even tasteless candy with colourful wrappers was enviable. To this end， Pu villagers preferred to exchange their savings with vendors in the town for such status-raising candy.
Upon waking up in the morning after a whole night's sleep， Ama Chozom left her bad mood in her dreams. Surprisingly， she dressed herself up and cracked a rare smile which， according to her， was a symbol of luck. “Girls，” she called. “Go wash yourselves up and drive the bad luck away. You can go to the flatland if you want. Just remember to prepare a pot of wine in the courtyard. Be happy， or others will laugh at us.”
“Mother， I don't want to go out，” Sangjee replied nonchalantly. “I'll stay here and keep you company. Just let Penjee go.”
“You'd better go together. Keep an eye on your sister in case she ruins those borrowed shoes.”
With her mother's permission， Penjee pestered her elder sister much more to go with her. Actually， Sangjee sometimes felt envious of her sister's temperament. It seemed as though nothing could upset her. She was always carefree in spite of any trouble. “Sister， what if we came back early？” Penjee implored， shaking her sister's clothes like a little girl. A song drifted on the wind from the flatland and into Sangjee's ears in waves. It was her favourite song ：
What a pity that a ladder can't reach the heavens！
If it could， I would go there
And pray to the Gods for a clairvoyant
To take a look at my lover.
What a pity that the wind can't be ridden to the sky！
If it could， I would fly over there
And land beside my lover
So as to tell him my heart...
Sangjee was stirred by the song and a tender expectation rose in her heart. Finally， she nodded. “Okay， let me change my clothes，”she said. “You prepare some pastries and a kettle of barley wine. Don't put too much yak butter.”
After chatting for quite a while in the back room， the two girls finally got ready to set off. Sangjee seemed much changed after dressing herself up. The expression in her eyes was very different from that of Dhajee， the sister adopted by their uncle. She looked very shrewd in her bright red and green blouses， the green collar embracing the red one， and her black ornamented Tibetan robe. The women of Pu Village liked to wear many shirts under their robes. Their multi-coloured cuffs were like rainbows. Wearing a broad red，black and green apron， a pulu with golden hems over her robe and a belt decorated with a silver ornament around her waist， she looked elegant and graceful. Only her worn shoes struck a discordant note and broke the harmony of her appearance.
The appearance of Sangjee and Penjee aroused disorder in the crowd. Several girls that had been dancing in a circle ran over to Sangjee， held her hands and looked her up and down. Their eyes were penetrating. At length， they found nothing particularly amazing and wandered away.
The flatland looked much more open in the winter. The noise of the kids was drowned out by the music of the adults. Songs pervaded the sky， the nameless mountains and the silent wilderness around Pu Village. New or old， leather or cloth， many shoes drummed on the ground， stirring up puffs of dust.
Because everyone wore new clothes and dazzling jewellery， people couldn't recognise each other. Only the Village Head Ajya Tinga was easy to identify from her man-like figure and her dark face soaked in the sunlight. Sangjee and her sister passed up the dancing circle and walked towards the Village Head. She tried to raise her plump body but failed and had to half kneel down to help Sangjee remove the basket. As soon as she sat down， Sangjee regretted it， for Chamsu Dorjee's family was sitting beside Ajya Tinga.
The coral necklace that had hung on Chamsu Ama's neck now adorned her daughter-in-law's. As the old saying went， a new bride would serve three years as a servant in her husband's family. It appeared that the daughter-in-law's hardship had come to an end. She haughtily fondled her necklace with a defiant expression. Sangjee avoided eye contact with her only to meet Dorjee's gaze. Suddenly flustered， she wasn't sure where it was safe to look.
At that moment， Dorjee casually took out a cushion from underneath himself and offered it to her. Before she could refuse， the Village Head accepted it on her behalf. It was still very warm. There was a custom in Pu Village that people shouldn't sit on cushions that were still warm from someone else， but Sangjee seemed to forget it. When the warmth spread from her buns to her heart， a long-lost happiness came back to her. Dorjee's action had an immediate effect on Chamsu Ama and her daughter-in-law. They both turned their backs. However， Chamsula seemed to approve and kindly extended his greetings to Ama Chozom， making Sangjee respect him all the more.
No one could tell how many generations had danced on this flatland. Up to the present day， people still danced the round dance and sang the antiphonal song of their predecessors. Dancing and singing outside fluttered with the wind. In terms of dancing and singing， Pu Village always took its place at the front and had never been bested. On such a significant occasion， however， they felt it was important to repeat what they did on past Spring Festivals without making any changes.
Blacksmith Tashi was an “artist” in this village： he was good at dancing， singing and playing both the Tanenchien and the Erhu. He came to the flatland early on every second day of the New Year. His hoarse singing was like a voiced baton appealing to resonant choruses. His brisk dancing steps were those of a young man. However， his brisk figure was not to be seen on the flatland this year.
While twilight merged with darkness， everyone was absorbed with dancing and singing. As the music died， drunken men always made jokes that filled the flatland with laughter. The dirtier the jokes， the more lubricious the women's laughter. A chill wind blew. At last， the older folk couldn't bear the cold and reluctantly went home. The children could fight their drowsiness no longer and slipped into their warm woolen quilts. Drunken men stumbled home supporting each other， leaving only a few people still dancing and singing on the flatland. The young men chatted casually.
Sangjee seldom drank but now she couldn't refuse the persuasion of her fellows and drank one bowl after another. Before long， she was feeling the effects. Chamsu's family members gradually left for home. Only Dorjee and the daughter-in-law remained， leaning against each other. Dorjee， who had drunk deep， took the advantage of the cover of darkness to sit beside Sangjee regardless of the daughter-in-law's disapproval. He held Sangjee's hand and stroked it as though they were alone. Sangjee didn't brush him away. Chamsu's daughter-in-law was extremely mad but she couldn't show it. After all， Dorjee had not yet married her. She made oblique accusations but received no response. At last， she picked up her stuff and left without hesitation.
Free from the daughter-in-law's surveillance， Sangjee relaxed and squeezed Dorjee's hand tight. Her guilty conscience was gone. How she wished that the night would last forever. However， all good things must come to an end. The last drunken stragglers tottered and supported each other back. Dorjee and Sangjee tacitly fell behind. No one reacted to this. Maybe they didn't even notice， or maybe they were used to it. Whenever young lovers were together， “something” would happen. Before long， there would be either a happy ending or a tragedy. Such endings always became the hottest topics in the village for a long time， then faded away and finally vanished as though nothing had happened.
Under the influence of a lot of wine， Sangjee threw off her bashfulness and led Dorjee to the hillside pasture of Pu Village. She had grazed goats there since she was a child and she knew every foot of it. Now she was leading him by the hand to a small cave which gave shelter from the wind and rain. The swishing sound of the wind blowing over withered grass was faintly discernible outside. Dorjee seldom herded livestock so he was unfamiliar with the terrain. While he was trying to figure out where they were， Sangjee threw herself into his arms， embraced his neck tightly and rubbed his face with her cheek. Her hair falling soft on his face aroused a strong impulse in his blood. Without honeyed words or tender fondling， two flames in the chill cave repeatedly sought each other's depths. Merry groans echoed in the valley.
Pu Village fell asleep in the tranquil night. The silence was only disturbed by the occasional bark. After the flames died down， Dorjee incessantly expressed his feelings with scurrilous words. Sangjee sobered up and resumed her usual shyness. Her face was flushed when she thought of what had just happened. In order to stop Dorjee saying such embarrassing things， she repeatedly directed the topic back to his life in the town， asking jokingly if he had ever had such an experience before. As Dorjee began to talk， Sangjee regretted asking him.
Dorjee and his friends had rented a house next to that of a woman who had come to spin in the town. The woman cared for Dorjee much more than an ordinary neighbour would. His friends often dropped in to visit her but she always gave them the cold shoulder. Only when Dorjee came would she take out the pancakes and dried meat that she was normally reluctant to use up； sometimes she even treated him with wine. Once after drinking， she actively asked him to spend the night. It seemed as though her boldness and initiative had left so deep an impression on Dorjee that he remembered every detail. It saddened Sangjee that he spoke without any sign of guilt， but she didn't scold him or cry. She became more and more withdrawn as his story went on. At length， Dorjee realized this and became unhappy. “It's common for a man to have affairs outside，”he said. “As the old saying goes， 'A man cannot avoid having many wives'. Besides， I haven't married her.”
This was true. It was nothing at all in Pu Village. The amount of children without fathers was a testament to that fact. Sangjee couldn't declare her true feelings on this point and she felt extremely uncomfortable.
“Sangjee， come back to the town with me，” he said abruptly. “It's fashionable now for people there to wear hand-weaved pulus. You can spin wool and weave pulus in the town and I'll find a job as a construction worker. We'll live a good life together. There are many people from rural places like us in the town.”
Sangjee had never thought of working in the town. Could a woman like her who had never been to any town live in a city？ How unimaginable！ She was nevertheless delighted by Dorjee's commitment to her， but she didn't have any opinion on whether she would go with him.
It was nearly dawn when they arrived back at the village. This was the coldest time. Sangjee's belt around her Tibetan robe wasn't fastened tightly and the biting wind blew in， making her shiver uncontrollably. She stopped and stood still for a while， then put her hand through the hole to pull open the door bolt. The loud screech startled her. Holding her breath， she confirmed that her mother was fast asleep before sneaking to her bed. She felt Penjee looking at her in the darkness. She was afraid that her sister would question her，but to her relief， she didn't say anything at all.
Due to the cold and the excitement， Sangjee couldn't fall asleep at all. What had happened flashed in her mind. She thought of the woman who had had a sexual relationship with Dorjee. Sweetness， disappointment， melancholy and fear flooded her thoughts.
注释
[1]It is a Tibetan custom to show respect to others by sticking your tongue out. This is so they can see that you aren't speaking ill of them.
[2]Tibetan wine-drinking etiquette.
[3]A kind of Tibetan shoe famous for its beautiful patterns.
[4]The “August the First Film Studio” is the only military film studio； it was founded on August 1， 1952.