Loulan, Qiuci, Kumarajiva, Xuanzang.

Dunhuang’s soaring spirits, sandstorms that howl,

the Gobi’s vast silence, the polar’s edge—

echoes of a world untamed.

Grains of dust, countless hearts,

footsteps pressed into golden earth,

weaving the river of an ancient civilization,

its current flowing through the ages.

I hear the strains of silk and bamboo,

a distant orchestra lost in time.

I hear the wild horses cry,

their voices swallowed by the desert winds.

Mirages shimmer—

visions of glory, whispers of lament—

an aria stretching beyond time, beyond space.

Desolation. Solitude. The weight of eternity.

A sorrow fierce and grand.

The Silk Road.

The Western Regions.

Still, they call…