This story dates back to 2007 when the Qinghai-Tibet Railway line was under construction. Bulldozers, drilling rigs, cranes and other large-sized machinery and equipment march slowly up from a distance on the horizon. Under tumultuous background noise, a group of railway builders arrive at the foot of the mountain and break ground for a new tunnel.
Passing by piles of rocks, railway builders happen to meet a middle-aged Tibetan woman, Yangjin, and her younger brother, Suolang. They hold butter lamps in their hands, and scatter a handful of highland barley to piles of rocks and ground as if they are having a memorial ceremony for someone. Seeing railway builders, Suolang bubbles over with enthusiasm and speaks the Tibetan language beyond the railway builders’ understanding.
He rushes to stop them from drawing close to piles of rocks. Yangjin puts down highland barley, mildly requests Suolang to come back in front of her, and gently wipes the shiny butter lamp under a perennial touch.
Returning back by his elder sister’s side, Suolang calms down and plays a small harmonica hanging on his bosom. This sounds like the running train instead of a certain melody. Yangjin calmly and affectionately stares at the piles of scattered rocks around her and whispers something with a sophisticate’s low and deep voice. Everyone listens to her narration. Time seems to travel backward 30 years ago...