For me, the world is a book, walking is a kind of reading. Exile your body and mind in the mountains and rivers, perhaps just to find a novelty, perhaps just to seek a kind of peace. I used to be intoxicated and intoxicated in the dreamlike landscape of Guilin, once indulged in the primitive atmosphere of Leye Dashiwei Tiankeng, once lingered and lingered in Jiuzhaigou, a fairyland on earth, once wandered and wandered in the ingenious stone forest of Yunnan......

I haven't been to the Grand Canyon.

Originally, I thought the Grand Canyon was just a bigger canyon, just a ravine sandwiched between the mountains on both sides. There was nothing to look. However, when I walked through the Grand Canyon of Balagzon, I realized that I was completely wrong.

Balagzong Grand Canyon, a place that is not carefully marked on the map of Diqing Shangri-La. She is still a virgin land that has not yet been cultivated.

There is a village called Bala at the end of the canyon. She is located at the foot of Balagzon Mountain. She is like a leaf and grows in an almost isolated place. Just as any village in any place has its own story, Bala has some origins. About three hundred and sixty years ago, there was a chief of Snardoji in the area of Batang. He was brave and good at fighting, dominating one side, and was an awesome figure in the Kangba region. It is said that not only do people fear him, but even the tiger will shake its head and tail when it sees him. After fighting for most of his life, at the age of forty-two, the toast suddenly lost interest in what he had. He wanted to find such a place, a place that would not make him think of war, of looting, of swelling his desires. As a result, he sent more than 20 men and spent three years on every mountain and river in the Kangba Plateau. In the end, this prominent family in the Batang area suddenly disappeared. It turned out that they had settled down in the depths of a canyon at the foot of the sacred mountain that no one had ever set foot in. Today, only 30 of the 60 households that year remain.

Midsummer is a good time to visit the Grand Canyon. When I first entered the Balagzon Canyon, everything was so unexpectedly desolate. The barren hills on both sides confronted each other, squeezing the sky very hard into a winding blue ribbon. The strong plateau sunlight with strong ultraviolet rays passes through the canyon with a drop of nearly two kilometers, and also passes through the howling mountain wind from time to time, piercing the green Gangqu River. They soften into shimmering light on the cobblestone bed where the water flows gently.

More than ten kilometers of mountain road form a line on the mountainside, stretching to the north in a tortuous way. It is almost the same as the Gangqu River below. We rode on our horses and headed north in the direction marked by a line of blue sky. We walked on the most beautiful horse track ever seen in Yunnan, a country of caravan. The horse bell sometimes echoed on the plank road cut from the cliff, and sometimes lost in the flowers blooming in the grass beach in the singing of the Gangqu River. That kind of echo is the sound of the thousand-year-old tea-horse road. On the road under our feet, there used to be tens of millions of horses carrying salt, tea and medicinal materials, flowing back and forth between the snow and the Han land. The continuous sound of horse bells was mixed with the joy of Songtsen Gampo's welcome ceremony, as well as King Gesar's galloping battle trumpet, and the tired and determined footsteps of the Red Army going north.

Finally, the ancient tea-horse road went west at a fork in the road and took away the rhyme of the man shouting and hissing. We turned our horses around and continued north along the Gangqu River. The more we go forward, the traces of human history become more and more blurred, while the mountains and valleys and the flying flowers of vegetation become more and more abundant. The clear river gently turned over the white waves and gently disappeared into the thick and far-reaching clouds deep in the canyon. Behind the clouds, waiting for us is the Balagzong Snow Mountain, one of the three sacred mountains in the Kangba region. After we passed a quiet beach, the river suddenly roared, and the canyon suddenly tightened here. Standing in front of us was a huge stone peak that resembled Guanyin-Guanyin Peak.

"This is the gate to enter the kingdom of heaven." A fellow Kangba man said reverently. The front is their hometown, their home in heaven.

Leaving the Gangqu River Valley vertically up 700 meters, patches of green smoke like highland barley surround a dozen Tibetan houses, which is Bala Village. At that time, there are still more than ten families who abide by the concept of their ancestors and live in this inaccessible place. There is a white tower at the entrance of the village. Whenever there is an important event, people will raise cigarettes next to the white tower and let it float to the sparkling mountain in the west-Balagzon. Here, the village, the white tower and the sacred mountain form a magical axis, stringing together the survival, feelings and beliefs of the villagers. There are countless prayer flags on the White Pagoda. They are flying in the wind, like telling many dreams, large and small.

Hundreds of years is a very long time for individual life, but it is just a fleeting moment for history. The years have made the villagers and the mountain of Balagzong have forged an indissoluble bond. There is a zigzag horse track on the kilometer cliff opposite the village. Walking down from the dangerous horse track, you will reach the foot of Shenshan Mountain. At the foot of Shenshan Mountain is a natural pasture with lush grass, where the villagers' sheep live freely, some are gnawing grass meticulously, and some are looking up at the white clouds in the sky with full attention.

On that sunny evening, we stood at the foot of the mountain and stood in the middle of the sheep. The silhouette of the sacred mountain in the backlit light stands quietly in front of us. The radial rays behind the ridge shot into the blue sky, illuminating the white clouds nestling on the top of the mountain. Mountain wind slowly, slowly blowing, blowing a kind of cool heart, blowing away the heart that more or less impetuous, blowing away the corner of the eyes that if there is no melancholy. Unconsciously, heaven, the ground, people, God a piece of ethereal. Unconsciously, Shenshan is so natural and comfortable, washing us clean, from hair tip to toe, from skin to heart, from body to spirit.

When I really walked behind the broad and solemn expression of Shenshan, I discovered that a snow-capped mountain had such a rich connotation, such a long story of time, and such a delicate emotional statement. Facing the mountain top over the glacier, behind the snow peak is the door pile tower moss ground.

If there is no natural stone screen around the three sides, the door pile tower moss ground is like a standard football field the size of a piece of place. But that is only the result of our own eyes deceiving ourselves, and our eye's judgment of distance and scale has completely lost its role there. It is not until we see the light mule running downhill and becoming a few small black dots like commas in the "football field" that we will feel its huge and grand. Standing in the middle of the moss field, you will feel the pulsation of lava from the deep core of the earth, trying to push the surrounding mountains into the sky. Some of the spikes that kept stabbing into the blue sky collapsed, and some still stood stubbornly. Not only is it standing upright, it seems to be growing up hard.

There was a strange, desolate feeling in the air, as if one had arrived in another world. The dry white riverbed meanders from the end of the horizon, paving two or three green flat dams in the canyon. Into the river valley, found that life is still rich, still colorful. Azaleas of various colors stretched themselves against the wind in the crevices of the stones and bloomed brightly quietly. Snow tea stands gracefully in the bushes, quietly crawling out of smiles. Snow sheep haunt the nearby col and quietly open their curious eyes to us. An eagle may have circled around the wind, tired, and quietly stopped in the air, as if recollecting the lingering wind girl just now. Heading north along the riverbed, in the middle of the three stone peaks laid side by side, the large and square pagoda stood there quietly.

When we left, in front of the Mani pile at an altitude of more than 4,000 meters, the villagers took out the fine firewood that had been prepared long ago, and burned incense religiously, praying for the blessing of the sacred mountain.

The firewood soon burned, and the villagers put the collected incense cypress branches, and the white powder mixed with butter, highland barley powder, milk residue, etc. was also sprinkled into the fire. Smoke rose and drifted to heaven with the sound of whispering chanting. In the echoes of the mountains on all sides, the newly hung prayer flags fluttered quietly in the wind.

As we were about to leave, the well-dressed villagers gathered in front of the white tower at the entrance of the village with incense cypress branches in their hands. The Kangba boys put on their brave Tibetan clothes. They prayed to the White Pagoda and the sacred mountain to bless us. The tree incense lit up, the smoke drifted towards Balagzon, and the red prayer flags hung up the white pagoda. In an unprecedented quiet, all eyes were fixed on the prayer flags, watching the cigarette drifting quietly over the spire of the white tower. The men faced the mountain chanting loudly and shouting loudly. In the long and simple carols, the girls, children, young people and old people in the village all revolved clockwise around the White Pagoda.

Since then, there has been another prayer flag set up for us by the white tower at the entrance of Bala Village.

Many years have passed, and many scenes and people have been forgotten, but the Balagzon cannot be forgotten. I also know that even if I walked through Balagzon, I couldn't walk through that prayer flag.