Tomb Robbery: Immortality starts from Laojiumen

Cong Ye stood among the mountains. The snow-capped mountains that shot into the sky stood majestically, breaking through the blue sky. The tops of the mountains were covered with everlasting snow, and the tops were randomly surrounded by large piles of fluffy white clouds.

He took a breath, the thin oxygen flowing into his lungs, feeling refreshed.

After one and a half months, he finally arrived in Linzhi, Tibet.

There is no train here, and the only means of transportation are horses and oxen. Otherwise, you can only rely on your feet.

Cong Ye paid a lot of money to rent a horse and took Sangji, a local Tibetan he hired who knew Chinese, to Medog.

Medog was still further away, so Sanji suggested that Cong Ye stay in the central area of ​​Linzhi for one night and prepare supplies before setting off tomorrow.

Of course, Cong also adopted Sangji's suggestion.

Sangji was one of the very few Tibetans who did business with the Han people. He was introduced to him by someone under Master Jiu, and Cong was more trustworthy.

Cong Ye followed Sanji on horseback. He glanced around. The green grass poured down from the top of the hillside like ink. The sun was shining from the clouds. The air was thin but clear. A group of innocent-eyed cattle and sheep were gnawing on the hillside. The grass moves freely.

The scene in front of me is as beautiful as a painting.

Sanji had dark skin, bright eyes, and showed white teeth when he smiled. He liked the beautiful young man from Han behind him, who was as eye-catching as the brightest moon on the grassland.

"It's a coincidence that you're here. Today is the Workers' Cloth Festival and you're attending the party!"

Sangji said that in Chinese, it is customary to pause for one second every two or three words.

Cong also understood what he meant and asked him with a smile: "Can I participate too?"

After the founding of the People's Republic of China, news of the liberation of the whole of China spread to Tibet. The upper-class nobles of Tibet were wary of the Han people.

When Cong Ye arrived, many Tibetans saw that he was Han, with repulsion in their eyes.

Sanji laughed and waved his hand towards Cong Ye: "They won't, won't let you participate, you are Dawa!"

"what?"

Cong Ye smiled and repeated it with question: "Dawa?"

Sanji pointed to the sun in the sky: "Sun, moon, Dawa!"

Cong was stunned for a second and realized that Sanji was praising him.

"Thank you."

Cong Ye thanked him with a bright look on his face.

Arrived downtown.

Cong Ye got off his horse. Along the way, many people's eyes were focused on him.

You could tell he was Han at a glance, but he looked so bright that it was almost impossible to dislike him.

Sangji arranged a place to sleep. There was no hotel here, so Sangji found a family he knew and stayed at their home for the night.

The owner of this family is a farmer, with two sons, one daughter, countless cattle and sheep, and vast grasslands.

His attitude towards Cong Ye was friendlier than Cong Ye expected. He prepared a clean and warm room for Cong Ye, and invited Cong Ye to dine with his family.

Sanji said that this was a sign of hospitality from the host, and Cong did not refuse and sat with them.

The host was so enthusiastic that Cong directly called him Jura.

Seeing that Cong Ye was liked, Sangji felt happy and explained to Cong Ye: "Rura is what we call men and elders."

The host's two tall sons and a daughter, Cong also called them brother and sister.

These are the names that Sanji taught him.

Cong Ye also relied on Sanji to translate the conversation with Jura, but even so, it did not diminish Jura's enthusiasm.

Cong also felt a burning gaze resting on him. He looked over and collided with Jura's daughter.

Jura's daughter smiled shyly at him and lowered her head shyly.

Blessed as he was in his soul, Cong also had a bad premonition.

"Whoa!"

The heavy curtain was lifted.

Cong Ye glanced out of the corner of his eye and was suddenly startled.

The man who came in was as skinny as a stick, with a hunched body full of scars, and he was holding an iron pot bigger than his head.

He didn't dare to raise his head and respectfully stepped forward to pour hot milk tea into Cong Ye's cups.

It was clearly the twelfth lunar month of winter, but the man in front of him was only covered in tattered linen, and his skin was black and blue from the cold.

He was so thin that it looked like he had skin on his bones.

What Cong couldn't stand the most was the large chains around his hands, feet and neck that were thicker than his arms.

Cong Ye looked away stiffly, his heart no longer able to calm down.

Cong also learned about Tibet during this period before entering Tibet.

For a long time, Tibet has implemented a feudal lord dictatorship system that "integrates politics and religion", which is as dark and cruel as the serfdom system in medieval Europe.

Serf owners such as officials, nobles, and upper-class monks in monasteries, who account for less than 5.00% of Tibet's population, own almost all of Tibet's cultivated land, pastures, and most of its livestock.

Serfs account for more than 90.00% of the Tibetan population and are the private property of serf owners.

Serfs had no human rights at all and were not considered human beings.

"Butter tea, fried fruits, ancient noodles, beef and mutton..."

Sanji introduced Cong Ye one by one.

He was accustomed to serfs and did not have any emotional fluctuations like Cong Ye, "We eat like this on the Worker's Day."

Cong Ye twitched the corner of his mouth, tasting each of them one by one under the expectant eyes of Sanji and Jura, and gave his own feedback: "It's delicious!"

Sanji translated his words to Jura and the others, and everyone smiled.

Cong Ye's peripheral vision looked at the man trapped by the iron chain standing in the corner, huddled in the shadows.

At night, Sanji enthusiastically pulled Cong Ye to attend the lively party.

Accompanying them were the two sons and daughters of the host's family.

This was also the first time Cong came into contact with Tibetan culture.

Through Sangji’s narration, he learned the origin of the Gongbo Festival.

Legend has it that a long time ago, a foreign army invaded Tibet. The locals were unable to resist, so they had to ask for help from various places.

In order to defend their motherland and hometown, the Gongbu people formed a patriotic army and went to support them.

They embarked on the journey, but the soldiers regretted that they could not drink the highland barley wine for the New Year, eat the New Year snacks, or bake the New Year's green pine fire.

In order to commemorate the soldiers who bravely enlisted, the people of Gongbu sacrificed three animals every year to keep vigil for the soldiers. Over time, the custom of celebrating the Gongbu Year was formed.

When Cong Ye and the others arrived, there were already many people on the street.

Dancers walked through the streets, wearing masks, like ghosts and gods in paintings.

On the ground in the center, a painter draws auspicious pictures of eight treasures.

Seeing that Cong was also interested in this giant painting, Sangji introduced it to him:

"The Eight Treasures Map, the precious umbrella, symbolizes that all living beings are protected from intense heat, desires, obstacles, diseases, and evil;"

"The precious fish symbolizes that all living beings are protected from the suffering of reincarnation;"

"Aquarius, symbol, wealth!"

"The wonderful lotus symbolizes purity and destruction;"

"Right-handed conch means giving, Buddhism;"

"Auspicious knot, symbol, Buddha, infinite, wisdom, charity;"

"Victory building, symbol, wealth, power;"

"The golden wheel symbolizes the transmission of Buddha's teachings."