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A pot of butter tea
A feather
I met Sister Yun in the community owner group, her online name is "Slippery Cloud", which suddenly reminded me of Kangding City, where I had lived for a while, and the sense of intimacy was spontaneous, so I took the initiative to add her WeChat. Sister Yun entered Tibet when she was a young man, and later worked in Kangding, and only after retiring did she return to Guanghan with her family to settle down. Let's talk about the clouds of Paoma Mountain, the water of the Folding River, and the chain bridge of Yaba. She said that she taught me a few words of not-so-authentic Tibetan when she had the opportunity, and that after living in it for a long time, she would use simple everyday language. She invited me to her house several times for butter tea, because of work, the time was not arranged, and because she was embarrassed to bother, her mouth was so hungry that she did not act.
One afternoon in the fall, there came a voice call. Sister Yun said that she had hit a pot of butter tea and told me when I got off work, and she was waiting for me at the door of the unit. I didn't know what to say, and hesitated for a while before agreeing.
Sister Yun has already sent me good things for the second time. Last time, at the end of summer, she came back from a trip to Luding and told me with great interest to bring back some peaches and asked me to wait for her at the door of the unit. The peach is the fruit of a cactus, with a prickly outer sac wrapped in a juicy and sweet flesh. Although the seeds in the berries are rough and difficult to swallow, the special sweetness in the juice is something that no fruit has ever found.
Xiantao is a specialty of Luding and its bordering Kangding Guwe Town, over the Erlang Mountain, it will deteriorate and taste, many buyers who come to see it can not help it. After the Erlang Mountain Tunnel was broken, the journey was greatly shortened, and there were conditions for refrigeration and preservation, and the peach was finally loaded into the fruit plate of outsiders. It is produced in perennial wild cacti, which are rare in small numbers and are still rare. Sister Yun also sent a small bag of wild morel mushrooms - all of which are rare mountain treasures! I couldn't reciprocate, and I kept feeling uneasy in my heart.
Sister Yun directly shoved the teapot into my hand and told me to drink it while it was hot, and the rest would continue to drink tomorrow. She told me that she used the fresh ghee from the stone canal, and that there were relatives there, and that she would bring some when appropriate. The pot filled the two largest porcelain bowls in my house, at least two thousand milliliters. The rich aroma of tea made me take a deep breath and swallow a few sips before slowing down to savor. The mixture of ghee, brick tea, rice, walnuts, and milk fills the mouth, and the hot current warms up the whole body quickly.
In the slow tasting, I remembered two other unforgettable tea drinking experiences. In 1992, the third Gongga Pen Club was launched in Gu we and lasted 15 days, when I was 19 years old, because of several childish texts, I was encouraged by the teacher of Gongga Mountain magazine. I had the privilege of getting to know Teachers such as Remy Phuntsok, Ran Zhongjing, Gao Xufan, and Onim Shasga who already had a certain influence in China.
The spring of the apple blossoms always gives people unlimited hopes, but unfortunately, to this day, I have done nothing except my preference and reluctance for literature. At the end of the PEN meeting, Sister Qu Mei of the newspaper invited us to her house for tea, and her parents received us very warmly. It was learned at her home that her father was a well-known Tibetan scholar. At that time, I don't know how many times the butter tea was renewed, and I don't know how many bowls of barley wine I drank, and I fully saw the arrogance and integrity of the Khampa people.
In the winter of 2017, he was once again invited by the "Gongga Pen Society". Driving through the Erlang Mountain Tunnel, the Dadu River at the foot of the mountain is wrapped around like green silk, rejoicing, sorrow, attachment, yearning, and the emotions are complex like a bride who looks back step by step. When I left the Khampa region, where I had grown for more than twenty years, to work in a new place, I was not such a mentality. Many years ago, I listened to the sound of the waves at night, and the Dadu River was so fierce! The years have changed not only people's faces, but also the feelings of mountains and rivers.
In addition to the Chinese version, Gonggashan has developed a synchronous Tibetan periodical, and the new group of writers is full of vitality and excellent works. I was very happy to see Mr. Liemepincuo, who had been absent for many years and had been awarded various literary awards. Through the poetry editor and outstanding poet Loka Baima, I contacted Sister Sandan, who I had been obsessed with after the third PEN conference. I said I wanted to drink butter tea and the hotel didn't. In fact, there are many restaurants in Luding City that have tea to drink, but I think that those are not authentic enough, and the quality is completely incomparable with the ones they drink at home. Sister Sandan and Teacher Liemei Phuntsok invited me to go to Gu We or Kangding's house after the pen meeting, but because of the schedule, I could not make an appointment. Yang Renyi, an old classmate who works in Luding, let me "escape" for breakfast and drink tea at his house. He opened a pot helmet shop by the Dadu River. The rich aroma of tea and the seductive aroma of pot helmets once again made me feast.
It was time to return Sister Yun's teapot, and I drank a large bowl of thick tea and couldn't walk. The copper lotus flower screws the lid, the lower part of the pot is embellished with a circle of auspicious patterns, and the golden teapot with great ethnic style fascinates me for a while. After thanking her even, Sister Yun was a little angry: Don't be so polite, if you want to drink in the future, you can say it, we are not happy to be polite. Before parting, Sister Yun wanted to talk and stopped, and finally couldn't help but say: Sister A, my surname is Chen.
We looked at each other and laughed, and in the past few years that we had known each other, my sisters and sisters had shouted without asking each other's names.
Source: Sichuan Provincial Local History Work Office
Author: Ichigo
Contributed by: Party History Research Office of the CPC Deyang Municipal Committee (Deyang Municipal Local History Office)
Pictured: Fang Zhi Sichuan
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