Yang Zhijun

Yang Zhijun has won the National New Literature Award， the Contemporary Literature Award， Sina’s Best Literature Book Award， and the Best Favorite Works Award of Readers on China’s Best Moment List. Some of his works have been translated and introduced abroad.

This book tells the touching story of a Han boy named Xiaohai and three generations of his family， who devoted their youth and blood to protecting wild animals and plants in Sanjiangyuan area.

The Zasidler of Sanjiangyuan

Yang Zhijun

21st Century Publishing Group

February 2022

28.00 （CNY）

The sky is still blue， and the sun is still golden， too golden for me to look at， but the blue sky makes me feel like there is nothing to see. Uncle Bantou Wild Goose has never appeared， while only the golden eagle Little White is flying in a place where we can see.

The Red-billed Crow Yangyang sees me constantly looking out the window， feeling that only flying birds would catch my attention. He jumps up to the window and insists on going out. I put down the window glass and let him go.

He flows far away and soon comes closer， just a short distance from the car， barking at me with a quack. I suddenly realize that he seems to know something. He was talking to me， guessing what was on my mind， and answering my question.

The Red-billed Crow Yangyang follows the car for a while and then floats towards the golden eagle Xiaobai， saying something to him with a quack. The two birds soar off into the distance together and soon disappear.

At noon， we arrive at a place with rivers， mountains， and grasslands. Uncle Bayar tells us this river is called Ziqu， and this is the Ziqu Ferry.

We stop to relieve ourselves and eat something from the car before we start again. I look up at the sky， seeing nothing. I can’t see Uncle Spotted Goose， Golden Eagle Little White or Red-billed Crow Yangyang. I feel a bit uncomfortable： Why are they all gone？ Am I not good enough for them， or do they not like me anymore？

My mother wants to call Brother Gree to inquire about the information relating to the ambulance station. However， she is not able to get through， and there seems to be no signal. She furrows anxiously and says， “What should we do？ Maybe they have already started to take action， and the Black-necked Crane Aunt and the Tibetan Antelope bleating are gone.”

Uncle Bayar says， “It’s really difficult. I wish I could go back right away.”

“Uncle， let’s go back， and we won’t look for Dad anymore，” I say.

“What about your father？” Mom asks.

I don’t know， and I feel like my heart suddenly grew so big that it is filled with the missing father， the Black-necked Crane Aunt， the Tibetan Antelope bleating， and other animals left at the rescue station， as well as the missing Spotted Uncle Goose， the Golden Eagle Little White and the Red-billed Crow Yangyang， who may no longer like me. It is filled with so much worry， so much anticipation， and so much unhappiness. My heart is heavy. When I close my eyes， I can see everything：

Dad was waiting for me， and he was saying， “Xiaohai， I am here.” Black-necked Crane Aunt， Tibetan Antelope Bleating， and other animals left at the rescue station were all shouting at me： “Xiaohai， help me！ Xiaohai， help me！” The Golden Eagle Little White and the Red-billed Crow Yangyang didn’t talk to me anymore. They were going to find more fun friends. Uncle Bantou Goose flew in the highest sky， with an altitude of over nine kilometers， even higher than Mount Qomolangma. Suddenly， thunder and a flash of lightning occurred， and a white light that tore open the sky stabbed it like a sword. He fell from the sky， falling and falling， keeping falling. Dad ran over. Mom， me， and Uncle Bayar all ran over. We wanted to catch him， but I cried because I saw Uncle Spotted Goose torn by the lightning.

I opened my eyes and silently shed tears like an adult instead of crying.

A group of birds， similar in color to sparrows but larger， flied past the car window as if guiding my gaze to pay attention to the fields by the roadside.

Oh， what is that？ Many bull skeletons stood on the tall pile of stones， and their towering horns were as dazzling as stars. Mom was also watching， but there was no surprise in her eyes， only darkness and sadness. I knew what she saw was not a bull’s head but death， and I said to myself， “Mom， a bull’s head can also remain immortal， just like the Taurus in the sky. Mom， anything that glitters won’t die， just like Dad’s eyes.”

My father’s eyes had been fixed on me all the time， every day， every night， before and after “separation，” and it seemed he never stopped staring at me. Because in my thoughts， all the light came from Dad’s eyes.