81: Potala Palace

Eight o'clock in the morning.

Jiang Yuan's biological clock woke him up precisely.

As he got out of the bed, which was so comfortable it defied physics, and went to wash up, the automatic cooking module on one side of the compartment lit up with the sensor lights and began to operate silently.

By the time he sat down at the dining table, breakfast was already served.

Perfectly toasted bread with a glass of warm milk.

It seemed the current automatic cooking system could only handle simple meals that didn't require complex cooking techniques.

After eating, he stepped out of the vehicle.

The flatbed truck from the shipping company was already parked outside.

The driver responsible for the handover was gaping, staring blankly at the black and white sci-fi behemoth, the guardian, even forgetting to take a second look at the brabus g900, worth tens of millions, parked next to it.

Under the driver's almost reverent gaze, Jiang Yuan watched as the dust-covered brabus was secured and slowly driven away.

The old companion had completed its mission, and a new journey began.

Jiang Yuan turned and got back into the vehicle, starting the guardian.

The massive vehicle merged into Lhasa's morning rush hour traffic without any sense of clumsiness.

Along the way, this excessively avant-garde RV was a veritable attention magnet, with passersby stopping to take photos.

Even sharper-eyed individuals noticed that the car's license plate was — Zang A·RS111.

After parking the vehicle in a designated parking lot near the Potala Palace, Jiang Yuan walked the rest of the way.

He ascended the thousand steps, which made countless tourists cower, as if walking on flat ground.

While those around him leaned against the walls, panting and using oxygen tanks, his face remained calm, and his heart rate steady as he completed the entire climb with light steps.

Inside the palace.

The light suddenly dimmed.

Any form of photography is strictly prohibited here, and all electronic devices must be put away.

Jiang Yuan took off his sunglasses and used his eyes to experience this sacred snow-covered palace.

The air was filled with the rich scent of yak butter and Tibetan incense, a unique aroma blending history, dust, and faith.

Under the dim light were countless scriptures, thangkas, and Buddha statues.

Especially the stupas of the successive Dalai Lamas.

These were visual marvels built with tons of gold and tens of thousands of jewels.

They shimmered with captivating light in the gloom.

Here, gold was no longer a symbol of wealth, but the weight of faith.

Jiang Yuan walked through the narrow corridors, his fingers lightly brushing over the handrails polished by time.

Although he couldn't record it with a camera, the profound sense of history was deeply etched in his mind.

Emerging from the oppressive yet sacred gloom of the Potala Palace.

The sunlight once again fell upon him, carrying the unique heat of Lhasa.

Jiang Yuan stood at the best vantage point in Potala Palace Square, raised his nikon z9, and pressed the shutter, capturing the magnificent red and white palace.

This photo completed the tourist's check-in ritual.

Afterward, he put away his camera and turned to blend into the crowd, heading towards Lhasa's true "heart."

Barkhor Street.

This is a road built around the Jokhang Temple, and also a river of faith that has flowed for a thousand years.

If the Potala Palace represents the majesty of power, then the Jokhang Temple represents the fervor of faith.

Stepping onto the flagstone path, polished to a mirror shine by the footsteps and bodies of countless devotees, the atmosphere instantly changed.

There was no loud clamor here, only the rustling sound of hand-held prayer wheels and the continuous low murmurs of chanting.

Jiang Yuan's gaze swept through the crowd.

He saw not just tourists, but more often, the dusty pilgrims.

Some had foreheads covered in dust, some had worn-out Tibetan robes, and they wore simple kneepads and elbow pads.

From distant Eastern Tibet, Western Sichuan, and even farther places, they had traveled here, prostrating themselves with every step, measuring the earth.

In the square in front of the Jokhang Temple, this awe reached its peak.

Hundreds of devotees were densely seated or prostrated on the ground, kneeling for a long time towards the temple gate.

Jiang Yuan stood on the periphery, quietly observing this scene.

He had heard of a concept in Tibetan Buddhism:

Many of these prostrating devotees were not praying for their own glory and wealth.

They believed that the suffering in the human world had a fixed measure.

If they prostrated one more time, endured one more physical hardship, all sentient beings would suffer one less calamity.

What a magnificent compassion this was.

The slight restlessness in Jiang Yuan's heart, caused by his immense wealth, was completely cleansed here.

Following the crowd, he entered the Jokhang Temple.

The light grew dim again, and the air was filled with an intensely thick aroma of yak butter.

This was the scent of countless eternal lamps burning for thousands of years, solemn, profound, and deeply touching.

Giant Buddha statues, with downcast eyes, watched every soul turning the prayer wheels amidst the smoke.

Jiang Yuan was solemn, following the crowd, silently circling the entire temple.

When he walked out of the main gate, it felt like a different era.

On the periphery of the square, many tourists in Tibetan attire were posing for elaborate photo shoots under the direction of their Photographer.

But they consciously kept a distance from the prostrating devotees.

In the face of such profound faith, any form of recreational disturbance seemed like sacrilege.

Jiang Yuan took one last look at the resplendent golden roof of the Jokhang Temple, then turned and left.

His phone vibrated slightly in his pocket.

He took out his phone and saw the caller ID: Danzeng Dorje.

Jiang Yuan swiped to answer.

"Hello, Brother Dorje."

"Little Brother Jiang! Have you arrived in Lhasa?"

On the other end of the line, Dorje's voice was still loud and hearty, with faint background noise of people and wind, suggesting he was also outdoors.

"Yes, I just finished visiting the Jokhang Temple and am still wandering around Barkhor Street," Jiang Yuan replied casually, looking at the bustling crowd in front of him.

Jiang Yuan looked at the bustling crowd in front of him, and replied casually.

"Haha! I knew it, I figured you'd be here by now!"

Dorje laughed heartily, his tone filled with undisguised enthusiasm.

"Don't make any other plans tonight, I've booked a private room at the Lhasa Holy Land Paradise, I absolutely must host a welcome dinner for you!"

Hearing this, Jiang Yuan paused slightly.

That special Mount Everest mission was so appealing that he wanted to spend every minute traveling.

"Brother Dorje, there's no need for dinner, it's too much trouble. I plan to leave for Mount Everest Base Camp first thing tomorrow morning."

"Going to Mount Everest?"

Dorje was startled, then his tone became even more resolute.

"Oh, Mount Everest will be there, it's not going anywhere! A day or two won't make a difference."

"You've helped me so much, if you come to my territory and don't even eat a meal, how can I, Dorje, continue to make a living in Lhasa?"

"Listen to your elder brother, you must come tonight! It's settled!"

The enthusiasm of a Tibetan man is often irresistible, carrying a sincere dominance.

Jiang Yuan smiled helplessly.

It was hard to decline such hospitality; further refusal would seem affected.

"Alright then, I'll follow Brother Dorje's arrangements."

"Great! That's the spirit!"

Dorje's voice clearly rose an octave.

"This phone number is my WeChat, add me, and I'll send you the location and private room number in a bit. See you tonight!"

He hung up the phone.

Jiang Yuan looked at the friend request acceptance notification on his phone, a slight smile playing on his lips.

Having a local connection in Lhasa wasn't a bad thing after all.

As for Mount Everest... a couple of days later wouldn't hurt, he had a month anyway.