Beautiful snow-capped mountains of Tianshan

The silver dome of the Tianshan Mountains When the off-road vehicle passed the windward side of Dabancheng, the Tianshan Mountains suddenly appeared before our eyes in a dominating posture. The snow-capped peaks are looming in the clouds, like crushed moonlight falling on blue velvet. Amir, the Kazakh guide who was traveling with us, said that this was the "crown of Tengri" and that each snow-capped peak was the residence of the gods. We camped at the foot of the glacier at an altitude of 3,500 meters. At midnight, I walked out of the tent wrapped in a military coat, and the Milky Way was pouring down from the snow-capped peak of Bogda Peak. The ice tongue glowed with a faint blue luster in the moonlight, like a solidified waterfall hanging between the mountains. Suddenly, there was a roar of ice breaking, as if an ancient giant beast was turning over. Amir said that this is the glaciers telling the heartbeat of the earth. When the early morning sun tore through the clouds, the world above the snow line was dyed rose-colored. The spruce forest cascades down from the snow-capped peaks like a dark green waterfall. Smoke rises from the Kazakh yurts at the bottom of the valley, and the barking of sheepdogs echoes in the valley. We climbed up along the bridle path, our crampons making sharp sounds as they rubbed against the glacier. The guide pointed to the ice tower forest in the distance and said: "There is the silver armor that Genghis Khan lost during his westward expedition." At the edge of the moraine lake at an altitude of 4,200 meters, I met herders who were migrating. The old man rode on a white horse, followed by more than twenty camels, and the camel bells rang crisply in the thin air. He handed me a piece of dried noodle and said, "Eat it. It's made with snow water from the Tianshan Mountains." The noodle tasted slightly salty and astringent, mixed with the scent of sunshine and grass. When the camel caravan disappeared behind the snow line, I suddenly realized that the epic of nomadic peoples was written in this eternal migration. When going down the mountain, we passed an ice cave with hundreds of ice stalactites hanging in it. Melted snow dripped from the cave ceiling, creating emerald ripples in the deep pool. Amir took out his dombra and played it softly; the sound of the instrument and the sound of dripping water intertwined into a wonderful melody. Light and shadow flow on the ice wall, and in a trance I see Xuanzang walking by leading a white horse a thousand years ago, his cassock raising golden waves in the wind. As dusk falls, the snow-capped peaks are covered with a purple gauze. The lavender fields at the foot of the mountain billow in the wind, forming a strong color impact with the snow-capped mountains in the distance. Kazakh girl by the stream