At noon the next day, on the vast Western Regions Plateau, a straight highway stretched into the distance. Far ahead towered majestic snow-capped mountains; if you looked closely you could see the eternal ice and snow that never melted at the peaks. Midway up the slopes clouds and mist coiled like a gauzy ribbon wrapped around the mountains, making for a captivating sight. Closer by, as far as the eye could see, was open Gobi—gently undulating ground with hardly any signs of life, all gravel and stones, a few clumps of withered shrubs swaying in the wind, carrying a touch of desolation.
