My Youth:Chapter 7

 　　I don't know why, but Chen Yueran miraculously solved one of the biggest challenges of my photography trip. Even I was a bit baffled. But going to Lhasa seemed like a good idea, so under my father's calm gaze, I packed my bags, ready to leave in three days.

　　Time flies. Three days later, on the morning of the third day,
　　I sat by the window on the bus, wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. Patches of holly trees whizzed by, and cars flowed by like water. Time seemed to drag on, and it was a long time before I finally saw Chen Yueran's pretty figure.
　　"Good morning," she said.
　　"Good morning," I replied.
　　"Let's go, we'll be on the bus soon."
　　"Okay. It seems like it'll take at least two days, right?" I asked Chen Yueran in the waiting room.
　　"Pretty much. It's just a photography trip, so there's no need for expensive plane tickets. You can't afford them right now, and altitude sickness will be more severe. It'll be better to acclimatize with more time, and besides, we need to use that time to plan the route," she said.
　　"Okay, tickets are being checked, let's go." The words "Tickets being checked" appeared in the distance, and I urged Chen Yueran.
　　"Let's go, this is our own Lhasa trip."
　　The carriage was fairly clean and had air conditioning, so spending two days traveling here shouldn't be too tiring. Chen Yueran and I sat by the window, looking out at the rolling mountains and rushing rivers. The journey wasn't long, nor was it short; I only knew that when the morning sun shone through the clouds two days later, what greeted our eyes was an endless expanse of green grassland.
　　Stepping off the train, altitude sickness wasn't too severe for me, probably because I often travel for photography. Chen Yueran also didn't have much of a reaction. Altitude sickness wasn't a problem, but the visual impact seemed to showcase the beauty of the plateau to its fullest extent.
　　On the plateau, there are no flashy colors, no dazzling lights of bustling cities; what it possesses is a tranquility that seeps into the soul.
　　The sky was a deep, clear blue, almost like a ribbon of blue silk, with occasional wispy white clouds drifting across it, but mostly an elegant, ethereal sky blue.
　　The grass was green—emerald, light green, yellowish-green, dark green, grayish-green, and grassy green—every imaginable shade of green was gathered on this vast expanse of land. The grass seemed boundless and endless, soft and supple.
　　In this world, azure and grassy green reigned supreme; the blue was flawless, the green invigorating, a breathtaking beauty. On the distant hills, horses galloped, cattle and sheep grazed—a perfect blend of stillness and movement.
　　Chen Yueran and I left our luggage at the inn and walked between this vast expanse of sky and earth. I suddenly felt so small. Looking back at her, I saw that she, like me, wore an undisguised reverence. This wasn't just a fascination with the place, but a faith in nature, a sincere praise for the creativity of the natural world.