Visiting the Frontier in the New Era | A Desolate Gobi, A Flourishing Youth
A Desolate Gobi, A Flourishing Youth
■ Yan Zhenyu, Zhu Mengna, Ma Yaohui
Those who have never been to the Gobi can hardly imagine what kind of "forbidden zone for life" it truly is.
The Xinjiang Military District's Hongshishan Border Defense Company and its subordinate Hongshishan Outpost are situated on a barren black Gobi along the border. Annual average precipitation here is only 30 millimeters, while evaporation exceeds 3,000 millimeters — an extreme arid zone.
The wind and sand have carried away the years, but they cannot carry away the convictions held deep in the heart, nor scatter the stubborn perseverance of those who stand watch. Over the years, the officers and soldiers of the company have fought against the harsh natural environment, guarding the territory beneath their feet and leaving behind patches of green oasis across the Gobi. Now, the soldiers at the outpost have finally seen a trickle of water arrive, and in their hearts, "a green oasis of hope has taken root."
Standing unyielding in the desert, keeping watch over the mountains and rivers in solitude — generation after generation of Hongshishan soldiers, like the old elm tree in the garrison courtyard, have put down deep roots and pushed stubbornly upward, showing the world that in a desolate Gobi, a flourishing youth grows.
After water was connected to the Xinjiang Military District's Hongshishan Outpost, a soldier cups a handful of well water.
A Pool of Well Water, Like a Warm Current Flowing into the Heart
As the well water gurgled through the insulated pipes and flowed into the Hongshishan Outpost, First Sergeant Shao Zuo could hardly believe it — water had truly "arrived" in the depths of the desert! He cupped a handful, took a small sip, and the cool, clear taste refreshed him to the core.
"In the past, water had to be rationed by the day, counted out by the number of days remaining." The story of the outpost soldiers and water is a long one.
With no water source within a hundred li in any direction, the outpost soldiers drove dozens of kilometers to the company to haul water year-round. The company's water came from a well several kilometers away, and the supply was not abundant enough for the entire company, so the water truck could only make two trips per week.
In his second year of service, Shao Zuo learned to drive under the guidance of the senior squad leader. The water truck bounced violently on the long "washboard road," and his head repeatedly struck the cab ceiling with a thud. By the time he finally got the water back to the outpost, he felt as though he had been shaken to pieces.
The most harrowing time came when the water truck broke down halfway. It had to be towed back to the company for repairs, but the water in the tank could not be brought along. Comrades who rushed to help brought large and small containers to collect the water, filling less than a third of them. So everyone dug a small channel and directed the remaining water to a few saxaul trees nearby.
Shao Zuo often said: "On the Gobi, water is more precious than oil." Every time he pumped water from the truck into the storage tank, he habitually placed a basin at the connection point, determined not to waste a single drop.
First Sergeant Lu Zhiming, who is from Guangdong, would often murmur to newly arrived soldiers in his not-quite-standard Mandarin whenever water was being drawn and distributed: "Use it sparingly, use it sparingly." Those were the same words the old squad leader had once impressed upon him.
Back then, Lu Zhiming — who had grown up beside great rivers and the sea — used water rather freely. The old squad leader, pained to watch, gave him several dedicated lessons on how to conserve water. Now, after thirteen years guarding the border, Lu Zhiming has developed considerable expertise in water conservation. Before doing laundry, he first beats the mud off trouser cuffs and sleeve openings with a broom handle, then pours in just half a basin of water to scrub. The used water is then used to mop the floor; the dirty water wrung from the mop is poured into a recycling bucket and kept for "emergencies."
The water level in the storage tank also tugged at everyone's heartstrings. Every night after completing his rounds, Company Commander Wang Xiaojiao would go and check the water reserves: "Everyone depends on this water for cooking, washing up, and doing laundry. Once the level drops below the red line, we have to rush out and haul more."
To solve the outpost's water supply problem, the regimental Party committee had on multiple occasions joined with the local government and construction teams to conduct on-site surveys and probe for water sources. Unfortunately, due to unclear hydrological data and equipment limitations, the idea of drilling a well near the outpost was shelved time and again. Last year, the final stretch of road connecting the company to the outpost was completed, and large machinery could at last reach the outpost via a wide asphalt road.
"Equipment is no longer the constraint — what remains is finding water." In early spring this year, a well-drilling team entered the outpost. For a full six months, the drilling rig hummed at the foot of the mountain. The Gobi's surface looks soft, but underneath lies layer upon layer of hard rock. On the slowest day, the construction team wore out two drill bits and advanced less than two meters. When the drill reached a depth of one hundred meters, murky water surged up. Though undrinkable, it gave everyone a glimpse of hope.
In mid-July, the drilling rig reached a depth of 126 meters, and a jet of clear water suddenly burst forth. The water bubbled and churned, shimmering in the sunlight, and the cheers of the soldiers and construction workers echoed across the Gobi.
The well yields a steady 50 cubic meters of water per day, completely resolving the decades-long drinking water problem for the outpost soldiers. The well water is still slightly bitter and must be filtered before drinking, but in everyone's hearts it is incomparably sweet, soaking into their very souls.
Shao Zuo immediately shared the good news with former battalion commander Dong Zhilin, an old soldier who had always kept the outpost close to his heart; on the other end of the phone, he could not hold back his tears. Cook squad leader, Sergeant Wang Hai, joyfully boiled a pot of pulled noodles (拉面) for everyone: "Before, simmering a pot of broth meant carefully rationing every drop of water — now we can finally enjoy 'pulled-noodle freedom' (拉面自由)." Patrol soldiers returning from duty took a long, satisfying hot shower, and the fatigue of their bodies was swept away in an instant. Private First Class Deng Qiyun, who loves to draw, sketched the outpost's new look onto pieces of Gobi stone. Under his brush, a pool of blue well water flows gently — becoming an eternal warm current in everyone's hearts.
Photo ②: Soldiers display their stone paintings; Photo ③: Officers and soldiers on patrol duty; Photo ④: The old elm tree in the garrison courtyard.
Soldiers Who Put Down Roots Are as Precious as an Oasis in the Gobi
On Hongshishan in the Gobi, what is as precious as water is the touch of green oasis amid the barrenness.
Inside the garrison courtyard of the Hongshishan Border Defense Company stand rows of sand jujube, poplar, and red willow trees — species that endure wind, sand, and drought. Outside the greenhouse, a row of elm trees sway their green leaves, their canopies full and graceful. One tree has the thickest trunk of all, its diameter exceeding 45 centimeters — like a stubborn, tenacious sentinel.
The story begins in 1986. "Every time a big wind blew, yellow sand blotted out the sky and sun — you couldn't even see the road." Located in a vast uninhabited zone, mountain after mountain, peak after peak, the black Gobi stretching endlessly to the horizon looked as though it had been scorched by the blazing sun. At that time, veteran soldier Wang Baoguo had just arrived at the company and always felt that life, like the scenery all around, was "dark and oppressive."
Before returning from one leave, Wang Baoguo deliberately made a detour to a nearby city, where he carefully selected 34 elm saplings, wrapped their roots layer by layer, bound them tightly with straw rope, and carried them back to the company on his back. Water was desperately scarce then — the water brought by three camels was barely enough for the soldiers to use for a single day. He and his comrades poured out the water they had saved up day by day, ladle by ladle, onto the saplings, hoping they would survive and bring a bright splash of color to the Gobi.
The following spring, one elm tree truly survived. And Wang Baoguo also "put down roots" in the harsh Gobi for more than ten years — like that elm tree, his perseverance cast a dense canopy of shade over the border defense.
In 2023, Wang Baoguo, despite his failing health, insisted on returning to visit the old company he had missed day and night. Seeing the old elm tree he had planted with his own hands, he could not help but step forward and stroke the rough trunk again and again: "If a tree can survive, a person can put down roots too. Border defense conditions keep getting better and better — you must hold Hongshishan firm."
"Indeed, we must let the green that represents hope and vitality flourish on Hongshishan." Moved by Wang Baoguo's words, Political Instructor Huo Qi resolved to open up the wasteland in the garrison area and plant a "Roots Grove" (扎根林).
The wasteland was covered in rocks. Everyone moved them by hand and by vehicle, never once complaining of hardship or exhaustion. Blowing sand and floating dust turned the soldiers into mud-covered figures; they simply swung their pickaxes and shovels in a competition to see who could dig deeper and faster. Later, Second Class Staff Sergeant Zheng Linguo devised a simple drip irrigation system. Nourished by water, the saplings raced to put out new leaves, and every time soldiers passed by, they could not help but slow their pace and linger a little longer.
The trees on Hongshishan grow more numerous day by day, and the soldiers of Hongshishan are also "growing toward the sun" (向阳而生).
In one corner of the "Roots Grove," the red willow that Private First Class Wang Shenqi planted with his own hands accompanied him through two years of preparing for the military academy entrance examination. After one practice test, he was disappointed with his score and fell into low spirits; during daytime training he was listless, and several times "fell out of rhythm," drawing sharp criticism from the company commander.
That night, Wang Shenqi came to the "Roots Grove" and gazed intently at the red willow branches swaying in the wind. He suddenly recalled what the company commander had once told him: the plants of the Gobi are short and grow slowly because they channel the bulk of their nutrients into their extensive root systems.
"Settle your mind, put down firm roots — only then will you not be blown over." That slender, fragile sapling gradually straightened its back in the wind and sand, and Wang Shenqi's dream was finally realized through "never giving up, fighting harder in the next round." At his send-off ceremony, eyes red, he said loudly: "Brothers, when I get to the military academy I will study hard, and after I graduate I will come back to Hongshishan and guard the border together with all of you."
Sergeant Xu Penglong and his wife Zhang Ning also exchanged vows of love in the "Roots Grove." This past summer, Zhang Ning traveled for two days across more than 2,000 kilometers to visit him at the company.
Seeing for herself how steep the patrol mountain paths were and how fierce the Gobi winds were, Zhang Ning felt an indescribable ache in her heart. "I used to always complain that he was too busy with work and could barely even make a few phone calls — but after coming here, every grievance in my heart just disappeared." She and Xu Penglong planted several false indigo (紫穗槐) shrubs in the "Roots Grove," and made a promise: when they bloom next year, she will come back to see him.
Before water was connected to the outpost, Shao Zuo used the water truck to haul water.
Soldiers singing on the Gobi.
Xu Penglong and Zhang Ning planting false indigo.
The Endless Yellow Sand Buries Footprints, but Cannot Cover the Original Aspiration and the Watch Kept
Deep in the Gobi, the harsh natural environment is an unavoidable challenge for all work and life.
This year marks the tenth year Second Class Staff Sergeant Zhang Lijian has guarded the border. On the front line of border defense, he knows by heart which gully mouths are prone to "gravel rain" (沙石雨) and where the gravel is especially sharp.
Zhang Lijian remembers the first time he set out on a patrol ten years ago — the sun was so fierce the rocks seemed about to smoke. Halfway through, his canteen was empty and his lips were so dry they nearly stuck together. In the vast desert, there was nowhere to refill; the squad leader passed his own canteen over, and Zhang Lijian felt too embarrassed to take it, but the squad leader pressed it firmly into his hands. He took a small sip and felt that water was sweeter than honey.
From new recruit to squad leader — today, Zhang Lijian has become "the one who passes the canteen."
During one patrol, a violent wind suddenly struck. After the patrol vehicle came to a stop in the designated area, everyone pushed the doors open with great effort; the gale hit like a thick, heavy wall, sending people stumbling. After adjusting their gear, the team pressed into the wind toward the boundary marker.
Though shielded by wind goggles, Private Huang Qiang — on his first patrol — still got sand in his eyes. Just as he instinctively reached for his canteen to rinse his face, Zhang Lijian had already unclipped his own canteen and held it out: "Use mine — keep yours for drinking."
After years of standing guard on the Gobi, Zhang Lijian's skin has been bronzed to a deep copper color by intense ultraviolet radiation, his face marked by sun spots of varying sizes, and his rough palms frequently cracked by the dry air — yet he is deeply optimistic, regarding these as a distinctive "border-guard medal" (戍边勋章).
"We have our own remedy for a hard life!" Zhang Lijian said that rich cultural and sports activities keep this desolate stretch of Gobi full of vitality. The soldiers leveled a patch of ground on the eastern side of the garrison as a football pitch — no turf, no safety netting; they assembled goalposts from steel pipes and ran freely across the black Gobi, sweat flying.
One team is called the "Gobi Yellow Antelope" (戈壁黄羊), the other the "Gobi Swimming Fish" (戈壁游鱼). "The yellow antelope — that's the Mongolian gazelle — runs like the wind across the Gobi. That name suits us best: we can charge, run, and jump!" Zhang Lijian was already raring to go.
Platoon Leader Yue Jiaxin on the opposing side heard this, patted his chest, and said: "Our 'Gobi Swimming Fish' is the poetic one — gliding steadily through the sea of sand, swimming freely." With the whistle of the weekend, another football match kicked off on schedule.
Every year when new recruits join the company, the unit organizes a screening of the film A Sacred Flame at the Edge of the Sky (《天边有一簇圣火》), which tells the story of a group of soldiers holding the border deep in the desert. The officers and soldiers of the Hongshishan Border Defense Company are among the real-life prototypes for the film's characters. Zhang Lijian was struck by one line of dialogue in the film: "A soldier is himself a poem." Along the long border line, the endless yellow sand buries footprints, but cannot cover the original aspiration (初心) and the watch kept. Looking back on the past, he often tells new soldiers: the poem that belongs to us has far more passion than bitterness.
Photos by Mu Wenzhao and Li Yang
Layout design: Yang Lei