At 9:05 AM on January 7, 2025, a 6.8-magnitude earthquake struck Dingri County in Shigatse, Tibet Autonomous Region. The epicenter, at a depth of approximately 10 kilometers, lay near the Nepalese border. By 9 AM on January 9, the disaster had claimed 126 lives and left 350 injured.

On the morning of January 10, I was assigned to document the aftermath. It took me less than an hour to book my flight, pack my gear and essentials, and rush out the door. During the flight, I sketched out a rough shooting plan—though I knew well that plans rarely survive reality. Still, the exercise gave me a sense of control, however fleeting. I departed from Chengdu in the afternoon, and by the time I arrived in Lhasa, night had already fallen.

In 2014, fresh out of university, I had cycled all the way to Lhasa. It was an arduous journey, one of the toughest I had ever undertaken. Surely, I thought, this time would be easier. And yet, I would now be carrying a 20-kilogram camera bag while traversing Dingri County at an average altitude of 4,500 meters. I had no guarantee I wouldn’t succumb to altitude sickness. It struck me then—despite my long-standing confidence in my physical resilience, I barely understood my own body. It felt foreign, like a machine whose failure modes I had never truly considered. I prayed: “Lord, help me overcome every challenge. So many have perished—please prepare good news for those who remain.”

That night in Lhasa, I rested and met up with a university friend whom I hadn’t seen in years. He had just returned from Dinggye County, where he had been collecting firsthand earthquake data for the Xinjiang Earthquake Bureau. His team was set to leave for Xinjiang the following day, so he left me with his remaining supplies—Rhodiola capsules, Korla pears, bananas, yogurt, and naan. With food no longer a concern, I collapsed into bed, burying myself under the covers, conserving energy for the days ahead.

The next morning, I rented a car and drove westward. Passing through Shigatse, I visited the planned sites—Cuoguo, Quluo, and Changsuo townships in Dingri County, as well as Mangpu Township in Lazi County. The following two days were spent either shooting or traveling between locations. Nights were for sorting images, backing up files, and mapping out the next day’s itinerary. Sleep was scarce—four or five hours at most—but strangely, exhaustion never caught up with me during the day. Perhaps it was the stark contrast between gloomy Chengdu and the searing sunlight of the plateau. My body drank in the excess solar energy, shaking off the sluggishness I had grown accustomed to. After years in Chengdu’s gray, I found the relentless brightness of the highlands almost intoxicating.

On January 12, after wrapping up my work in Dingri County, I set off for Lazi County. Just as I was leaving a devastated village, I spotted a young man by the roadside, waving for a ride to town. I pulled over and called out, “Hop in.”

He was a freshman studying law at Tibet University. The day of the earthquake, he had scrambled to find a friend with a car to drive him home. Fortunately, his entire family had survived, though their house had collapsed beyond repair.

Through the rearview mirror, I caught glimpses of him—a streak of yellow-dyed hair on his head, silver earrings glinting at his ears. He looked even younger than his age.

“Call me Dawa,” he introduced himself. “I was born on a Monday.”

We talked about Tibetan Buddhism and polyandrous marriage, both fitting topics for the region. The conversation made the long drive more bearable, and, truthfully, I found it fascinating. At the disaster sites, armed police officers entered crumbling homes to help herders retrieve their valuables. Looking at the belongings laid out in the courtyards, I noticed a clear hierarchy—amber, beeswax, and Buddha statues were meticulously wrapped in layers of cloth and arranged with care. Meanwhile, portraits of Xi sat discarded in a pile of manure, as if they were nothing more than waste.

Dawa was deeply devoted to the Buddha. A few days earlier, the singer Han Hong had come to his village to distribute relief supplies. He admired her greatly.

I asked, “Who do you think is greater—Han Hong or the Buddha?”

He pondered for a moment before answering with certainty, “Our Buddha is greater.”

I pressed on. “If the Buddha is so great, why did he allow such a devastating earthquake to happen?”

“Because we’ve been mining the mountains, damaging the land,” he said thoughtfully. “Maybe the Buddha was angry and sent the earthquake to remind us to respect nature.”

I liked that answer—simple, yet profound.

Dawa went on to tell me that he had no idea which of the two men in his family was his biological father. His mother had married two brothers, as was the tradition, and over the years, she had given birth to four sons. The brothers had left it up to appearances to determine paternity. Now, his mother was already planning for him and his younger brother to marry the same woman after he graduated. The same would be expected of the two youngest brothers.

“Do you want to share a wife with your brother?” I asked.

“Of course not.”

Education really does make a difference.

During the drive, he took a call. I couldn’t understand the Tibetan he spoke, but I could hear a girl’s voice on the other end. He sounded happy—happier than he had all morning.

In the passenger seat, my camera, flash, oxygen tank, and a pile of miscellaneous gear were strewn about. He remained in the backseat the entire ride.

For two hours, we shared the road, but by the time he got out, I still hadn’t seen his face clearly.

2025年1月7日9时05分，西藏自治区日喀则市定日县发生6.8级地震，震源深度约为10千米，震中靠近尼泊尔边境。截至1月9日9时，地震已造成126人遇难、350人受伤。

1月10日早上，我受委托前往灾区拍摄图片。出发前用了不到一个小时的时间，订好了机票并整理好器材、衣物，匆匆出门。又在航班上制定了基础的拍摄计划，尽管知道计划赶不上变化，却也能让我对这段未知的拍摄安心不少。当天下午从成都出发，到拉萨已经是晚上了。

2014年大学毕业，第一次骑自行车到拉萨去，那是一段十分艰难的旅程。我想，再难也比那次容易吧，只是要背着20公斤的摄影包在平均海拔4500米的定日县奔走，没有把握不会高反。突然发现，一直以来对健康状况足够自信的我，其实并不了解自己的身体，甚至陌生，就像面对一台机器，不知道它会在怎样的状况下出问题。我祈祷：“上帝啊，你要帮助我克服困难，尽管那么多人已经逝去，求你为剩下的人预备好消息。”

晚上在拉萨休整，和刚从日喀则定结县下来的一位大学同学碰头，我们多年未见，他在新疆地震局工作，这次被派往日喀则采集一手地震资料。他们工作结束后准备第二天返回新疆，就把剩余的红景天胶囊、库尔勒香梨、香蕉、酸奶、馕都留给了我。这下不用担心路上的补给了，于是躺下蒙头大睡，为明天的拍摄积蓄精力。

第二天租车自驾，一路向西，经日喀则，先后去了计划内的定日县措果乡、曲洛乡、长所乡，拉孜县芒普乡。接下来的两天，不是拍摄就是在拍摄的路上，晚上就整理图片、做备份，同时规划第二天的行程，留给休息的时间不多，每天能睡四五个小时就不错了。但是白天几乎没有感觉到疲倦。我想，很大原因是从阴暗的成都来到阳光猛烈的高原，身体一下子吸收了过量的太阳能，让人不再萎靡不振。在成都生活久了，这种被太阳肆无忌惮照耀的感觉更弥足珍贵。

1月12日，结束定日县的拍摄，自驾前往拉孜县。刚从一个受灾的村子出来，路边远远望见一个青年向我招手——是想搭我的车去县城。我说：上来吧。

他在西藏大学读法学，大一。地震那天紧急托朋友开车把他送回家，好在全家平安，只是房屋坍塌，不能再住了。

透过反光镜的一角，能看到他头顶挑染了一层黄色，耳垂上有一对银色的耳钉。他给我的印象要比他的同龄人看上去更年轻些。

“叫我达瓦就好了，因为我是星期一出生的。”他自我介绍。

我们聊起了藏传佛教和多夫制婚姻，在藏区挺适合聊这个的，不光能打发路上漫长的时光，也是我感兴趣的话题。在救灾现场，武警官兵会进入危房帮牧民将贵重的东西搬出来。从牧民摆放在院子里的物品来看，他们很看重信仰层面的物件，如玛瑙、蜜蜡、佛像，都会用袋子层层包裹好，分类放整齐，却把习的像随意丢在一旁的粪堆上，没有拿这异族的“神像”当回事。

达瓦对如来的信仰很虔诚。就在他回家后没几天，歌手韩红去达瓦所在的村子发放救灾物资，他亲眼见到了韩红。他认为韩红很伟大。我问，你觉得如来佛伟大还是韩红伟大呢？思索了一会儿，他肯定地说：还是我们的如来佛更伟大。

我继续提问：“既然如来这么伟大，为什么要让你们遭受这么大的地震？”

“因为我们这里开采矿产，把大山破坏了，可能如来生气了吧，就用地震提醒我们要爱护自然。”

我喜欢这个答案。多么朴素啊。

达瓦还告诉我，他不知道他的爸爸是家里两个男人中的哪一个。因为当年他妈妈同时嫁给了兄弟二人，先后生下了四个男孩，他是里面的老大。四个孩子只能靠长相去猜测谁才是自己的生身之父。不光如此，达瓦的妈妈已经开始张罗，等他大学毕业要为他和二弟共娶一个女人，将来三弟和四弟也是如此。

“你愿意跟二弟娶一个老婆吗？”

“当然不愿意。”

读过书的人果然就不一样了。路途中他接了一个电话，电话里是个女孩的声音，他们用我听不懂的藏语聊了很久，我明显感觉到达瓦十分开心。

副驾驶上堆放着相机、闪光灯、氧气瓶和一些杂物，他是坐在后排的。我们度过了两个小时，直到他下车我也没看清楚他的模样。