Woken by the patter of rain in the early morning, I found the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Kuqa Licheng Rui Xuan Hotel veiled in a thin mist. The cool touch of the glass revealed a rain-washed Gobi Desert glistening outside, with the distant Tianshan foothills resembling ink-washed rice paper, softly blurred in pale green. Camera in hand, I stepped out of my room, the faint scent of cedar lingering in the hallway. The receptionist greeted me with a warm smile and a cup of hot ginger tea, saying, "The rain at Sayram Lake just stopped. If you go now, you'll capture a unique shade of blue."
In the hotel courtyard, a few Siberian apricot trees still bore raindrops, their drooping petals exuding a gentle melancholy, like unspoken sentiments from a journey. As I crouched to adjust my camera, a sparrow suddenly hopped into the frame, pecking at water droplets on the grass. Its wings shook off tiny rain stars that sparkled in the morning light—an unexpected start that seemed to infuse the day ahead with a vibrant undertone. While packing, I made sure to tuck the hotel's wool shawl into my bag. Xinjiang's rain often brings an unexpected chill, and little did I know, this soft touch would become the coziest warmth by Sayram Lake.
Driving towards Sayram Lake, the rain and mist gradually lifted. The highway stretched like a silver ribbon from Kuqa's urban area deep into the Tianshan Mountains. Dew-laden reeds on both sides shimmered in the breeze, scattering tiny glimmers of light. Occasionally, I encountered herds of sheep, their damp wool moving leisurely across the grasslands like scattered tufts of wet cotton. I stopped to capture the distant scenery, and through my camera lens, the world appeared exceptionally pure—no trace of clutter, just the gray-blue clouds, green grass, white sheep, and the faint glimmer of the lake in the distance, like a hidden gem waiting to be unveiled.
Upon reaching Sayram Lake, the last wisp of rain cloud was drifting away from the water's surface. At first, the lake appeared a pale blue, like milk-diluted water. As the clouds shifted, the blue deepened, transitioning from light cyan to indigo, and finally to a near-inky, mysterious blue that left me breathless. Walking along the lakeshore, the gravel path beneath my feet was still damp, each step producing a faint crunch. Wildflowers by the lake, bent by the rain, displayed hues of purple irises and yellow broom flowers. Raindrops on their petals reflected the sky, each holding a miniature blue heaven.
While crouching to photograph close-ups, I suddenly heard a "click" behind me. Turning around, I saw an elderly photographer with a telephoto lens aimed at the lake. "Wait five more minutes," he said with a smile, pointing to the sky. "The sun's about to come out." As he spoke, the clouds parted, and golden-red light poured down, weaving a tapestry of gold on the lake's surface. I quickly raised my camera, the shutter clicks blending with the wind. Through the viewfinder, the lake came alive—the trembling blue water dotted with golden specks, distant snow-capped peaks emerging, and streams of melted snow flowing along the shore, creating ripples among the pebbles.
Traces of rain lingered on the lakeside rocks. Running my fingers over the rough surface, I felt the cool dampness left by the rain. A few waterbirds skimmed the lake, their wings stirring ripples that spread outward, breaking the cloud reflections into fragments of cotton. Wrapping the wool shawl tighter around me, I inhaled the crisp scent of lake water mixed with the grassy aroma of the plains, feeling as though my lungs were cleansed. The elderly photographer handed me a photo he had taken—me holding my camera, with the freshly cleared Sayram Lake behind me. The lake's blue seemed to extend to the hem of my clothes, enveloping the scene in the gentle embrace of spring.
As the sun set, I began the return journey. Through the car window, Sayram Lake gradually took on shades of orange and red, the clouds edged with gold, framing the lake like a luminous halo. I thought of the ginger tea at Kuqa Licheng Rui Xuan Hotel that morning, the apricot trees in the courtyard, and the raindrops on the lakeside pebbles. It struck me that this post-rain photography trip captured not just landscapes but also the warmth hidden in the details—the smiles in the hotel lobby, the leisurely sheep on the grasslands, the shifting light and shadows on the lake, and the gentle essence of the Tianshan Mountains carried in the wind.
By the time I returned to the hotel, night had enveloped the Gobi Desert. Uploading the photos from my camera to my computer, the images of Sayram Lake still carried the moist freshness of the rain, their blue hues offering a sense of tranquility. Outside, the rain began to fall again, but this time it no longer felt cold. I knew that tomorrow would bring new light and shadows to capture, and the warm glow of Kuqa Licheng Rui Xuan Hotel would always be there at the journey's end, like a tender promise.
Post by Licheng Ruixuan Hotel(Kuitun City） | Sep 17, 2025
