The light of the Western Regions, the twelve hours of Shache

Morning light climbs onto the carved wooden windows of the old teahouse
The copper kettle boils with a thousand-year tea fragrance
The elderly wearing flower hats collect time with their wrinkles
Each line is an extension of the Silk Road

At ten in the morning, the Muqam Palace
The twelve-string satar strings tremble
Notes fly like pigeons across the glazed dome
Colliding into fragmented light and shadow on the blue brick walls
Suddenly you understand—
Some civilizations have never gone far
They have only changed the way they breathe

The bazaar maze at noon
Figs ferment honeyed words in baskets
The crisp sound of hand-cracked walnuts is the rhythm of the market
Aydalis silk brushes past fingertips
Like Tianshan snowmelt flowing into the Yarkand River
Here
Bargaining is also poetry
Every Uyghur merchant’s eyes
Hide the stars of the ancient Loulan city

Dusk climbs the Xuanzang preaching platform
The wind brings fragments of the "Great Tang Records on the Western Regions"
Monks and caravans have all become grains of sand
Only the poplar trees still practice
Writing Sanskrit verses with fallen leaves

When starlight fills the Yarkand King’s Mausoleum
Moonlight drapes a thin veil over the tiled tomb
You will find
The most captivating thing about Shache is not the scenery
But time itself—
It has taken a nap here
Slowing the clock by six hundred years

Travel tips:
√ Learn half a phrase of Uyghur: “Yaxshim” (Hello)
√ Let the warmth of rose naan pass through your palms
√ Daydream for half a day under the century-old walnut tree
√ Collect a fallen leaf from the Amanishahan Memorial Hall

This is not a list of attractions
It is a living history site
While time flies rapidly elsewhere
Shache still preserves for you
The most authentic breathing rhythm of the Western Regions