For a while, every day at noon I would go to the Regency Café and order a jasmine cold brew. When Fatima brought the coffee, I'd chat her up: "What a coincidence — Fatima again?" Because I made all of this up. At the time, I was at the Regency Café working on a book called European Republic.
During my chatting-up I said many blunt things, things too blunt to publish on a WeChat Official Account. Fatima did not exactly appreciate them. She said: "Don't you try that with me! Maybe some women would accept it, even enjoy it, but I — absolutely! not! ever!" She said all this and still sat down across from me. I said: "Weren't you just giving me a scolding?" She said: "Yes, but if I don't sit across from you, how are you going to keep making things up?" So I told her about the roof of the world.
From an airplane, you can see mountain ranges rising gradually, forming a barren slope. Across this enormous incline, glaciers and ice mountains drift slowly. At the end of this slope lies a super, super vast plateau. A plateau is a place that is both flat and high. "Ya la suo — that is the Qing~zang~Gao~~~~~yuan~~~" — I pulled out my phone and played Li Na's "Qinghai-Tibet Plateau" for her, on a green, young, invincible iPhone 15, very beautiful. Fatima stared solemnly as the sound waves shot straight at the crown of her head, forming a vast plateau three feet above — and that was the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau. "Who brings the call from ancient times~~" Fatima softly sang along. Who can hear this song and not try to sing it?
Heading west, you reach the Himalayas. Cross the Himalayas and you get to Nepal, Nalanda, India, and so on — the place where the Tang Monk went, that Chinese guy you know, the one whose screen name is "This poor monk's surname is Tang."
Of course, I wouldn't cross over. I couldn't cross over. I've never even been there. Ridges ascending section by section, snow peaks baring their teeth at the aliens, mountains like ice blades slicing open the sky.
The Himalayas. "I think this place is absolutely perfect for setting off firecrackers," I said. And it truly would be — no noise pollution, so the sound of firecrackers would ring crystal clear, with gorgeous echoes. And the fireworks could be beautiful, too. If you laid them out at a forty-five-degree angle, winding up from the base of the mountain, and lit them with a lighter, it would look like a rainbow dragon shooting straight into the sky. "Beautiful," Fatima said.
When you reach the summit, you could erect a bamboo sky-ladder several thousand meters tall, arrange the fireworks along the crooked ladder and light them, and you'd see the invisible feet of invisible people ascending step by step. "Truly beautiful," Fatima said.
Of course, you could also ignite a carefully engineered array of fireworks that would billow up into a frighteningly realistic mushroom cloud. You'd never figure out why there's a mushroom cloud here — who the hell is bombing this place? "It really is beautiful," Fatima said. Her lovely eyes already carried a hint of admiration and awe when she looked at me. "You should scold me for being anti-environmental," I said. "Think about it — setting off firecrackers on the Himalayas! What an unforgivable thing to do! Could there be a worse person? These are goddess-like sacred mountains!" "That's a good point," Fatima said. "This is really not eco-friendly at all. How infuriating!" "More passion," I encouraged her. "This is outrageous! I'm so angry I can't even think of what to say — they should lock you up!" I clapped my hands — splendid, splendid delivery. I said: "If you hadn't said that, how would I get to say my next line? And this next line is so punchable yet so perfect — Don't you want to set off fireworks on the Himalayas?! Haven't you ever thought about it?! Doesn't the very idea strike you as incredibly, incredibly alluring?! Can't a person do something bad just once?! Can't we, just once in a hundred years, set off fireworks on the Himalayas?! And if we absolutely must — can't it at least be Cai Guo-Qiang?!" "Hmph!" Fatima stood up and left. "Let the internet tear you apart! You alarm clock!"