My patar once asked me, "Marga, do you know why we must wander all our lives?" I shook my head. He stroked my …
My patar once asked me, "Marga, do you know why we must wander all our lives?"
I shook my head. He stroked my hair and said,
"To survive. We Sogdians are born to chase profit—where the gold is, that's where we go. From the moment you're born, you are destined for a life of ceaseless travel."
"Then can't we ever stop?" I asked.
He gazed into the distance and, after a long silence, sighed. "A place where we could stop... such places are gone for us."
"Marga, remember this: in a caravan, to keep your belly full, your feet must be swift and your heart must be hard. Business is business. Sentiment will be your ruin. It won't let you get far."
I never forgot his words.
Years later, I came across a troop of Tang soldiers.
Their armor was in tatters, their blades chipped and dull. With my years of trade in the great desert, I knew at a glance: any dealings with them would be utterly profitless.
This troop had been stranded in Hexi for a long time, and the Bodchens watched them like wolves circling a prize. Where there is no profit, a merchant does not go. A trade must have equal weight on both sides of the scale.
I could not fathom any reason for them to hold their ground. To defend a lost cause was, to them, a bargain with no return. Is anything in this world worth more than survival itself?
Looking at the young general, I couldn't hold back my question:
"Why don't you leave? If you leave, you survive."
He pointed to the desert poplars nearby, his gaze unwavering and bright.
"As long as the roots run deep enough, we will live."
"And if the poplars live, more people will get to live because of them."