Life still holds at least one winter for the northern frontier—for the evocative names of Altay, Kanas, Hemu, and Sayram Lake.

Wandering through the hidden heart of Kanas, I move among morning mist, snow-capped “mushrooms,” and whispering birch forests. The mighty Kanas River flows with quiet grandeur, weaving ancient tales of the mountains into every ripple.

Stepping into the snow-draped village of Hemu, the crisp crunch beneath my boots becomes the only sound in this hushed world. Sunlight catches falling snowflakes, scattering them like tiny diamonds from the sky. From Harden Platform, the distant birch forest stands like silent sentinels beneath an endless azure sky. Morning mist curls through the valleys, mingling with rising woodsmoke—a dreamscape so serene it feels conjured from myth.

At Sayram Lake, swans glide over frozen blue ice, snow-crowned peaks mirror themselves in crystal waters, and the snow-blanketed shore stitches together a moment of pure, ethereal blue. A clear wind sweeps across the lake, stirring secrets sleeping beneath the ice. Now, I finally understand Sa Beining’s heartfelt praise—Sayram isn’t just a lake; it’s a vision of purity, suspended between earth and sky.