#1: [06-May-02]

23N100E: Resonance of the Frontier

31-July-2026

The road trip from Menglian to Shangyun was by no means easy. A distance of less than 140 kilometres took over three hours by car: traversing the mountains along National Highway 219 to Lancang, then switching onto National Highway 214, heading north amidst the undulating peaks. In fact, after reaching Shangyun, we still had to turn onto the township road leading to Dashan Township, spending an extra hour to cover the final thirty kilometres. Google Earth indicated that the exact degree confluence point of 23N100E lies in the vicinity of this township road.

Our perception of the land is always a perception already mediated by technology. Take these hundred-plus kilometres, for example: were they in a place connected by motorways, it would be an easy drive of roughly an hour and a half; yet on the national and township roads at this moment, it was stretched to over four hours. As the time lengthened, it felt as though the mountains became more rugged and the road grew ever longer. Yet, this is already the fastest speed in the history of the region. Watching the scenery rapidly receding outside the car window, I fantasised about the land before the arrival of highways—when people relied on horse caravans, crossing the bazi (intermontane basins), traversing mountain passes, and entering yet another basin. How would travellers of that era have perceived this untamed wilderness?

In the past, this was indeed an untamed wilderness beyond the reach of civil administration. During the Qing Dynasty, the central government generally adhered to the principle that "inside the river, direct rule should replace local chieftains; outside the river, local chieftains should be retained rather than replaced with direct rule". Through a series of military campaigns, those subjects who refused to submit to imperial rule were driven to the west of the Lancang River. Generation after generation of newcomers occupied various locations across the mountains and valleys. The Dai, who were already present, primarily occupied the basin areas, whilst the Wa and Lahu occupied the mountain ridges. In this way, different ethnic groups gradually formed a spatially intertwined distribution. It was precisely such a frontier, beyond the reach of the imperial court, that provided a stage for adventurers to manoeuvre and consolidate power. The Luohei, Kucong, and even Han Chinese, who were marginalised during the mid-Qing period by the policy of replacing native chieftains with imperial officials and the state monopolies on salt and tea, gradually entered this region, forming what is today the Lahu identity. Similarly, followers of the Mahayana Buddhist sect from Mount Jizu—a politico-religious entity suppressed during the replacement of local chieftains—also flowed into this area. Through the efforts of two successive spiritual leaders, Monk Gaixin and Monk Tongjin, centred around the Nanzha Buddhist House to the west of Shangyun, they integrated the originally fragmented Lahu groups under the organisational structure of the "Five Buddhas and Five Sutras". They formed a local force capable of confronting the government in Mianning (present-day Lincang) and gradually encroaching upon the territory of the Menglian Tusi (native chieftain) to the south. After eventually being suppressed by the government, the forces of the Mount Jizu Mahayana sect retreated southwards under the leadership of their third spiritual leader, Zhu Axia, re-establishing a base near Mengka Town in Ximeng. Over the course of more than two centuries, this force gradually merged into the traditions of the Lahu people, and quite accidentally paved the way for the later arrival of Christian missionaries. On this journey, beyond seeking the geographic confluence point, our primary objective was, in fact, to untangle this history—a history mingled with pathos and ambition, migration and settlement, co-written by the Lahu, Wa, Dai, and Han peoples, as well as Buddhists, Baptist missionaries, Tusi chieftains, and later underground Communist Party members.

The car entered the Shangyun Basin along the southern highway. This is an uneven, gently sloping area amidst the mountains extending from north to south. After a short rest here, we drove towards the eastern foothills amidst the fickle weather of the rainy season. The road coiled upwards, threading through torrential rain and the dense mist during pauses in the storm. Such winding mountain roads are remarkably deceptive: the GPS indicated that we were only about 16 kilometres away from 23N100E in a straight line, yet the mobile phone navigation showed 33 kilometres remaining. The road had to wind and stretch according to the mountain terrain, becoming even slower and more hazardous under the onslaught of the rain. Almost every few hundred metres, the side adjacent to the mountain suffered substantial landslides, burying half the lane. We had no choice but to constantly slow down, inspect the road conditions, and step out of the car from time to time to clear obstacles. Finally, past Xiaotang Village, less than a kilometre from the confluence point, we were completely blocked by a landslide and fallen trees. We had no option but to disembark and walk the final eight hundred metres in the torrential rain. Driven by gusts of wind, umbrellas were rendered virtually useless, and we were soon soaked to the skin. Fortunately, this stretch was not too far; I finally approached the confluence point on the mountain side of the road, jumped across the drainage ditch, and watched the decimals on the GPS latitude and longitude reset to zero. We took a group photograph in the pouring rain.

On the way back, new landslides appeared to have occurred, but we made it through without mishap. Passing Shangyun Town, we turned onto the mountains on the north-western side of the basin. After traversing another thirty-plus kilometres of mountain road similarly fraught with landslides, we arrived at Nanzha Village, which was precisely the central stronghold of the Mount Jizu Mahayana sect mentioned earlier. The rain had ceased, though the clouds had not dispersed. We asked an elderly Lahu villager, who pointed out the exact location of the former central Buddhist house ruins: "That mountain opposite, do you see that white house? In the ravine next to it, where that dark patch is, walk upwards from there. The house itself is long gone, just some large foundation stones left." Leaving the car by the roadside, we continued on foot upwards, pushing through the muddy path in the jungle, imagining its once grand scale. Soon, on a gentle slope of the mountain, moss-covered foundations and column bases appeared before us. All around, nothing was heard save the calls of birds and the chirping of insects.

On the way back to Shangyun once again, a corner of the clouds finally parted, allowing us at last to look down from the mountain peak. The entire basin unfolded clearly beneath our feet, with Shangyun plainly visible. Yet within a mere moment, the mist gathered once more, leaving nothing before our eyes but a vast expanse of white.