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At an elevation of 7,206 meters, Nyainqentanglha means "the yaksha god resides on the noble snowy mountain" in Tibetan. Legend has it that this is the dwelling place of Norzin Kangwa Sangpo, the Western Mountain God among the Four Great Mountain Gods of Tibetan Buddhism. My admiration for this mountain began in 2005 with a single photograph — Nyainqentanglha stood proudly above the sacred "Yamdrok Lake," majestic and sacred beyond reach. As a mountaineering enthusiast, what I desired most was to get close to the peak I admired. But back then, I didn’t dare to act immediately — first, because a 7,000-meter technical peak felt beyond my experience and skill level; second, there was very little information available about the climbing route; and third, it’s said to be the abode of a male mountain deity, and I didn’t want to offend it lightly. So, year after year passed until last summer when I偶然翻到 came across an old climbing plan for Nyainqentanglha. Suddenly, the desire to go there became overwhelming. I set a date, made plans, and personally favored April as the best time to climb. It's the wind season in Tibet then, and while the weather is relatively stable, the winds can be frighteningly strong. Still, there are quite a few good weather windows.

Originally, I had planned to climb solo (not free solo), but during that time, I met a girl full of climbing passion — Xiaomai. In just two or three years, she had wildly climbed over twenty times, including around fourteen or fifteen snow mountains. When I first heard about it, my immediate thought was two words — crazy. To be honest, I didn’t appreciate such an approach. But the more I got to know her, I realized she truly loved the mountains, so much so that she seemed lost in them. She didn’t care about a girl’s most precious asset — her looks. Mountaineering left many indelible marks on her. She had worked with both the San’ao Team and the Polar Star Club, receiving help from some seasoned climbers, which benefited her a lot. Her unassuming and low-key style made her less known. Ever since she learned of my Nyainqentanglha plan, she wouldn’t let go. I knew it’d be hard to persuade her to quit, but such an impromptu team-up is a big no-no in mountaineering. So, I suggested we first climb Lüzhi Peak together to get used to each other’s climbing styles and abilities.

When we descended from Lüzhi Peak, she was completely exhausted. I thought she’d automatically give up on Nyainqentanglha, but she was quite cooperative and said she’d guard the base camp, even solemnly leaving all her technical gear in Lhasa. But by the time we reached Kangbugongba Monastery, the real show began. She suddenly told me she had brought all her technical equipment and demonstrated both stamina and adaptability — a complete contrast to her state on Lüzhi Peak. She hadn’t mentioned she’d been sick and hadn’t fully recovered, which affected her adaptability. Xiaomai’s trump card was threatening me — if I didn’t climb with her, she’d go alone. Oh dear, it broke my heart. So, we went together. At least, I figured, if things became uncontrollably dangerous, we could descend together. Her bold and decisive personality meant there was nothing she wouldn’t do.
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Langkazi County is the first stop on the way to Nyainqentanglha. From there, you need to take another car about 20 kilometers toward Gyantse to reach Kangbugongba Monastery — a little-known small temple that even few in Langkazi know about. Only a few nuns and an elderly man in his seventies practice here. The temple is built on a sheer cliff, half-suspended near the sacred Nyainqentang Co Lake, making it appear even more mysterious, ancient, solemn, and tranquil. One side of the temple leads to the outside world — the mountain foot is accessible by vehicle. The traditional East Ridge climbing route doesn’t require going up or around the temple; you just continue straight along the valley, then turn left. It takes roughly 5–7 hours to reach the East Ridge base camp near Gamaco. This time, we chose the South–Southeast Ridge route, passing by the temple and following a cliffside path into Nyainqentanglha’s main lake — Nyainqentang Co. The South–Southeast Ridge and the East Ridge are separated by a huge valley, the entrance to which is blocked. About 200 meters out of Kangbugongba, there’s a waterfall, and only above the waterfall is the entrance to that valley. So, only birds can enter that enclosed valley. Otherwise, the climbing route from there would be less fragmented, more gradual, and easier to ascend to the Southeast Ridge.
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There are many climbing routes up Nyainqentanglha. Currently, only the East Ridge has been successfully climbed by Chinese climbers, though it’s mistakenly referred to as the Southeast Ridge. During the climb, I used different methods to correct our direction and found that the so-called East Ridge actually faces directly east, whereas our chosen route cuts transversely from the south toward the east, ascending onto the southeast-trending mountain range. The East Ridge was first climbed in 2000 by a Japanese mountaineering team and is the route for which I have the most information. The approach to this route is long and winding, unsuitable for short-term, fast, small-team climbs. The base camp for my new South–Southeast Ridge route is just one hour from the temple. When I initially scoped out the climbing route above Camp C, I estimated there were at least two canyons on the ridge, unsure if they continued all the way to Camp C2. The nuns here don’t speak Mandarin. I gestured multiple times, asking if they could help carry our loads up the scree mountain from the sacred lake, but they panicked, waving their hands vigorously and acting out stones falling on people — signaling that no one dares to go up. April in Tibet is just warming up, and the sacred lake hasn’t fully melted yet, with thick ice still covering the surface. Though it looked walkable, the cracked patches told me spring had arrived. The water is crystal clear, a beautiful, sacred Tibetan blue. This is the main lake of the main peak — what a blessed and fortunate sight. I couldn’t help but prostrate myself in worship to Nyainqentanglha, praying for the safety of our climb and feeling uneasy about whether we were disturbing the sanctity...
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Xiaomai, who had been in poor condition on Lüzhi Peak, was like a completely different person — no resemblance at all. She could eat, drink, leap around, and had boundless energy, which put my mind somewhat at ease. In terms of skill, among female climbers, Xiaomai’s independent operational ability is quite solid. Over the years, she has also organized commercial climbs over ten times, gaining considerable practical experience. Of course, to ensure she was in better shape for the subsequent climb, I declined her request to share the load of my equipment equally, which upset her — she felt I was insulting her ability. Heh heh. Even though we were a two-person team, I still exercised my authority as team leader — unconditional obedience to me.
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The distance from the temple to BC is very short. After descending a cliffside path and climbing up a very steep cliff road, we reached the shore of the sacred lake. To support the income of the elderly, the monastery assigned two 60–70-year-old practitioners and a middle-aged nun to carry our loads. Due to the language barrier, I couldn’t convince Abbot Baima to replace them with younger porters. Along the way, I took care of the two elders — I couldn’t even manage to carry all the packs myself. On the descent, I had to pay them double and donate a small amount of incense money as thanks and apology. Seeing the 75-year-old grandpa carrying a pack weighing over 30 pounds (the lightest one!) truly moved me. So ashamed, so ashamed.
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(The 75-year-old, still vigorous grandpa)
We arrived at BC before noon. Still worried about the unknown route, I decided to scout ahead. The scree hill on the right was highly unstable, with gneiss structure that was mostly weathered. Every step required first stamping out a foothold, but I still slipped every two steps. There was a 20-meter-high scree slope at altitude, which took me a full half-hour to climb. I was so angry I felt like swimming up. Using the remaining rocky outcrops as much as possible, I scouted up to around 5,500 meters (BC is at about 5,150 m) and got a basic view of how the scree ridge connected continuously with the distant glacier. I buried some gas canisters, equipment, and food in a cave along the scouting route, then returned to report the good news to Xiaomai. Of course, I was rewarded with a delicious bowl of instant noodles with egg.
The next day, we left the VE25 and all surplus supplies at BC, bringing only the items listed at the beginning of this article. Though not yet at the extreme of lightweight, we had adjusted within the limits of what we could carry, ensuring we could sustain a multi-day climb. Later, back in Lhasa, we weighed ourselves and found that both Xiaomai and I had lost 8 pounds.
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(Departure from the temple)


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