The valley, as depicted in Lhakpa’s map, was surrounded by a double ring of mountains, the first a series of rugged ridges that enveloped the valley on all sides, then a series of much steeper snowcapped mountains that stood like sentinels guarding the fertile valley. At the northern end, the two highest peaks funneled a tall waterfall onto the floor of the valley, into a small lake that was an intensely turquoise color. From there a narrow river flowed through the valley into the gap at the southern end where the dam would be built. That vital gap, which made the entire project possible, was a narrow split in the tallest of the surrounding mountains, a magnificent snowcapped peak with a descending series of flats that resembled steps, large enough for a giant. It was what Tibetans would call a grandfather mountain, and what Lhakpa had labeled Gekho’s Roost. Huge juniper trees grew around the lake and along the river, and probably had grown all the way to the far end of the valley before the work crews had begun cutting them down and scraping the ground bare.

The Tibetans believed there were spiritual power places created by the earth deities, typically small areas shielded on the north side by natural formations, open to the east for the benefit of the sunrise, and preferably near water and juniper trees. The valley was a power place on a massive scale, the biggest Shan had ever seen. At least it had been before Beijing had overtaken it with bulldozers and dump trucks.

Amah Jiejie had called ahead to make sure Shan was expected as Colonel Tan’s envoy at the project headquarters. The director, Dr. Ren Yatsen, an overeager man with a vacuous smile, enthusiastically welcomed Shan, and had his assistant serve tea as he presented a short slide show depicting the valley as it would look in the future. The placid lake in the artist’s rendering was framed by concrete structures. In a second perspective from the land below, beaming Tibetans stood before massive turbines as they received outflow waters into fields of golden barley. It would become, Ren assured him, a great source of pride for Tibetans, who could boast that their once useless valley was powering the motherland. When Shan raised a questioning eyebrow, the director explained that the transmission lines would go directly into Sichuan Province, from where power would be distributed into the heart of China.

Ren insisted on taking Shan on a tour of the construction, and as he climbed into Ren’s car, Shan caught the director eyeing his constable’s uniform.

“I am not on the colonel’s military staff, if that’s what you are wondering,” Shan said.

“No, no. I confess I was confused when the colonel’s office said he was sending his inspector.”