"Look! Someone outside the window is saluting the train!" As the train rumbled forward, a passenger pointed at a small dot of "fluorescent green" outside the window and exclaimed.

This is a special sight along the thousands of kilometers of the Qinghai-Tibet Railway. Whenever a train passes, the railway guards in their sentry boxes salute the passing trains, regardless of wind or snow. Especially when the train crosses the vast, desolate, high-altitude snowfields, the figures of these railway guards stand out particularly.

Some stand for a long time in the ice and snow, straighter than a flagpole in the freezing wind; some, who were stumbling forward, adjust their posture in time to salute the train; some, carrying heavy luggage on their backs, lean forward in the cold wind striving to keep their balance...

How do they guard?

As a full-time railway protection and joint defense team member of the Tibet Autonomous Region, Tsering Norbu has worked in this position for more than ten years. Born in 1995, he is the deputy captain of the Omatingga Brigade. Since 2013, he has been watching over the coming and going of plateau trains in this place with an average altitude of over 4,500 meters.

At 6:30 in the morning, Tsering Norbu and his team members are already up early. After a simple wash-up, they begin their day's work. After half an hour of exercise and running, they get ready to head to their duty posts. When all the preparatory work is done, it is still not yet eight o'clock, and the sky over the Tibetan Plateau is still shrouded in night.

Afterwards, the railway guards need to first arrive at the duty sentry box in the area they are responsible for, which they call the "guard point." The sentry boxes are located along the railway line, mostly surrounded by vast wilderness, and the interior area is less than 10 square meters, furnished with simple beds, tables, heating stoves, hot water kettles, and other daily necessities.

However, the work does not stop there. After a short rest, Tsering Norbu needs to go out and carry out inspections of his assigned section. Within the section, the slopes, bridges, culverts, and communication base stations along the line are all things Tsering Norbu needs to pay attention to.

Each railway guard is mainly responsible for an area of about one kilometer before and after the "guard point." "This piece is our territory, and we are responsible for guarding it," Tsering Norbu said with a smile.

This is no empty talk. At least for Tsering Norbu, this one-kilometer range is the "kingdom" he protects. He walks the construction access roads on both sides of the railway dozens of times a day—he knows every detail, like where the ground is uneven and where there is a lot of gravel that makes people easy to trip. In front of the reporter, Tsering Norbu even performed a special skill: walking forward blindfolded, he walked three or four hundred meters as if on flat ground.

"This is a skill developed from patrolling in the dark," he said with a smile. In the early years, the railway guards had no flashlights, but night patrols could not be abandoned, so familiarity with the terrain became their "basic skill."

There have also been times when they "invaded" the territory of others. Tsering Norbu recalled that one year there was a heavy snowstorm in Nagqu, and many railway fences collapsed under the weight of the snow. The railway guards of his brigade all turned out to patrol the line, checking bit by bit, and the group walked seven or eight kilometers through waist-deep snow.

When they came across collapsed fences, the railway guards immediately recorded them. For some that were simply crushed, they immediately stepped forward to set them upright and made simple inspection records of the fences for future reference; for those seriously damaged, they also recorded the situation in detail and later arranged for dedicated personnel to carry out maintenance.

For the railway guards, exposure to wind and sun is the most normal thing. Due to long-term exposure to the plateau's sunlight and strong winds, the railway guards' "yellow vests" are quickly consumed. In the early years, a shift was 24 hours, meaning that railway guards had to stay at the guard point and its surroundings for a full 24 hours each time.

Once, after finishing a day of patrol and returning to the dormitory, Tsering Norbu changed his clothes, only to find that with a gentle pull, his jacket tore open a large hole. He could only bid a gentle farewell to the "yellow vest" that had just accompanied him for 24 hours.

This was already routine for him; due to the harsh natural environment, fabric ages very quickly.

If clothes are like this, how much more so for people. After working for a long time, the post-95s Tsering Norbu has also developed some stomach problems. In earlier years, during the 24-hour duty he could not eat meals, and each time he would scoop some rice into a bucket and mix it with Lao Gan Ma at the guard point for a meal. Not only were meals irregular, most of the time he could only eat cold rice.

"Later, the team was equipped with motorcycles, and only then could they deliver food to us at mealtimes," Tsering Norbu said with a smile. However, because he often needs to go out on patrol, even now he cannot guarantee a hot meal every time, but Tsering Norbu still does not mind.

The young man always says with a smile, "Now the conditions are much better!" In the early years, due to a shortage of personnel, one railway guard had to be on duty for as long as 24 hours; now, Tsering Norbu and other railway guards can rotate in "three shifts" within 24 hours.

This makes Tsering Norbu very satisfied.

Who is invading?

"Here, the train has already crossed the vast no-man's land, and both animal and human activities may intrude into the railway area. This is also what we need to pay most attention to," Tsering Norbu told the reporter.

In his memory, incidents of villagers' livestock intruding onto the railway have occurred from time to time.

It was a cold night when the phone suddenly rang for Tsering Norbu—

"Come quickly, a group of villagers' horses has run onto the railway. Hurry and come help." The voice on the phone was urgent.

Tsering Norbu snapped to attention, put on his thickest coat, rushed onto the team's small pickup truck, and hurried toward the section that had called for help.

Because they could only take the access road, the dirt road was bumpy, and even though Tsering Norbu was anxious, he could only move forward slowly. When he arrived at the scene, it was already around four in the morning. He saw several dark shadows swaying ceaselessly on the railway embankment. Shining a light on them, it turned out that three horses had somehow crossed the fence and gotten onto the slope where the railway was located.

The remaining dark shadows were the patrolling railway guards. They shouted and flashed their lights, hoping to make the horses leave the railway track quickly, but the horses were unmoved and kept waiting unhurriedly between the slope and the rails.

This left Tsering Norbu at a loss too—usually, when people shouted or startled them, these horses would quickly run away. "What has gotten into them today! Why are they so stubborn?" Tsering Norbu was anxious. He quickly climbed up near the slope and joined the team driving the horses away.

After a standoff, the horses all left the track, but lay down beside the rails to "rest." Tsering Norbu suddenly remembered something, flipped his hand to check the time, and, being thoroughly familiar with the train timetable, suddenly thought: "Oh no, a train is about to arrive soon!"

At that moment, Tsering Norbu had a flash of inspiration. He immediately called the railway guards present together, and then everyone joined hands to form a semicircle, slowly approaching the group of horses step by step. They deliberately stamped their feet heavily, shouted in unison, and kept adjusting the "encirclement angle."

Their body movements were unhurried, but Tsering Norbu was extremely nervous inside. "If we walk too fast, I'm afraid we'll startle the horses too much and make them scatter; if we walk too slowly, I'm afraid the train will come and cause casualties and property losses," Tsering Norbu said.

The rumble of the train came from afar, the sound gradually quickening, as if it too had noticed something unusual on the track it normally traveled. "Rumble..." The loud noise mixed with a great wind blew past from the side. Having watched trains for so many years, this was still the first time Tsering Norbu had felt the enormous power of this big fellow up close.

On the slope, Tsering Norbu and the others, keeping low, had already forced these horses into a corner of the slope. Watching the train roar past beside them, he also let out a long breath of relief.

The greatest danger had passed, and what followed became orderly. He and his companions moved slowly, continuously guiding the group of horses toward the gate in the fence. Finally, they drove the horses out of the fenced area through the gate.

By then, the morning light was almost faintly visible. In the night of minus twenty to thirty degrees Celsius, Tsering Norbu suddenly felt a chill—it turned out that his inner clothes had long been soaked, and the hands they had been holding each other with had long lost feeling in the cold wind. Everyone hurried back to the nearest guard point, turned on the heating, boiled hot water, and comforted the companions who had toiled in the cold wind for almost the whole night.

Tsering Norbu has had many such experiences. In order to maximize the safety around the railway, Tsering Norbu often participates in outreach activities in nearby villages.

"The main point is to tell everyone to stay away from the railway when grazing and doing activities, and especially not to climb over the fences," Tsering Norbu told the reporter. "For children, we also advise them not to play ball in high places, lest the ball fall onto the railway and cause a safety accident."

It is not only humans and domesticated livestock; antelopes, black bears... As wildlife activity has gradually become more frequent in recent years, incidents of animals intruding into the railway area have occurred from time to time, and all of these require the attention of the railway guards.

What does the family think?

After ten years of watching over the railway, Tsering Norbu has spent little time with his family. Especially during railway support periods around festivals and holidays, Tsering Norbu has to spend them at his post.

"Over the years, I have spent almost all Tibetan festivals at my post," he said with emotion. "It would be untrue to say my family has no complaints, but the pride of guarding the railway makes everyone very supportive of me."

Tsering Norbu's son is three and a half years old this year. In kindergarten, when many people ask about his father's work, he always proudly tells them: "My father is a railway guard!"

There was a time when his son also complained quite a bit about Tsering Norbu's work—"Why does Dad never come home?" "What exactly does Dad's job do?"

Tsering Norbu tirelessly explained to his son: "Look at the things sold in the supermarket, look at so many things here—they are all brought up by the railway." "When family members go to Lhasa, we all have to take the train." "In the future, if you go to study elsewhere, you may have to take the train too."

Time after time, again and again, Tsering Norbu repeatedly told his son about the importance of the railway, and over time the child took these words to heart. Now, Tsering Norbu's son often talks about his dream—"In the future I want to take the train to Beijing! Go to Beijing with Dad to see Tiananmen!"

Even after ten years, Tsering Norbu still remembers that day. On May 4, 2014, just after saluting and watching a train move away, he suddenly received a picture.

It was a message from his brother's child, sent together with a picture.

Opening the picture, Tsering Norbu's hand suddenly trembled a little, and tears uncontrollably slid from the corners of his eyes. In the vast wilderness, a touch of fluorescent yellow stood there. It was the figure most familiar yet strange to Tsering Norbu—himself.

"Uncle, is this person you?" his brother's child asked eagerly. It turned out that the child had seen a familiar figure on the train and promptly took a photo. He knew his uncle had just become a railway guard and hurriedly sent the message to his uncle to confirm.

"Yes, it's me..." On the wilderness, Tsering Norbu typed the answer, as if he had used up all his strength, and yet as if his whole body were filled with strength.

The gears of fate began to turn in 2008.

That year, 13-year-old Tsering Norbu "took the train to Lhasa" for the first time; that summer, the Qinghai-Tibet Railway had just been open to traffic for two years. For the young Tsering Norbu, everything was so unfamiliar. The train, swaying forward with a "clang clang" sound, carried his imagination of Lhasa, a capital city.

In the crowded hard-seat carriage, he played, frolicked, and roughhoused with the children in the same carriage. This was a travel experience he had never had before. Their family of five sat on the train and reached Lhasa from Nagqu in just a few hours; in the past, this was a journey that could not be completed even in a whole day.

Tsering Norbu still remembers that at that time, on both sides of the road, there were people saluting the train.

At that time, he never imagined that he would eventually become one of them.