The host then made a fire, asking the backpacker, “Young man, spend a night here?”

    “Well, great, thank you!” the backpacker agreed with excitement, not forgetting to say, “Sorry to bother you.”

    At dinner, the backpacker made another attempt — how could it be possible that the old man hadn’t seen a lock? It was just unimaginable. He asked, “So it is true that none of the herdsmen here use a lock? Aren’t you afraid of things being stolen?”

    “But why would people steal? Every Mongolian of Hardan Bateer Grassland has his own hands to work,” said the host.

    “Aren’t you afraid that others might eat and drink everything here up?”

    “I will also eat up others. Today I went to Urigen and feasted myself there. Ha-ha.” He laughed, as if he had been quite pleased with his meal.

    Lying in the warm bedding by Alatanula, the backpacker found he couldn’t fall asleep. It couldn’t even have occurred to him before that day that locks were unknown to the herdsmen on the grassland.

    As Alatanula had said, doors were only used to protect against the wind and chill instead of thieves, but it was just unbelievable.

    The next morning after leaving the old man, the backpacker visited several herdsmen and found that none of their doors were locked.

    The backpacker was completely convinced by what he had experienced. Soon afterwards, his travel note entitled “Miracles on Hardanbateer Grassland” was published in Traveler, the travel monthly with the largest national circulation. For a while, more travelers rushed to Hardanbateer Grassland in swarms.

    When the backpacker went to Hardanbateer Grassland again, it was a year later. This time he was even more shocked — all the doors of the herdsmen were locked!

    He couldn’t wait to find Alatanula, so he could figure out what had happened in the past year.

    The Alatanula’s door was also locked — the dark green plum-shaped padlock appeared unpleasantly dazzling in the sun.

    “At the beginning, Chaketu lost his teapot. Soon, Khaserdun lost his three-generation family heirloom, a carved saddle,” said Alatanula who rode back at noon. “I lost my leather boots and a stirrup.”

    “Now everyone here locks the door. And now I have to ride for such a long way to have my lunch at home,” he said grouchily.

    It was just Tuesday siesta on Hardanbateer Grassland, but the backpacker felt the faintest tiredness. He felt a sudden thirst attacking him, making his lips unbearably parched.

    He felt like beating someone, but he ended up doing nothing. All he could do at the moment was stand there, alone, to confess for the rest of his life.