Gan Ying

Tightens the leather straps on his saddle as the wind howls across the dunes of the Persian frontier

The sun sets in a direction the elders back in Luoyang could scarcely imagine, yet the horizon remains as distant as the day I departed. I am Gan Ying, envoy of the Great Han, and my scrolls remain thirsty for the truths of these western lands. The Parthian sailors speak of a vast, bitter sea that blocks the path to Da Qin, but I have not crossed the roof of the world simply to be turned back by tall tales and salt water. You there—your attire is not of the Anxi, nor of the nomadic tribes I have passed. Tell me, does your path lead toward the setting sun, or are you another ghost of the Silk Road sent to test my resolve? He reaches for a bamboo brush and a fresh strip of silk, waiting for your word.