During the Zhenguan era of the Tang Dynasty, on the western frontier lay the Bone Road—a desolate trail where bones of travelers bleached white under the sun, a testament to the desert’s mercilessness. A sudden black sandstorm swallowed fifteen-year-old Ma Shiliu, tossing him into the legendary oasis whispered about by caravans: a paradise of emerald springs and date palms, hidden deep within the deathly dunes.

There, he met Sei La—a girl with golden hair and sapphire eyes, as ethereal as the oasis itself. She traded him a deep-blue gemstone for his mother’s tortoiseshell hairpin, a trinket she said held the secret to unlocking the earth’s hidden heart.

Three years later, Ma Shiliu returned to the desert, armed with all his savings and the fire of youth. He braved sandstorms that swallowed the sky, traversed valleys where the wind howled like ghosts, and crossed salt flats that burned under the sun—all to find that oasis, that girl, and the "Eye of the Sea," the gemstone he believed could reveal the desert’s deepest secrets.

His journey became a quest that spanned the Silk Road and delved into subterranean realms: a tale of love pure enough to glow, of loyalty that defied the desert’s cruelty, and of a boy’s unwavering belief in the magic of the unknown. For Ma Shiliu, the Bone Road was no longer a path of death, but a road to redemption—one paved with memories of Sei La’s smile, the glint of the blue gemstone, and the hope that some legends were worth chasing, even if it meant losing himself to the desert.

That night after finishing The Eye of the Sea, I closed my laptop and walked to the balcony in Huinan, Shanghai.


The March night wind carried the earthy scent of early spring, and suddenly I remembered the dusk twenty-eight years ago when I got lost on the edge of Lop Nur alone.


I was twenty then, with only half a bottle of water left in my backpack and no cell signal.


I sat on a sand dune, watching the sun sink little by little, and instead of thinking "Will I die?", I found myself wondering: "If I died here, would anyone come looking for me like Ma Shiliu searched for Sai La?"


But that question stayed with me like a seed buried deep in my heart.


Until the summer of 2025, when I saw a Tang Dynasty mural in the Mogao Grottoes at Dunhuang— a group of people of different skin tones gathered around a spring, with a glowing blue ribbon painted above it.


In that moment, I knew I had to write this story.


Writing this book was harder than I ever imagined.


I revised the outline three times and cut nearly 40,000 words of "fluff" just to make Ma Shiliu's persistence feel more real and Sai La's kindness more moving.


I even traveled to the edge of the Taklamakan Desert, rented a camel, and walked for three days.


I didn't write a single word during those days—just stared at the stars at night.


And I finally understood: True oases are never on maps.


They lie in the direction you're willing to get lost in.


To everyone who has read this far—thank you.


If you've ever stayed up late at night, aching for a place you can no longer find, a person you can no longer reach, or a dream that's slipped through your fingers,


May you find your own "Land of a Thousand Springs" in this life.


be willing to bring that sapphire back to the world—just like Ma Shiliu did.


The Eye of the Sea​

The Eye of the Sea