他寫給她的情詩開始在拉薩街頭流傳。有人認出了他的腳印從布達拉宮通往那間黃色酒館。僧侶們開始在暗門設崗。他知道被發現只是時間的問題，但他停不下來。她也知道。有一晚她說：「你不要再來了。」他說：「妳把燈收起來我就不來。」她沒有收。那晚他們抱得比任何一次都緊，緊到肋骨疼。他在她耳邊唸了那首後來最有名的詩：「住進布達拉宮，我是雪域最大的王。流浪在拉薩街頭，我是世間最美的情郎。」但聲音是碎的。這不是驕傲，是一個人被撕成兩半的聲音。她把他的眼淚用袖子擦掉，然後用同一塊袖子擦自己的。
The love poems he wrote for her began to spread through the streets of Lhasa. Someone traced his footprints from the Potala Palace to the yellow tavern. Monks were posted at the hidden door. He knew it was only a matter of time before he was discovered, but he could not stop. Neither could she. One night she said: "Do not come anymore." He said: "Take the lamp away and I will not come." She did not take it away. That night they held each other tighter than ever before — so tight their ribs ached. He whispered into her ear the poem that would become the most famous he ever wrote: "In the Potala Palace, I am the greatest king in all the Land of Snow. Wandering the streets of Lhasa, I am the most beautiful lover in the world." But his voice was broken. This was not pride. It was the sound of a man being torn in half. She wiped his tears with her sleeve, then used the same sleeve to wipe her own.
