Puntsug is my father, and this is his life history. My parents were herders with around fifty sheep, two camels, two horses, and two cows. In 1944, amidst the threat of Kazakh bandits from all directions and suppression by the Nationalist Party in Hobogsair, over a hundred households escaped to the Russian side and returned in 1945, a year later. When they returned Hobogair passing through Hargait valley of Sair Mountain, including my parents, they were welcomed back by the self-organized Torghut partisans, claiming allegiance to the Communist Red Army, eliminating the Nationalist Party and the Kazakh bandits. Upon their return, however, my parents, like many other Torghuts in Hobogsair, fell ill with pneumonia that had been spreading at that time. With more than seven days of struggle, they survived with their three children on dried dairy food and bread. Sadly, when my parents regained consciousness, they discovered that most of their belongings had been taken by others who thought they had perished, leaving them with only a broken pot and their Jolom, which is a smaller version of a yurt. Similarly, some people would take livestock from others who kept their animals in compounds during the daytime, assuming the family was infected and would not recover. Weakened and barely able to leave home to collect food, my parents pleaded with a passing lama to carry a message to his cousin, a lama in Jasagin Khüree monastery, stating, “We survived the illness, we didn’t die. Please come and take our three hungry children.” Learning about the situation, his cousin swiftly arrived and took them to the monastery which was already full of survivors seeking assistance from the monastery and lamas. The following day, my father borrowed a digging hoe from the monastery and ventured into the Adarag mountains to take back a large bundle of caragana, a popular shrub grows in Hobogsair, to exchange for some Naan bread from a Uyghur baker to feed his children. This exchange was repeated over the next few days until my father had collected some emergency food and, eventually, he sought refuge with my father’s brother-in-law, Hashin Nime, offering to herd his sheep in exchange for food. After tending his brother-in-law’s sheep for several months, my father, on the recommendation of Hashin Nime, moved to work for another rich Kazakh herder named Asalba, where they stayed until he had made a complete recovery the following year. Subsequently, my father spent a decade herding sheep for Alag Tologai Buuwa, witnessing the flock grow from 200 to over 1000 sheep. As the years passed, my father’s compensation evolved from a lamb to a ewe, a ewe with its lamb, two ewe, two ewe and a goat, and so forth. The sheep he earned also formed a small herd within his brother’s herd during these years. Initially herding on foot, my father’s exceptional skills led his boss to purchase a fine horse for him to ride in his seventh year of service, recognizing him as the best herder he had ever encountered. The horse that the boss purchased was a bay mare from Mashial, one of the prosperous Kazakh herders in Hobogsair. In preparation for the upcoming lambing season in spring, the boss meticulously cared for the mare for my father. He repaired an old saddle frame, crafted new strips, and fashioned other leather components from cowhide. The mare was shod and well-fed throughout the winter, ready to be ridden when my father moved to the spring pasture in Tahilin Gol. Adorned with newly crafted horse utensils, my father and the splendidly galloping mare presented a sight rarely seen among herders in those years, truly astonishing to behold. Interestingly, his enjoyment of the riding lasted no more than four days before a Kazakh partisan claimed the horse. While he was tending his flocks, Puntsug saw around a hundred Kazakh partisans approaching from Oboot Khüree’s direction. Some rode alone, while others shared a horse. Some carried guns, while others slung some guns like wood across their backs. Amidst the group, someone called Puntsug’s name repeatedly. It turned out to be an old friend, Jamshivin Bahchi, with whom Puntsug had tended sheep in the Hatun mountains a decade earlier. Bahchi proclaimed that it was the era of the proletariat and requested Puntsug’s support. He needed the horse to travel to Tarbagatai and join the Liberation Army, promising to return and free Hobogsair. Naive Puntsug agreed, handing over his horse to Bahchi and returning home on foot again. His boss scolded him for his decision, questioning why he would give away his horse and saddle to a passing Kazakh. He criticized Puntsug for not valuing the saddle, which had taken months to repair. After this accident, he continued herding sheep for his boss for several more years on foot. After liberation, his boss paid him approximately thirty sheep as compensation before the Red Army confiscated the family’s livestock, deeming them wealthy. My father gathered that he had collected into his brother’s pasture and established a self-sufficient herding family. Throughout the wars of liberation, Jamshiv came several times to meet My father, providing barley flour and rice, expressing gratitude for the horse he had taken. I can clearly recall that, until very recently, Jamshiv continued to visit our pasture with food, occasionally sharing the trophies of his winter hunts.