Horse Racing in Zhaosu
A small frontier town in China’s far northwest: Zhaosu.
Those few words alone — a small frontier town in the far northwest — are enough to stir the imagination. They conjure the desert winds of Seven Swords of Mount Heaven, the grudges and gallantry of The Wandering Swordsman, or that line from The White Horse Neighs in the Western Wind: “But I simply don’t like it.” Did a Han princess once marry into this land? Did envoys of the Tang dynasty also pass along these ancient roads? How many soldiers once guarded the border here on horseback?
Before my first trip to Ili, a friend of a friend told us, “In June, Ili is beautiful no matter which of the eight counties below you go to. Snow mountains, forests, grasslands, streams, and little yellow flowers covering the hills.”
When I returned to Ili, I realized that out of its eight counties, Zhaosu was still my favorite.
Most of Zhaosu’s natural beauty is concentrated in Xiata. The snowy mountains of Xiata deserve an article of their own, but let me start with Zhaosu.
On my first night back in Zhaosu, I went straight to the tomb of Princess Xijun. On the banks of the Ili River, two women of Han origin streaked across the night sky of history like meteors — nearly a century before the better-known story of Wang Zhaojun being sent beyond the frontier.
Princess Xijun was ill-fated. Just a few years after arriving in Wusun, she died young. The other, Princess Jieyou, was far more fortunate: she lived here for 50 years, became a grandmother figure of the grasslands, and in old age was even able to return to her homeland and spend her final years there.
But Princess Xijun remained forever on this mountain-ringed grassland. A thousand years later, all that is left is a small tomb and a white marble statue imagined by later generations.
Thankfully, Zhaosu’s night sky is brilliant enough that pitching a tent and keeping watch beside the princess for one night feels fitting.
The next afternoon back in town, I was learning how to skewer lamb kebabs when auspicious clouds suddenly gathered overhead. I ran outside and saw mammatus clouds billowing in from all directions, like flocks of sheep rushing across the grassland.
After the rain, Zhaosu felt clean and fresh. Just a few blocks away from town, the endless grassland began. The boundary between city and nature was wonderfully blurred.
A short stretch of rainbow appeared in the distance, like a mysterious passage linking heaven and earth.
I was so busy staring at the drone’s tiny screen that I failed to notice the bigger spectacle unfolding all around us. The inner arc was a rainbow, the outer a secondary bow, and the pair of color bridges even left our smart Border Collie friend staring in amazement.
On the street, the noisiest people by far were us outsiders. Locals passed by without changing expression, not even bothering to turn their heads, as if this were simply everyday life for them.
In less than a day, Zhaosu had already given us so much: starlight, auspicious clouds, rainbows, and sunset.
Zhaosu town itself is very small — one food plaza and a few crisscrossing streets, and that’s about it. Kebabs were sold one skewer at a time, and a stall in the farmers market was so good that after a few meals, we had become regulars.
But most of the scenery lies outside town.
Across the broad expanse between Zhaosu county seat and the border are scattered pastoral townships of various ethnic minorities and farms run by the Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps. Large fields are divided by rows of roadside trees into neatly arranged rectangles — deeply satisfying for anyone who loves order.
Many years ago, this may all have been wilderness. Once you come to the frontier, you begin to understand what the history textbooks meant by military settlement and frontier farming.
The main products of the Fourth Division farms stationed here are canola-based goods, which is why Zhaosu is home to Xinjiang’s largest spring canola-growing area. When July arrives, the green fields transform into an endless sea of gold. The spectacle is every bit as impressive as the famous rapeseed blossoms of Wuyuan.
Even an ordinary, carefully tended farm field can become a work of art.
While driving aimlessly through the countryside, I picked up a young Kazakh woman who needed a ride into town. Along the way, she said she could take me to a place with very few visitors and beautiful scenery.
She was right — it was an excellent spot. In the valley, the Akeziya River wound around the woods, with snow mountains faintly visible in the distance. This area belongs to a section of forest in Zhaosu managed by the western Tianshan forest farm.
The kind of camping that can feel forced in big eastern cities seemed completely natural here. Local Kazakh families came for picnics too, singing and dancing on meadows dotted with tiny wildflowers. It looked exactly like the kind of happy childhood people dream of.
Still not satisfied, we made plans to go watch horse racing together the next day.
Wusun was famed for producing excellent horses, and Princess Xijun’s betrothal gift was 1,000 horses. Emperor Wu of Han admired them greatly and called them “heavenly horses.” Although that title was later claimed by the famed Ferghana horses, the idea of Zhaosu as the homeland of heavenly horses has endured, and to this day it remains one of the area’s proudest calling cards.
Outside Zhaosu town, fine horses can be seen wandering the grasslands everywhere.
Raised in the moist, fertile Ili River valley, Ili horses are strong, handsome, and sleek-coated, with powerful builds that instantly make you want to mount up and ride. I’ve heard they are still dominant in competitions across China today.
In Zhaosu, there are two classic ways to see horses: the equestrian show at the Heavenly Horse Cultural Park, and the “heavenly horses bathing in the river” spectacle at the wetland park. Between the two, I’d guess the more dramatic scene is still dozens of horses charging through the waves from the Tekes River.
We skipped both attractions, but happened to catch a local horse race instead.
Before the race began, the warm-up performance was equestrian acrobatics. For the descendants of Wusun, the instinct for handling horses seems to run in their blood. Every part of the body can be used to ride steadily — feet, hands, even the head. As for one rider on two horses, or two riders on one horse, just fill in the number however you like and they can probably do it.
The women riders were no less bold. Pulling off a backward, airborne mount like that surely takes decades of practice. The Kazakh women here — of course they know how to ride.
Then the real race began. From the moment the gate flew open, you understood what it means to leave everyone in the dust. Look — before the dust on one side had even settled, the horses had already appeared on the other.
The thundering speed of horse racing gets your blood pumping. With all four hooves off the ground and every stride stretched to its fullest, how could anyone not love a sport that combines speed and beauty so perfectly?
The competition on the track is riveting, while off to the side, Kazakh men quietly start placing bets on the horses they favor. Winners beam with delight; losers sigh in disappointment. That’s how it has always been. As an outsider, of course, I couldn’t really join in this secret excitement. I could only hope the uncles enjoyed themselves in moderation and didn’t get too carried away.
All else being equal, the lighter the rider, the better. That’s why the best jockeys are always kids. Looking at these children, barely in their early teens, galloping freely across the field, I couldn’t help thinking that at the same age I probably still didn’t know how to ride a bicycle.
At Zhaosu’s racecourse, Khan Tengri Peak—the second-highest peak in the southern Tianshan Mountains—stands in the distance. With hardly any artificial embellishment, the landscape is naturally stunning as it is.
And that’s not even mentioning the day each July when the Zhaosu Heavenly Horse Cultural Festival opens and more than a thousand fine horses thunder across this vast grassland together. It happens just once a year, so if you’re lucky enough to be in Zhaosu at that time, don’t miss it.
On my last afternoon in Zhaosu, I decided on a whim to visit Wild Wolf Valley. It’s not far from the county seat—about an hour by car—and sits at the end of the Yizhao Highway, known as the “most beautiful road.”
Purple primroses and yellow globeflowers bloomed in competition, creating a dazzling sea of flowers. Back then, the place wasn’t yet well known, and the Yizhao Highway had not yet opened to traffic, so few people came here. I simply found an open patch of ground, lay down, and let my thoughts wander through the valley until moonrise.
After the moon rose, the valley felt even colder and lonelier, with a real hint of wolves howling at the moon.
After traveling to Ili many times, even beautiful scenery can start to blur together a bit. You have to learn to slow down and truly enjoy the experience of travel itself. “Where is there no bright moon, no snow-capped mountain, no grassland? What’s rare is simply a carefree group of companions.”
My trip to Xinjiang has already become a very distant memory. This year, Xinjiang is still as popular as ever; even several of my older relatives are traveling there right now. I’m trying hard to retrieve those memories, as if I were going there again myself.
Zhaosu Guide
Sights: Besides Xiata, which is everyone’s main destination, other recommended places in Zhaosu include Wild Wolf Valley, Wetland Park, the forest farm in Chahanwusu Township, and Yunduan Pasture, plus anywhere you can see rapeseed flowers in July.Where to stay: A quick search shows that there are far more lodging options now than before. Many guesthouses have also opened along the county road from the county seat to Xiata, so you can choose the one that suits you best. Zhaosu itself isn’t very large, so no matter where you stay, driving back and forth is quite convenient. If you stay in town, Zhaosu Biancheng Youth Hostel has a very cute little courtyard and is quite comfortable.
About the Author
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