The late autumn wind carried the Taklamakan sand and swept through Seman Township in Kashgar City. The embroidery girl Meikamu Yasen sat in front of a wooden window and picked up a silver needle. She picked and pressed the pomegranate petals and bloomed on the flower hat.
In the distance, the Kunlun Mountains are hidden in the gray mist, and the snow line hangs low, as if a wet ink painting hangs between the sky and the earth.
It takes five days at the fastest to embroider a flower hat. After she saves a batch, she sends it to the Kurcam Handicrafts Professional Cooperative. The head of the cooperative, Ameti Abdureim, collected these handmade flower hats one by one and sent them on the "charity" slow train 7558/7555 times.
It wasn't like that at first.
Ameti Abdureim first set up a street stall in the night market, but the sales were not good. Later, before dawn, he took the green leather train to the Grand Bazaar in Urumqi to sell the handmade floral hats on his back. If he couldn't sell out, he would carry it back. The income from selling flower hats can barely make ends meet. At the most difficult time, the cooperative could hardly survive.
One night in 2021, while he was browsing short videos, he suddenly received a call - Polatihan, the conductor of the 7558/7555 train, saw him introducing the skills of embroidered hats in his video account, searched for his phone number, and asked him to set up a stall on the train.
Amati was doubtful and got on the bus with 50 flower hats. Watching the passengers coming and going, he kept thinking: Can this be done?
In 2020, Lin Huiling, who served as the secretary of the Hotan Second Team in the Korla Passenger Transport Section, discovered a strange phenomenon when sorting out daily passenger flow data: in the section from Kashgar to Hotan, the passenger flow on weekends can always remain stable at 300 to 400 people, which is much higher than other sections.
After asking the train conductor on duty, I found out that every weekend, many villagers along the line would take this train to sell their walnuts and red dates in markets in Yarkand and other places. In addition, there are a large number of high school students living in Hotan, who always regard this low-fare slow train as their first choice for commuting between home and school.
Further reading, the pattern becomes clear: most villagers regularly take the 7557/7556 train from Kashgar to Hotan, and return the next day on the 7558/7555 train, taking local specialties back and forth to the markets along the cities.
Can we simply hold a "mobile bazaar" on the train? Farmers do not need to travel to multiple markets, they can sell their agricultural products on a slow train.
During a communication, Lin Huiling and Polatihan had the same ideas.
But there are many concerns. Private sales of small commodities are not allowed on the train; if farmers who are really in difficulty are to board the train, there are no ready-made standards for how to define difficulties and how to verify their family circumstances; what is even more worrying is that if they work for a long time and farmers cannot sell their goods, not only will they not make money, but they will also have to pay for the train, which will dampen their enthusiasm.
What really made her and Polatihan determined to do this was an old man they met during a survey. It was an old man who got on the train from Moyu Station. He was stooped, carrying a large bag full of walnuts, and holding his young granddaughter in his hand. He said he was going to the Yarkand market to sell walnuts to raise money for his granddaughter. The old man's hands, chapped by the cold, clutched the cloth bag tightly. Seeing these hands... wait no more, let's start doing it!
The difficulty is who gets on the bus, and the help has to go to those who need it most. They sorted out all the information about frequent travelers between Kashgar and Hotan in recent years, called each one on the list to verify the situation, and after obtaining consent, registered the family size, planting types, and actual difficulties. They then compared the information with the local village committee one by one to ensure that every farmer who can board the "mobile bazaar" is a person who truly needs help.
After research, the Party Committee of the Korla Passenger Transport Section decided to first select the trains on which Polatihan was on duty to carry out the pilot. In order to ensure good protection, the Korla Public Security Division of the Urumqi Railway Public Security Bureau quickly set up a "mobile bazaar" service team for this train, and selected four train policemen who are proficient in Chinese, Uyghur, Kazakh and Mongolian to translate, exchange change, help check sales accounts, and even help passengers taste and recommend food. Diriyal Pilton is one of the police officers.
In July 2021, Diriyal ushered in the first "mobile bazaar" on train 7558/7555 with a thick wad of change in his pocket that had been exchanged in advance.
The farmers had never heard of selling on the train and were full of doubts. Polatihan bought the tickets for them with his own money, and privately patted his chest and promised: If he really couldn't sell it, he would buy it with the conductor and not let anyone carry it back.
Polatihan and Diriyal will never forget the scene when the market opened for the first time. Only Aimaiti and two farmers got on the bus and brought flower caps, figs and walnuts. People panicked as soon as they entered the carriage. They stood in the aisle and yelled without opening their mouths. They stood motionless with things in their hands. They couldn't sell a few items in a long time.
When everyone saw that this was not possible, they took the initiative to help introduce the products. When the language was blocked, Diriyal acted as a translator. When a passenger did not bring cash, he helped to exchange it, and he was sweating profusely. That time, Aimaiti only sold 3 flower hats, and the total revenue from the three sales was 1,200 yuan. Although it’s not much, the first step of the train’s “mobile bazaar” has been taken.
In the next few months, the sales total for each trip was about the same, and that was the hardest time. Doubts came from all directions: tourists suspected that the quality of the agricultural products was not good and were afraid they would be more expensive than in the store; they also suspected that the staff helped sell the goods for a share of the profit, so they asked in person how much benefit they received. Diriyal came to help when he was supposed to be off duty. After the activity, he had to go to work again. He was often too tired to open his eyes.
I just want farmers to make more money. Why is it so difficult? I put so much thought into it in the early stage, so I don’t want to let it go! Everyone cheers each other up: keep at it.
Polati Khan's crew began to work hard. A spacious "bazaar area" is set aside in the carriage, and temporary stalls are set up when the passenger flow is heavy. An agricultural product information board is also erected in a prominent position in the carriage to directly connect the farmers' supply with the needs of passengers, eliminating the need for intermediate links.
Most farmers only speak Uyghur, and many elderly people cannot understand Mandarin, let alone quote prices or leave contact information with mainland tourists. Diriyal became the busiest person in the carriage. While maintaining order in the carriage, he helped the farmers translate and tell the passengers stories about how long they had dried their walnuts and where the grapes were grown.
Many older farmers are not good at arithmetic and are always afraid of getting the wrong money after selling goods, so he squats in the aisle to help the old man check the accounts one by one. When a tourist does not bring cash, he will advance the money to the farmer out of his own pocket, and then turn around to scan the QR code with the tourist to settle. Just like that, the familiar station announcement on the radio rang over and over again, the green leather carriage clanked, and the Gobi desert and poplar trees outside the car window flashed by one stop after another. However, there has been no qualitative breakthrough in sales.
At the end of December 2021, with the mentality of giving it a try, the team launched a live broadcast at the "Mobile Bazaar" and promoted it simultaneously online and offline. Polati Khan held up his mobile phone, and the conductor brought a freshly opened Piaman pomegranate to the camera for a while, with purple juice dripping from his fingertips; he held up an Adelaide silk hat to show the stitches; and he waved freshly picked grapes to netizens. The tourists passing by stopped curiously and looked into the camera. No one expected that the farmer’s total income from selling goods that day suddenly jumped to 26,000 yuan.
With a crash, the floodgates were opened. The train "Mobile Bazaar" is becoming known to more and more people through the Internet. Those former doubts slowly disappeared and were replaced by real support from tourists.
Tourists who come here specifically buy tickets to board the 7558/7555 train just to see what the "mobile bazaar" looks like. After taking the small local train, many passengers will continue to order dried fruits, fresh fruits and handicrafts from southern Xinjiang through the contact information left by the conductor. Bright Adelaide silk floral hats were flowing in the green leather carriage. Passengers tried on the hats facing the window, and laughter spread from the front to the back of the car.
Starting from July 2022, Aimaiti took 100 to 200 flower hats on the bus every time, from Kashgar to Hotan and back again, pocketing four to five thousand yuan. Also that year, a mainland tourist asked casually: "Do you have an online store?" He was stunned, and registered Douyin and Taobao stores when he returned. Orders are flying in from all over the country. A year later, a large number of orders came from Yiwu and Shanghai. One of the orders brought by a tourist from Yiwu for 10,000 flower hats was equal to his income in the previous year.
Nowadays, this small workshop with only 5 people at the beginning has grown step by step: the cooperative has 196 formal employees, and the 300 embroiderers who cooperate are scattered in the villages and towns on the outskirts of Kashgar City. It produces 100,000 handmade flower hats and 500,000 machine flower hats every year, with annual sales of 3 million yuan. There are 22 shops in the East Bazaar of the ancient city of Kashgar that cooperate to sell his flower hats.
"It's the local train that opened up the market for me." Even though his business has grown, Aimaiti still insists on riding the local train. More and more people are getting on the train, and more and more types of goods are being sold - figs, grapes, dried apricots, walnuts, red dates, floral hats, blankets... There are even vendors selling camel hair vests who are getting on the train with tambourines, dutars, booleans, and violins, and they are playing an impromptu song of Messilafu in the carriage.
Diriyal "lives" on the train for more than half of every month. At every stop from Artush to Hotan, he can name many farmers who often ride the train. The fellow villagers along the line affectionately call him "Officer Balang." In the past few years, he has watched farmers change from old cloth bags containing change to smartphones in their hands; from being too shy to look up when getting on the bus, to now opening his arms to hug him when he sees him from a distance on the platform.
He and other police officers have all bought local specialties from farmers; when they meet an elderly person with limited legs and feet rushing to the bazaar, he will run up to the platform and help carry sacks filled with dried fruits onto the bus. Nowadays, the "Mobile Bazaar" is held three to four times a month. The train conductor will record in detail who got on the train, what categories were brought, and how much money was sold in a special ledger. As of early November 2026, the cumulative online and offline sales of "Mobile Bazaar" have exceeded 4.6 million yuan. Specialties from southern Xinjiang that were once only sold in small markets along the line are sold to Urumqi, Shanghai, Yiwu and other places along the wheels of small slow trains.
At 6:30 in the morning, Segezikul Village, Segezikul Township, Hotan County, Xinjiang. The sky is full of stars hanging low on the grapevines in the village, and even the thin strips of light of the Milky Way can be seen clearly. The rustling sound of picking grapes could be heard from the vineyard of villager Harinissa Ableti’s family. Harinisa and her family quietly got into the vine leaves, carefully picked the plump and translucent grapes, and put them neatly into plastic baskets layer by layer. After packing several boxes of fresh grapes, Harinisa rushed to the Moyu train station closest to her home, for fear of missing the small local train carrying the "Mobile Bazaar".
For the first time, Harinisa took this bus not for business, but to accompany her mother to Urumqi for medical treatment. She saw the "Mobile Bazaar" on the train, so she boldly asked the train conductor for her phone number: "I grow grapes at home, can I come and sell them?" The first time she got on the train, she sold the grapes she brought for 500 yuan. After returning home, she sold another 300 yuan of raisins by mail, earning a total of 800 yuan. She couldn't believe her eyes at the time. Later, she took her father and sisters from the same village in the car to catch the "bazaar", selling fresh grapes in summer and autumn and raisins in winter.
At Moyu Station, at 8:50 in the morning, the temperature was only 3 degrees Celsius. There was a cold wind on the platform, and the headlights of the train came on in the distance. It slowly drove into the platform. The orange-pink morning light reflected the golden light of the train. The faces of the farmers waiting for the bus were red with cold. During the chat, some people said that the dirt road in front of their homes had been turned into asphalt roads, and some mentioned that their families had built new houses and bought cars.
"Diriyar, help me!" Li Xingwang, a policeman from the Moyu Station Police Station of the Kashgar Public Security Department, was carrying two boxes of fresh grapes on his shoulders and holding half a bag of sun-dried raisins in his hand. He was helping Hairinisa carry the goods. His steps were obviously a little heavy. Diriyal, who was guarding the platform, immediately hurried up to meet him, took the heavy box, and steadily helped carry it into the carriage. In the carriage, Polatihan and the flight attendants organized the bazaar sales area in advance and checked the placement of luggage.
"Rehemite (thank you), it's too troublesome for you!" They said thank you with a smile, full of familiarity and kindness that they have known for many years. The train pulled out of the platform smoothly, and Diriyal put on the law enforcement recorder and started patrolling. There are 16 carriages from start to finish, and it takes more than an hour to complete one round. He clutched the small rolled-edged soft-cover book and walked slowly step by step. After taking a few steps, he stopped to say a few words to the passengers, "Don't stack backpacks next to each other" and "Take care of your belongings."
He remembered the appearance of this train in its early years: the carriages were often overcrowded, the aisles were crowded, and there were occasional thefts, conflicts, and other police incidents. Passengers traveling along the line carried large amounts of cash. Once their belongings were lost, it would be a major event affecting a family. Nowadays, there are very few such things. Most of them are helping tourists carry heavy items and exchanging change for farmers selling goods. The old-fashioned open windows have been replaced by closed windows, and each carriage is equipped with air conditioning and high-definition surveillance. Villagers no longer have to carry cash close to their bodies when going out, and they no longer have to worry when traveling.
In order to adapt to the new situation, the police team has specially added anti-email fraud training in the past two years, with one purpose: to protect every penny earned by ordinary people selling goods. Just after the train passed the first stop, the "Agricultural Assistance Class" started. Diriyal shouted to the farmers: "The people who claim to buy your products at high prices don't even know where your orchard faces east and west. How can they offer a price twice as high as the market price?" These words with the earthy flavor of southern Xinjiang clearly explain the trap of unfamiliar links and false purchases. In fact, most of them are old acquaintances. Once you get in the car, it's like meeting old friends, but you have to be reminded repeatedly of the precautions. Fellow villagers said that listening to Diriyal talk about safety matters is like listening to his own brother chatting, and they can remember it in their hearts.
On the side, Abdullah Maimaiti, a walnut seller, nodded repeatedly and gave a thumbs up. "Before we got on this train, our family's annual income was only 25,000 yuan, and we had to support three students. When transferring living expenses to our children, we had to turn over to relatives and friends temporarily." Abdullah said with emotion, "Now we pay our children's living expenses on time every month, there is better food on the table, and the motorcycle has been replaced by a car. Everyone in the family is very happy."
The train stopped at Pishan Station, and Diriyal and the conductor worked together to move 20 boxes of pomegranates onto the train. "The train's 'Mobile Bazaar' begins now!" As soon as Polatihan's voice fell, cheerful music started playing. The conductor took the lead in holding the hands of the passengers around him and danced Maisilafu to a lively rhythm. The excitement in the small carriage became even more lively.
After the dance, the farmers, with the help of the conductor, quickly laid out their goods one by one, and they bustled in the carriage to form a small market filled with fruity fragrance. A few foreign tourists carrying cameras were the first to gather around. An elder sister from Fujian took one look at the handmade flower hats in the cart and couldn't help but exclaimed: "Wow! Look at these flower hats, they are so exquisite!" She took out her mobile phone and scanned the QR code to buy three hats, saying she would take them back and distribute them to the children at home.
"Diriyar, help me pass some to the passengers over there to try." Taking over the bamboo basket carrying pomegranates from farmer Amuti Mullah Ahmai, Diriyal became the busiest "tasting recommender" in the carriage. He walked along the carriage with a freshly opened pomegranate in his hand, saying, "It's very sweet. You can try it as you like. If it doesn't taste good, you won't be charged!"
Mr. Shen, who came to Xinjiang from Anhui to do business, tasted pomegranates and nodded his head in praise: "I was shopping in a fruit shop in Pishan County before. The same 5 kilogram package of Piaman pomegranates cost at least 100 yuan, but here they only cost 80 yuan. My children love it very much, so I happened to buy some to take home."
Under the guidance of the train announcement, more and more passengers followed the sound. The sounds of sales, inquiries, and surprises when biting open pomegranates in the carriage were intertwined with the cheerful music of Messilafu.
The little train moved forward, and Aimaiti’s cooperative also grew up. The local government helped him connect with low-interest loans and coordinate employment needs, making this unique handicraft cooperative a benchmark project for rural revitalization in the village, steadily increasing the income of surrounding villagers.
Watching the "mobile bazaar" on the train becoming more and more lively, Polatihan expressed his regret: The old man in Moyu who carried walnuts on his back and took his granddaughter to the market only participated in the "mobile bazaar" once and then passed away. It would be great if he could see the bustling scene of selling goods in the carriage today.
Relying on the passenger flow brought by the small slow trains, farmers in the villages along the line slowly go out: one is to expand orders, connect online channels, and turn one-time transactions into repeat customers; the other is to use the carriages as display windows - there are no "mobile bazaar" shifts, and they can also talk about what each village grows and where the craftsmanship comes from, so that the good things from southern Xinjiang can be seen and remembered.
Difficulties still exist: the production capacity of orchards and vegetable gardens is limited, and market demand is constantly changing, so every step must be explored and adjusted. People no longer only think about their own agricultural products. Growers and craftsmen who once worked alone have teamed up to build a stable production and marketing chain. More women and the elderly who stay at home can also earn an income by relying on special planting and handicrafts in their own courtyards.
Lin Huiling, who is about to retire, is looking forward to passing on the baton of "Mobile Bazaar" steadily. Polatihan plans to continue to run the "small classroom to help farmers" and invite agricultural experts to explain planting techniques to farmers along the route. He also wants train conductors to become Southern Xinjiang cultural tourism promoters to introduce tourists to the local customs and customs along the way, and to deliver more good things and stories from Southern Xinjiang to tourists across the country on the small slow train.
After another round of inspections, Diriyal leaned in the aisle to take a short rest; at the other end of the carriage, Amuti sold out the last box of pomegranates and exchanged contact information with the passengers; Ameti handed the last few flower hats to the guests' hands and waved goodbye with a smile.
The setting sun dyes the Populus euphratica in the Gobi into golden red. In the wind of Taklimakan, the green train moved slowly along the rails, carrying the fruity aroma, laughter and music of the piano in the carriage. (Meng Fei Wu Longhui)
