Being fluent in Kazakh not only helped Song adapt to life in Hongdun, but also brought him love with Nurzipa, a Kazakh, who grew up alongside him.

"He was tall and handsome, not like a typical Kazakh boy," she said. "In my eyes, the difference was not his ethnicity, but the tender way he treated me."

They wanted to marry and raise a family, but things didn't go as planned. In the 1980s, marriage between ethnic groups was rare in Xinjiang.

Differences in lifestyle and beliefs meant young people like Song and Nurzipa could not get permission from their parents, so despite being of optimum marriageable age, they parted.

Eventually, they married other people and raised families. However, even though their lives were fine, they still missed each other.

Shortly after his marriage, Song joined the Army. He didn't return to Hongdun until 1990, when he became a local Party cadre. His reliable character and linguistic skills saw Song respected by the villagers - that was when people started to recognize his "second identity" as a Kazakh.

In 1995, Nurzipa's husband died, which left Song struggling with a dilemma. He knew that leaving his wife would be a harsh move and did not want to hurt her, but he had been offered a second chance to follow his heart, so he asked for, and obtained, a divorce.

"It was a hard time. I kept asking myself 'Do I have to do this?' But the answer was always 'I love Nurzipa'," he said. "To my surprise, my daughter had no objection. I felt so relieved."

In 1997, the two finally married. They had broken through the ethnic barrier, and as time passed, their love became stronger.

In their house full of Kazakh furnishings, Song took a sip of his milk tea and said: "The process of being together is not important; being together matters. Now, all I can say is I am very happy with my wife."

Zhang Yi contributed to this story.