Field after field of rapeseed -- though what I really wanted to see was Qinghai Lake
Field after field of rapeseed – though what I really wanted to see was Qinghai Lake

Before going to Mount Emei I had started reading The Razor’s Edge, but had only gotten through the opening when the three-day trip began – from the somewhat idle fourth week of the semester to the “immortal mountain” of Emei, which takes 75 kilometers of climbing to reach the summit. On the train I could see field after field of rapeseed, and I found myself wondering about the meaning of this journey. It wasn’t until we reached Zhongshan and met some warm-hearted “Emei locals” that I finally understood: travel has no meaning at all – only the unexpected.

The route up the mountain we chose saved a good deal of time, but made us miss most of Emei’s scenery. The tedious mountain path made the claim of “150 li of scenery” feel rather exaggerated. After climbing one ridge and looking out into the distance, all you’d see were endless, clearly tiered stone steps. Exhausted from the heat, I slumped down by the roadside to rest, and found myself drifting into a kind of self-analysis, wondering whether the joy I’d once felt climbing steps like these had ever really been real, and whether illusions even exist.

To catch the sunrise we set off climbing at 5 a.m. the next day, when the mountain was still utterly pitch black, the sky as deep as ever. Walking through it, I could clearly hear the wind trembling through the forest, and the faint cries of unseen creatures – as if all of it were trying to drive away the night travelers on the mountain path. After a while, at nearly 3,000 meters above sea level on Mount Emei, the dawn glow began spreading, level with us, slowly, into the still-sleeping forest.

Sheshen Cliff
Sheshen Cliff

The sunrise was probably the first real Emei scenery I saw – though by then we had gone straight to the summit. When we first arrived at the Golden Summit, the sun hadn’t yet broken through the clouds, the light still dim, and the vast ranges of mountains were mostly buried in morning mist, so you couldn’t tell how magnificent they really were. All that could be seen were the mountain peaks standing erect like firm breasts – though unlike the taut, jutting feeling associated with S&M, I found it hard to put into words that particular sense of oppression. I stood there in a daze for a good while because of it.

The sun had already brightened -- not a great shot
The sun had already brightened – not a great shot

After a while, as sunrise drew near, more and more people gathered on the Golden Summit. Watching the crowd grow gradually more excited as they waited, I wondered: isn’t sunrise and sunset itself a kind of expression of eternity? Are people pursuing eternity itself, or just one of its outward appearances? The sun rose on schedule, golden light slowly breaking through the clouds, draping the earth in a hazy veil, dressing the heavy ranges of mountains in what might be called a beautiful burial shroud. The light, not yet too harsh to look at, left me entranced.

Heard afterward that the monkeys like to pee in the spring water = =
Heard afterward that the monkeys like to pee in the spring water = =

The hardship of the descent goes without saying, but more importantly, it was only then that we truly saw Emei’s landscape, only then that we understood its wonder. When thirsty along the way, we’d stop at a mountain spring for some original, unfiltered “Nongfu Spring”; when tired, we’d sit down on the steps and enjoy the shade tucked away among the cliffs. Although the endless steps left us utterly exhausted, we all felt the trip had been worth it. At the end we also treated ourselves to a soothing radon hot spring.

Oh, and at night the stars were dense and bright – was that the Big Dipper? Orion? And for the first time I saw a shooting star, gone in a real flash. I made a wish, not too big, not too small – not sure if it will come true.