Beautiful Zhangjiajie
For no particular reason I want to travel—odd for someone as lazy as me, perhaps because life's pressures have grown too great. So I want to escape this all-too-familiar city and indulge myself, just as alcoholics numb their nerves with drink. 1. Huangshizhai: Driving into Zhangjiajie, you can see it everywhere.
This article is compiled from the original travel notes on the "Zhangjiajie Tour Guide Network" (33519.com); it is a record of trips from earlier years. Time-sensitive information such as ticket prices, schedules, and accommodation prices is subject to the latest announcements from scenic areas and transportation authorities; the itinerary ideas and attraction introductions still have reference value.
For no particular reason, I wanted to travel. For someone as lazy as me, it seemed like some nerve had misfired—perhaps the pressure of life was simply too great. So I wanted to use leaving this all-too-familiar city to indulge myself, just as alcoholics can only numb their nerves with alcohol.
I. Huangshizhai
Driving into Zhangjiajie, a slogan can be seen everywhere: 'If you don't visit Huangshizhai, your trip to Zhangjiajie is in vain.' What a powerful slogan! And just who is this Huangshizhai, that countless heroes—and cowards alike—would bow down before it? Naturally, I had to go see for myself. The moment the cable car started moving, I had already summoned all my imagination to create a magnificent atmosphere, and brought enough film to play the part of a 'master photographer.' Halfway up the mountain, I suddenly had a feeling of being in another world, as if I had entered a time tunnel and dreamed back to that sacred moment years ago when I climbed the Alps in Europe. Everything was so similar—cliffs and precipices, strange rocks, thin mist and green vines, a lone bird. (I suddenly thought of Ma Zhiyuan's 'Tianjingsha' and realized I was actually quite literary.) Huangshizhai, are you really the paradise I've been searching for? But the moment I truly set foot on the top of Huangshizhai, my heart turned cold as water. Layer upon layer of thick fog blocked all my sight. Even with Sun Wukong's fiery golden eyes, I could only sigh helplessly. Those beautiful divine peaks seemed to deliberately play hide-and-seek with me—or perhaps she was a refined lady who preferred to hide deep in her boudoir, too shy to show herself? From the procession of visitors came murmurs of complaint. Yes, everyone had come full of expectation, thinking that beauty was within easy reach—how had it suddenly become so distant? It was as if I could already smell the exquisite fragrance of the eight great cuisines prepared by a master Chinese chef, and the wine cups had already been filled with intoxicating nectar, only to be suddenly told that I had offended the host and been given my marching orders. The delicacies were naturally out of reach; for a poor soul made dizzy by hunger, even just gazing at that table of fine food from afar had become a luxury. That frustration was beyond words. Huangshizhai, it's not easy to say I love you. How would I describe Huangshizhai's grandeur, wonder, beauty, and elegance to others when I return? Could I only shake my head and smile bitterly? Suddenly I thought of Miriam Yeung's song 'Small Town Big Event': 'I only say that I suddenly came down with amnesia, forgetting that most beautiful time, forgetting that brief encounter between Huangshizhai and me.'
II. Golden Whip Stream & Ten-Mile Gallery
Golden Whip Stream—what a lovely name. A winding little stream washed away all the melancholy and regret that Huangshizhai had brought. It gently led you along, gently carried you through, letting you gaze up at those peaks that had played hide-and-seek with me from every angle. As the saying goes, 'The benevolent love mountains, the wise love water'—and isn't Golden Whip Stream a perfect place where each reveals their own wisdom? Golden Whip Stream is a place that requires you to use all your imagination. Those strange peaks and rocks were, to me, like Picasso's abstract paintings—comprehensible but not enough to spark real interest. In my view, the peaks of Golden Whip Stream were simply beautiful for their own sake, occasionally a few connected peaks winking and exchanging glances at each other, smiling at the world's myriad forms, completely ignoring the fact that I had come thousands of miles to pay homage. But compared to my experience at Huangshizhai, being able to gaze up at those peaks was already quite satisfying. The essence of Golden Whip Stream is concentrated in the first half of the route, where you must look up everywhere—so much so that you fear your cervical spine can't take it, and worry about what to do if you accidentally crick your neck or twist your back. But she was thoughtful too, as if she knew I was tired of that posture. Turning past a bridge, the view suddenly opened up. She bent down, lowered her brows, and softened her gaze, like a dignified and serene woman sitting by the Tuo River, softly singing 'The Forgotten Time' with the murmuring of the stream. I suddenly fell in love with her embrace, wanting only to walk on quietly, forgetting the existence of time, forgetting the shift of space, forgetting that I would eventually reach the end. Golden Whip Stream, I will come again...
Ten-Mile Gallery—what a grand name. Apart from nature's divine craftsmanship, I don't think any painter has that kind of grandeur and ability. They say the greatest feeling Ten-Mile Gallery gives people is 'traveling within a painting,' but upon arriving in Hunan, my greatest impression of Xiangxi is that everything requires imagination—it requires cleverness, it requires you to view it through the mist. Ten-Mile Gallery, a mere 3-kilometer stretch, now reveals a kind-hearted herb-collecting old man, now three deeply affectionate sisters, now a conch horn sounding solemnly in the distance. A scene at every few steps. Slowly walking until the sun set in the west, a glow of evening clouds shone on the mountain ridges, adding a touch of legend to the peaks washed by the heavy rain.
III. Yuanjiajie & Tianzi Mountain
The last stop in Xiangxi was Yuanjiajie, known as Zhangjiajie's back garden. To ascend Yuanjiajie, one must pass through the Bailong Elevator. Only from information found on Google did I learn that the Bailong Elevator was actually the true star of our day. Everyone who has been to Zhangjiajie has probably ridden the Bailong Elevator, but not everyone knows the story behind it. Stepping onto Yuanjiajie's grand terrace, I immediately felt my vision open up, and the air was much fresher. Breathing deeply, it seemed I could wash away all worldly dust and let my restless heart find a bit of purity. Perhaps only I would keep making mistakes and keep reflecting on them. I saw the 'Soul-Enchanting Terrace.' Standing on it, gazing at the cluster of stone peaks at varying heights, seemingly broken yet connected; wisps of thin mist drifting like smoke, the peaks appearing and disappearing, making it hard to tell heaven from earth. As the saying goes: 'Where is my hometown as dusk falls? The misty river fills one with sorrow.' Looking far into the distance, on the opposite mountain there were actually dozens of households—these were the Tujia descendants who had lived here for generations. I imagined they must be hardworking, kind, and uncontentious hermits. Climbing to the mountaintop, looking at those peaks that had just required looking up to see, now each one obediently lay at my feet—so docile, so endearing; like gentle kittens, each curled up, eyes closed, ears tilted, basking in the warm sun, so enchanted, so content. Turning past a mountain, an iron bridge leaped into view. Looking at this iron bridge spanning two mountaintops—good heavens, at such a height, in such an environment, one truly must marvel at how much sweat and wisdom those diligent workers poured in to complete this impossible task. If the iron bridge is the crystallization of human wisdom, then the World's No. 1 Bridge is nature's masterpiece—a stone bridge two meters wide and four meters high spanning across 300 meters of sky, as if it were a time-space portal connecting heaven and earth. Crossing that bridge, what place lies beyond? Heaven, paradise, or some unknown world? Looking at the many love locks left by visitors, have their wishes come true? And when will my ideals be fulfilled?
Tianzi Mountain, the last stop of the Xiangxi tour. Visiting Huangshizhai is sitting face to face with the peaks, looking at them level; visiting Golden Whip Stream is 'being within a painting,' gazing up at the peaks towering on both banks; but at Tianzi Mountain, one can look down upon the vast world, and cannot help but feel the boundless pride of 'no mountain above me, I alone am supreme.' I had long heard of Tianzi Mountain's four great wonders: peak forests, sea of clouds, sunrise, and winter snow. Unfortunately, I had no chance to experience so many magical scenes in just one short day, and could only rely on a few thin postcards to exercise my imagination. Fairy Presenting Flowers and Imperial Brush Peak were the last two sights of this trip. The fairy didn't look much like a fairy—rather a bit like my plump self. Ah, the same round belly, the same receding hairline. Life always cannot resist the passage of time. The once youthful recklessness is truly a thing of the past. No longer longing for unreachable things, no longer hoping for great ups and downs in life, even no longer fantasizing about standing out. So much effort and sacrifice in the past, yet not getting what should have been deserved—was I too stupid, too foolish, too naive, or did I consider others too much and save too little for myself? Life is actually so unsatisfactory. In matters of the heart, I've been through so many ups and downs, given so much, received so little. How many people have truly given anything for me? Imperial Brush Peak truly gave me a deep shock. I love its uprightness, love its firmness, love its independence, love its unsociability. I never tire of looking at its scenery again and again—so much so that even now my computer still uses it as a desktop wallpaper.
Beautiful, Zhangjiajie; magnificent, Zhangjiajie. I hope it will also always remember this appointment of ours.